Page 57 of Beautiful Scars

"Because you ran," Z corrects.

"Because I ran," I agree. "I know I don't deserve forgiveness. From either of you. From her. Hell, I don't even have the right to ask for it."

Z pushes off the wall, stalking toward the door. "No. You don't."

"Z..." Colt starts.

"Don't." Z turns back, his voice cold as he speaks. "You want to stick around, that's your choice. But I need to get out of here before I do something we'll all regret."

He storms out of the room. Slamming the door when he leaves with enough force to rattle the windows. I close my eyes, feeling like I'm watching one more important thing slip through my fingers.

"He'll come around," Colt offers.

"He shouldn't." I pour another drink with shaking hands. "Neither should you."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Colt stands, crossing to the bar. "But it's my choice."

I look at him, stunned. "After everything I've done? All the lies?"

"Yeah." He takes the bottle from my hand, pouring his own drink. "Because under all that bullshit, you're still my brother. That counts for something."

"It shouldn't." My voice is barely a whisper. "Not after this."

"Well, tough shit." Colt downs his whiskey. "Because it does. Z will figure that out too. He just needs to calm down."

I shake my head. "I don't think so Colt. I don't think this can be fixed."

He sets down his glass. "Time will tell, brother."

He's right. I've got nothing but time now.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sunny

Myapartmentisquietand still, except for the muted sounds of evening traffic filtering through the thin walls and windows. It's comforting—that dull hum of life happening somewhere else, somewhere far away from me. I haven’t left my bed in days, and honestly, I don't care if I ever do again.

My whole body feels like I got hit by a truck. I'd sooner die than let anyone know just how wrecked I am though. I spent so damn long building up this badass image, convincing myself and everyone around me that I’m untouchable. But seeing Levi again? Yeah, that did it. Apparently, I’m not as unbreakable as I’ve been pretending to be.

I press a hand to my chest covering the spot where the ache has been constant. It feels permanent. The part of me that was wrenched backwards, straight into the past can't seem to find its way back. I'm lost there. Images of Levi, standing there with his hand on Zane's shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world, are there constantly. His eyes—the ones that I spent so much time trying to forget—looked like he’d seen a ghost when he saw me.

His expression had been shock at first. But that hadn't lasted. He’d been horrified when he realized it was me. It was written all over his face. It was clear that I was the last person he expected to see, and, more importantly, the last person hewantedto see. Seeing that expression on his face was almost worse than being left by him in the first place. It’s all I can do to remember to breathe and let the minutes crawl by without drowning in them.

He's been trying to find me. I know because Benny told me he's had to kick him out of the club almost every night. Sometimes more than once. My phone buzzes for what's probably the hundredth time today, but I ignore it. It has to be Jade, or Benny. No one else knows my number.

Jade stopped by once. A few days ago, I think. She banged and kicked on the door until I finally answered—more to avoid someone calling the cops than because I wanted to see her. She’d barely gotten a glimpse inside my apartment before I shoved her out, promising her I’d eat, that I was fine, and that I just needed a little more sleep. Not one of those things was true and she knew it as well as I did. I simply wanted her gone. I need to be alone.

With a shuddering sigh, I turn over, burying my face into the pillow. Maybe if I close my eyes tight enough, I can block out everything and if I do that maybe, eventually, it'll all go away. The memories, the worry in Jade’s voice, even the buzzing phone. Everything.

But I can't seem to get my mind on board with the plan. Every time I close my eyes I go back to that night with Garrett—the soft material of the dress on my skin when I put it on, the scrape of heavy boots on the floor, the sharp crack of bones breaking, and the feel of cold metal. I wake up shivering and sweaty, clenching my teeth around a scream. I flail, reaching out and expecting to feel the sticky, wet, heat of blood covering my skin. But there's nothing. Nothing but scars.

I wish that the memories of Garrett are the worst. I wish those were as bad as it gets. But they aren’t what stick around and drag all of the things I feel up to the surface and into the light. They aren't the ones that threaten to break me apart and erase who I am. Nothing Garrett did to me was worse than being left on that floor by Levi—worse than knowing I didn't matter enough to try and save.

It’s late afternoon, and I’m exhausted, drifting in a warm, soft place somewhere between sleep and waking. A loud, insistent, sudden knock on the door, forces me to drag myself up from the bed, my limbs heavy, my thoughts cloudy. It's probably Jade again—worried enough to come over and yell at me, which honestly, I deserve.

I shuffle toward the door, not bothering to check the peephole, already preparing for the scolding I know is coming. I swing the door open wide, irritation at the ready.

“Alright, Jade, I swear if you—”

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