Page 34 of Boots & Scars

Everly cocked her head to the side, not even flinching at my caustic diction. "Maybe if you ask me nicely."

I rolled my eyes. "I live in teaching housing, right next to Connor Bradley. So I get to hear him and his little piece every goddamn night. She decorates for every damn holiday too. They have clovers in their windows. Fucking clovers."

Everly smiled. "I think that's cute."

"You would," I snipped.

She stood up, grinning. "I think I got them this time."

I gave her a long once over, my eyes lingering on her hip—the bruised one. My fingers itched to touch her skin again, to see if she was still as soft as she was then.

"Go on, then," I snapped. "Are you getting on the ice or not?"

Everly frowned. "Why were you going to marry that woman from yesterday? She didn't seem like she liked you very much."

"I have news for you, sugar." I crossed my arms. "Not many people like me."

"Well, maybe if you actually tried to be civil..." She was still limping, but it wasn't as bad as yesterday. Reaching the gate, Everly turned to face me. "She loved you once though."

“Here's another lesson,” I drawled. “She loved my money. Found that out the hard way too." My jaw clenched. "Let's be honest, sweetie. No one could love this face."

Everly wrinkled her nose, like she was disgusted by my appearance. It bothered me more than it should have, coming from her.

"There's nothing wrong with your face, Mr. Cooper," she murmured. "You're just... you're just mean."

I blinked. Without warning, I went over and grabbed her wrist so she couldn't get on the ice.

"And you're too damn nice," I growled. "Stop, okay? Stop lying."

"What?" She furrowed her brow, confusion etched on her delicate features.

"You're being nice," I reiterated, my voice harsh and unforgiving.

"I'm being honest," she replied, and I absolutely hated the sincerity in her tone. Because it was a lie. Everything that came out of her mouth was a fucking lie.

"No." I shook my head vehemently. "Because if you're being honest, you would tell me how ugly my scars are."

Everly gave my face a long, contemplative look. She lifted her hand, hesitating for a moment. Of course she wouldn't want to touch me. She was too pure, too innocent to taint herself by making contact with someone like me—broken, damaged, and unworthy.

But then, to my utter disbelief, she did it. Her soft, gentle fingers caressed my scars, tracing the jagged lines with a tenderness I had never known. I stood there, frozen, unable to move or breathe. The reverence in her touch astounded me, sending shockwaves through my battered soul.

"Your scars don't make you ugly," she whispered, her eyes locked on mine. "You aren't ugly."

I jerked back from her, as if her words and touch had scalded me like boiling water. My heart raced, pounding against my ribcage as I struggled to comprehend the foreign emotions swirling within me. No one had ever looked at me the way she did, with such genuine acceptance and understanding.

"Get the fuck out," I whispered, my voice low and menacing.

Everly's eyes widened in confusion. "What?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

I clenched my jaw, my anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Get. Out," I said, enunciating each word with a deadly calm.

"Why?" she asked, her brow furrowed in bewilderment.

Something inside me snapped. I couldn't stand her innocence, her naivety. She needed to understand that I was not someone she should be around, let alone touch with such tenderness.

"I said get out!" I yelled, my voice reverberating through the empty rink.

Everly flinched at my outburst, and a twisted sense of satisfaction coursed through me. Good. She should be scared ofme. She should stay away from me, far away from the darkness that consumed my soul.

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