Because Who Could Love A Broken Girl? ✔️

Who Could Love The Search Part Two

Luke's P.O.V.

I walk down the street to Skylar's old house, arriving after about fifteen minutes.

I know that none of the guys trust me after what I did to Sky. Frankly, I don't blame them. I don't even trust myself after that.

I wasn't lying when I told Spencer I was in love with Skylar. I have been since we were kids, and I will be until the day I die.

But I know she's with Grayson. And I know he makes her happy. So that's exactly what I told Spencer.

I love her, but I won't act on my feelings. I'll leave her alone, and make sure she's happy. I've accepted the fact that we could never be together, but that doesn't mean it stopped hurting.

I slowly make my way up the path to her house, stepping onto the porch lightly. Placing my hand on the doorknob, I take a deep breath and crack it open quietly.

I step into the old residence, carefully testing the floor for creaky boards. As I make my way up the stairs, I listen intently for any possible sign that she's here.

I make it to the top of the stair case before a soft whimpering noise meets my ears. I walk quietly, yet quickly in the direction I heard the sound coming from.

I push open the door to Skylar's old bedroom, my eyes landing on a petite frame behind her bed. The mattress is tall enough to block most of her, but I can tell that she's facing away from me, with only the top of her head showing.

I slowly stepped around the bed to see better, my heart tightening at the sight. Skylar kneels on the ground, sobbing next to her dead father. He has slight foaming around his mouth, but you can tell it's been days since his death.

"Skylar...?" I say quietly.

She looks up to me for a moment with a pained expression, but doesn't bother responding as she returns her attention to her dad.

I take my time to scan around the room, noticing that it hadn't changed at all since I was here at age thirteen.

It has the same ripped, coral wallpaper, the same twin sized bed with a white head board, and the same photos hung on the walls.

The only differences are the tinted blood stains on the floor, the bullet hole in the wall, and the bottle of pills her father had emptied to end his life.

How could I have been so stupid.

"He's still here." Skylar says in a small voice.

"Yeah." I breathe out.

'Yeah'? Really? How much dumber could I sound?

"You'd think the neighbors would report gun shot." She chuckles dryly. "Then again, they never came when I was screaming for help."

We go silent after that. What was I supposed to say? 'Oh don't worry, I'm sure they just thought you were singing'?

I hate that this happened to her. I hate that her father had the nerve to lay a hand on someone as innocent as Skylar.

And I hate that I had done the same exact thing.

"Why were you here?" Her soft voice speaks, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"Well uh... You ran off. We were worried about you. All the guys are looking for you."

"No. I know why you are here. But why were you? That day my dad died? Why did you come here?"

"Oh. Well uh, mostly because I wanted to apologize for everything. I wanted to tell you that I feel terrible about hurting you, and that I've gotten help while I was in jail. I'm not that guy anymore, and I'm sorry that I ever was."