Shattered Strings

Why Tom? Why?

Chapter 10: Crashing Through the Silence

The knock at the hotel door came just after midnight.

At first, I thought it was my imagination — the way grief plays tricks on you.

But then it came again.
Harder. Louder.

I pulled the blanket tighter around myself, heart racing.
Maybe if I stayed quiet, they'd go away.

But a voice broke through.
Ragged. Familiar.

"Kayla," Tom said.
"Please. Open the door."

I closed my eyes, willing myself not to move.

You wanted me to leave, I thought. You don't get to want me now.

Another knock.
Another plea.

"I know I don't deserve it," he said, voice cracking. "I know I fucked everything up. But I'm not leaving until you hear me out."

I sat frozen on the bed, every part of me warring against itself.
My pride screamed at me to let him rot in the hallway.
My heart — traitorous, stupid, still his — whispered, open it.

I stood up before I could change my mind.
Crossed the room.
And unlocked the door.

It swung open with a soft click.

Tom stood there, soaked from the rain, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes so raw and wrecked it made my chest ache.

Neither of us said anything at first.

Then he stepped inside, dripping water onto the carpet, and closed the door behind him like he was afraid I might disappear if he blinked.

"I didn't mean it," he said. "That night. When I kissed you and ran."

I swallowed hard, arms crossed tight over my chest like armor.
"Then why did you?"

He laughed bitterly, running a hand down his face.
"Because I felt too much. And it scared the hell out of me. I thought pushing you away would make it easier."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"But it didn't."

I stared at him, heart hammering against my ribs.
"You broke me, Tom," I said. My voice shook. "You made me feel like nothing."

His face crumpled like I had punched him.
"I know," he said hoarsely. "And I will spend every day making up for it if you let me."

He took a step closer, then hesitated.
Like he was giving me the choice this time.

"You made me feel alive," he said. "You made me realize I could be more than just the guy who drinks too much and fucks up everything good in his life."
He shook his head.
"I'm not asking you to fix me. I'm just asking you to stay long enough to let me try."

Silence crashed between us again.
I could hear the rain pounding the windows.
I could feel the weight of everything he wasn't saying.

And still — even after everything — I loved him.
God help me, I still did.

I let the blanket fall from my shoulders.
Took one slow, shaky step toward him.

"One more chance," I whispered. "That's it."

Tom's breath hitched.
He reached out, cupped my face in his rough, trembling hands, and kissed me like a man starved.

This kiss was different.
It wasn't desperate.
It wasn't angry.

It was a promise.
A vow written in the spaces between heartbeats.

And for the first time in what felt like forever —
I didn't feel broken anymore.
I felt chosen.

⸻

Chapter 11: New Wounds

The next few days felt... different.
Careful. Fragile. Like we were walking on cracked ice.

Tom stayed close, but never too close.
He texted to check in.
Brought me coffee without asking how I liked it — but somehow got it exactly right.
He was trying.

And for the first time, I let myself believe maybe... just maybe... we could fix this.

But good things never last, not for people like me.

It happened at the afterparty in Prague.

I wasn't even going to go, but Bill practically dragged me there, saying, "You can't hide forever, Kayla."

The room was loud. The lights were blinding.
And then —

I saw her.

Clinging to Tom's arm like she belonged there.
Laughing at something he said, too close, too familiar.
A blonde girl in ripped jeans and a smirk like she already won.

I froze, nausea rising in my throat.

Tom said something, pulling away from her, but it didn't matter.
I had already seen enough.
The image was burned into me — him and her — just like before.

I turned to leave, heart pounding so hard it hurt.

But a voice stopped me.
Hers.

"I don't know why you're still here," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "He'll never pick you. Girls like you are just the warm-up act."

The room went dead silent.
Every face turned to me.
To us.

Tom cursed under his breath, stepping between us, but it was too late.

The damage was done.

The old wounds split wide open, bleeding all over the floor.

And before he could reach me —
before he could say anything —
I was already gone.

[TO BE CONTINUED...]