Page 63 of Beautiful Scars

"What I said Sunny. One word from you, and I'm gone." His voice is steady, matter of fact. "Or say nothing and I'll stay."

"That's not really my call," I say with a nervous laugh. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I refuse to do anything that would hurt you or make things any harder for you." The simplicity in his answer catches me off guard

The silence stretches between us, heavy with things unsaid.

“Sunny?”

“I have to go,” I manage to choke out, clutching the phone like it might slip from my grasp.

“Okay,” he says, his voice is rock solid and calm despite the abruptness of my words. “I’m here if you need me.”

I hang up and set the phone down slowly. My apartment feels too quiet, too small now. The space that had felt like a refuge for the past week and a half suddenly feels like a trap, holding me hostage to my own thoughts.

The thought sends me to the kitchen, desperate for a distraction. I grab a glass and pour myself a drink—soda, nothing stronger. The last thing I need right now is a fuzzy head. I sip it slowly, leaning against the counter and staring out the small window above the sink before heading back to the living room.

I sit cross-legged on the floor. Zane’s voice lingers in my head as my gaze drifts out the window.

The sunlight streaming in feels good. Bright, warm, alive—everything I haven’t been since I locked myself inside this apartment.

I press my fingers to my temples, trying to quiet the thoughts warring in my head.It’s not just about going back to work,I tell myself.It's about getting back to some semblance of a life.

My hand drifts to the scars at my collarbone, brushing over them lightly. A memory surfaces unbidden—Zane’s steady eyes locking with mine, his voice soft but firm as he said, “You’re stronger than you think.”

I roll my eyes at the memory, but a faint smile tugs at my lips.That man could sell ice water in a blizzard.

Standing up, I smooth my hands over my thighs and look around the apartment. The mess I’ve let pile up stares back at me—a reflection of the chaos I’ve been letting consume me.

“No more,” I whisper.

I lean back and find Benny’s number. Hesitation bubbles up in my chest making me pause.

What if it’s too soon? What if it’s a mistake?

But then I hear Zane’s voice in my head again.You’re stronger than you think.

I press the button before I can second-guess myself anymore.

Zane

Istareatmyphone, thumb hovering over Sunny's number. It's been almost a week since she called to see if Levi was still around.

My phone buzzes with another text from Colt: "You can't avoid him forever, Z."

I toss the phone onto the bed without answering. He's right, but I'm not ready to deal with Levi yet. I need the space from him as much as he probably needs it from me. Our last conversation replays in my head—him breaking down, confessing everything. The shame in his voice when he admitted leaving her there. Part of me understands he was just a kid faced with something horrific. But another part...

The image of Sunny's face when she described that night— feeling him hold her, hearing him call 911, only to have him walk away—haunts me. Makes me question everything I thought I knew about the man I've followed for years.

The safehouse is almost completely done. Ready for permanent crew to move in. It's amazing that we've managed to accomplish as much as we have in a few weeks. It's not going to be long before I don't have an excuse to keep from going home.

I keep thinking about how Sunny looked that evening in her kitchen—so hurt, so worn down. The trust she placed in me weighs heavy in my mind. I know she only let me in out of sheer exhaustion, but the fact that she let me make breakfast for her while she showered, and then ate every last bite speaks volumes.

As a bartender, even one without her history, it had to take a huge leap of faith to accept food and drink from someone she didn't know and didn't watch prepare it. It required a level of trust that maybe she didn't even recognize at the time. Her vulnerability in that moment, choosing to believe I wouldn't hurt her, conscious or not, makes me feel oddly protective.

It's a strange feeling, this satisfaction. Like I passed some test I didn't even realize I'd been taking until it was over. Usually, I measure success in fear or respect, not in whether someone trusts me. But somehow, that small gesture of faith means more than I would've imagined.

My phone buzzes again. This time it's Wolf with an update about a potential warehouse space near the port. Business should be my priority. It's what I'm good at. What I know.

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