Page 25 of Unbroken

“Where have you been? We—” She sucked in a sharp breath. “We thought you were dead.”

I tensed and reinforced my mental shields against the memories that wanted to flood back in at her statement.

I’d put in a lot of work to not let those memories affect me like they once did.

Somehow, I managed a sardonic chuckle and shrugged.

“Almost.”

Humor wasn’t the best defense mechanism, but if I didn’t joke about my experiences every once in a while, I was bound to go crazy.

No one else thought my joke was funny. Amanda paled, and the rest of them readjusted awkwardly in their seats. If theycouldn’t handle that, I couldn’t imagine what they would think when I really got into the nitty-gritty details.

“Okay,” I said, and I told them everything.

Just as Hazel had requested, I started from the beginning. I told them how Valerie contacted me around the same time she reached out to Luke. Saying Valerie’s name aloud was enough to make me feel like I was going to puke and like I needed to scrub my body clean. Glancing around the room, everyone else had the same reaction, even the redhead that I didn’t know. That was how infamous Valerie was.

Valerie had been the one to introduce me to the rest of the group. She was the reason I had all of these people sitting around me, and I both appreciated and hated her for that.

She’d always been a derisive personality, enticing reactions of both hate and love from everyone she met.

There were times in our friendship where I’d experienced both emotions when it came to her. Sometimes within the same day, she’d been the best friend I’d ever wanted and a fucking bitch. With Valerie, you got the good with the really, really bad.

I explained why I’d done what I had at Friendsgiving and why I had been reluctant—to say the least—to go to the cops. How she’d shown up at my apartment and threatened to hurt anyone and everyone I loved.

They peppered me with questions, and I tried to answer them the best I could.

“Blake, you still could have said something. We could have figured it out together,” Reed said.

Tears I’d fought to keep contained slipped free, but I quickly brushed them away. I’d fucked up. I didn’t want them to think I was vying for sympathy. I was ashamed of the way I’d acted and how stupid I’d been. Even if it was all in the name of protecting them, I could have done better.

“Yes, maybe we could have—” Josh began, but I was already shaking my head.

“Maybe, but I don’t think anything would have worked.”

This next part I knew would rock them all.

Reed, Josh, and Amanda clung to one another. The redhead had moved closer to James. Luke looked like he was torn between anger and pity, while Hazel was putting on a brave face.

Devon had been a silent statue at the back of the room. His arms were still crossed over his chest, and his expression remained neutral. I wish I had that power—to not wear my emotions like they were a neon sign. I wished I could shut down the way he seemed to be able to.

But I knew even Devon, the immovable force he was, wouldn’t be able to remain that way when I said what I had to next.

“She knew exactly where to hit me and what would hurt the most.”

Everyone waited in bated silence as I mustered the courage.

“Since she contacted me, she’d been sending me threatening text messages, and along with each was a photo of Shelly.”

I didn’t want to look at him, but I also couldn’t help it. Devon straightened and dropped his arms to his sides.

“What?” James asked in a voice that easily belied his disbelief. The entire group glanced behind me at the wall of windows that looked out into the backyard. Shelly was tossing the ball back and forth with Zach as Sadie rolled around in the grass between them.

Her smile was bright, and she appeared content playing the monotonous game. My chest tightened, and a sob lodged in my throat.

They all sat in stunned silence, and I waited for them to take in the full weight of my words before I continued.

My attention jumped to Devon, who had walked further into the living room. His hands were braced on the back of the couch, and he was staring down at his fingers like he was willing them not to break the furniture. Even from across the room, I could seethe whites of his knuckles and imagined the force with which he gripped the couch.

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