“Yeah, and? She’s a great doctor, good at what she does, I hear. Amazing woman too. Her and her husband, Clay, are some of my best buddies.”
Him touting her praise rankles my nerves, but I shouldn’t care. He’ll leave me soon enough, so it doesn’t matter what he thinks of other women. “Yes, well be that as it may, she said she couldn’t be my doctor because the two of you were friends.”
Nick scrubs at the scruff on his chin; the sound of his whiskers scraping along his palm is like a balm to my battered soul. It would be so easy to drown in his nearness and the peace he brings with him, to wrap my arms around him and never let go…but it’s wrong. Bringing Nick down to lift myself up is not how a healthy relationship works.
“And this upset you?”
I grimace. “She’s the first doctor I’ve ever felt comfortable with. The only woman I confided in, and told all of my…um, secrets.” I glance down at my bandaged arm and then back at him. “I thought she cared…” I can hear my own voice rising, but I barely recognize it.
Nick rubs one hand along my leg and thigh and grasps my shoulder with the other. “Babe, I’m sure she does care.”
I shake my head furiously as the tears wet my nightgown. “You see, there’s where you’re wrong. The second she could find a way to remove me from her life, she did. Just like everyone else. And then after I ran out of her office, my mother called. Told me how horrible I am as a daughter, demanded I move back home, go out with that man…” I ramble on. What I don’t realize is the beast awakening in the man next to me. I’m so focused on getting it all out, easing my conscience for a moment, I don’t notice what I’ve said until the pressure on my thigh turns almost painful, and I glare up at Nick.
His eyes are daggers of rage, and his mouth is formed in a scowl. “Your mother normally say off-color things to you?”
I nod, afraid to say anything more.
“Set you up with men you don’t want?”
I nod again.
“She hurt you with her words a lot?”
More nodding.
Nick stares into my eyes, and I swear he’s seeing straight through to the barely flickering light of my wounded soul. This man can ruin me with one look. One word. A simple touch of his hand. I want him desperately, but he’s better off not wanting me. I could so easily imagine a good life away from all the despicable things surrounding me if I only had him. I’d give it all up. The money, the status, anything to have him. Except, I’m not enough. He deserves perfection, not a broken shell of a woman with nothing more to offer than a scarred body and torn heart.
He looks at my face and focuses on my bandaged hand. Every so slowly he lifts my hand, placing it into his. With a featherlight touch, he runs three fingertips up my exposed inner arm. When he reaches the first hidden line, he traces its length. A shiver ripples through me.
“What brought this on?”
I choke on a sob but don’t so much as flicker my gaze away from his. He waits patiently. “My mother was angry when I slipped and collided with a waiter at a social function. He dropped several glasses of wine and champagne. My lack of grace took away from her function and laid waste to a disaster people spoke of later. She didn’t like that and made sure I knew it.”
He squints, his pupils narrowing to tiny dots. He brings his fingers to another jagged scar. I’d opened that one twice, which is why it’s more raised than the others.
“This one is worse,” he says conversationally, but each finger to one of my sins is opening me up anew; the physical manifestation of the blood not being present doesn’t matter. It’s the raw truth that leaves with each confession.
I shake my head. “No. Sometimes I reopen them. It makes a bigger scar,” I admit, still holding his gaze.
Nick’s lips curl into a frown. “And this one?” He reaches another one.
“I missed Hannon.”
“And how did missing your brother turn into needing pain?”
Needing pain is not usually how I imagine others would describe what I’ve done. It’s absolutely the exact right description for why I do what I do, but it’s not often that someone understands it so completely.
I shrug, not wanting to answer.
“Words, Honor. You owe me that.” And he’s right, I do. He’s here, still with me, and I don’t know why he hasn’t left the room and run as far away as he can get from the broken mess that I am.
I lick my lips and let my heart offer a response. “At least if I have pain, I feel something other than grief. Sadness. The worst is when I just feel numb. The pain takes that all away, and for a time, I feel…”
“Relief.”
I suck in a sharp breath and pull my arm away. My heart pounds a beat so hard in my chest, I can barely breathe. “Nick…” I nearly suffocate with the power that single word holds.
Nick grabs my hand and holds it between both of his before running his hand back down my arm to feel each scar. “I know a thing or two about needing to feel something, Dove. Watching men die for their country, my brethren, men I worked with, cared for, and then lost within a blink of an eye. It changed me. Gutted me in ways I can’t begin to explain. It’s why I lift iron. Punish my muscles. And when that’s not enough, I get into the ring, punch any man who dares to get in and fight. It may not be
