Page 8 of Beautiful Scars

"I'm not a snitch. I promise. I won't tell a soul what happened yesterday. As far as my mom, the cops, and everyone else knows it all happened exactly the way you told me to say it. You don't have to worry."

The words rush out of my mouth. Desperate. As soon as he started talking, it dawned on me how important it might be that I convince him of everything I just said. He doesn't know me, doesn't have any reason to trust that I won't say anything. I feel nauseous.

He took Garrett out. Put him in the hospital like it was nothing. Of course he wants to make sure you aren't going to say anything to anyone.

A scowl etches his face. "No. Wait. That's not—that's not what I meant. That’s not what I’m here for." The words are gentle when he speaks them even though his brow is furrowed and his eyes are hard.

I feel like I'm on the verge of falling apart in front of him and there's nothing I can do to stop myself. Every muscle in my body is wound tight to the point of pain.

"Let me start over." I watch as he draws in a deep breath, holds it and exhales slowly. He closes his eyes as the air leaves his lungs, and when he opens them again a small smile tips up the edges of his mouth and his eyes have softened.

"I wanted to stop by and see how you're doing, make sure you're okay. Yesterday was," he pauses and I can tell he's weighing his words out carefully, "a lot. I came by earlier, but there was no answer, and then I saw your mom leave and..." He stands there in the doorway and jams his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Angel. I'm not going to hurt you. I'd never hurt you."

"Oh." I stand there looking at him with a stupid, blank look on face unsure of what to say next. The knot in my stomach stays firmly in place, but the tension in my jaw and my shoulders drains away.

A full minute passes, before he speaks again. "So, are you?"

"Am I what?" I feel like I missed something.

"Okay," he chuckles.

"I'm fine." It's not quite a lie. Iwillbe fine. Judging by what I saw in the mirror last night, it's going to take a while, but I'll be okay. Eventually. I always am. Even though I feel like an idiot, and my body aches and my head feels like it's getting squeezed in a vice, I offer up a big, wide, toothy smile as proof.

His expression turns serious as his eyes travel down my body and back up again. "Right. Um, I think we might have different definitions of 'fine'."

He raises an eyebrow not taking his eyes off me, but the judgement and disgust I'm expecting to see written on his face isn't there. It feels like he's waiting for a response, but he doesn’t push, doesn't say anything else. The words sit between us, heavy and awkward. I swallow hard. Obviously, he doesn't believe a word I've said even though he doesn't say it. It's irritating.

I shift uncomfortably, wiggling my toes, digging them into the worn wooden floor. He's not the first person to have seen evidence of what my life is like. Most people don't have the stomach for it though—I think it makes them nervous—as if bruises and pain are contagious or something. My mom ignores them completely. She has since the day Garrett moved in with us. If she doesn't acknowledge them, she doesn't have to ask questions she doesn't want the answer to. My friends, at least the ones I used to have, couldn't handle theheavinessof seeing and knowing. There are a lot of things I blame them for, but that's not one of them. I wouldn't want to deal with it either. Not if I had a choice.

But Levi? He's not looking away. He's looking right into the center of it all andnotflinching. I've never had anyone stare so openly and see somuchof me—with no trace of guilt or pity or contempt. He's just... looking. And somehow, that's harder and more disturbing than any of the reactions I've gotten before. I don't know what to do with it.

"Really. I'm fine. Or, I will be. I've been through worse." Again, a half-truth. I've never been through anything that comes close.

Now it's his turn to stand there with a stupid, shocked look on his face not knowing what to say. After a long moment he responds.

"You don't have to lie to me Angel." He hesitates, his tone low and careful as he continues. “What I mean is, you don’t have to be ‘fine’ if you’re not. I’ve seen enough to know that…” He trails off, like he’s searching for the right words, then lets out a long sigh.

I open my mouth to argue, to tell him he doesn’t know anything about me, but the words won’t come. They stick in my throat and I have to force myself to swallow over the lump they make.

“Look, I just wanted to check on you. You don't have to do anything with what I said,” he says quietly. “But I’ll be around if you need... anything.” He takes a step back, hands still stuffed in his pockets, watching me with a gaze that sees so much more than I want him to.

I want to tell him to go, to leave me alone and let me pretend this never happened. But somehow, I can’t find it in myself to push him away again. I don't have the energy or the desire.

Instead, I nod stiffly, feeling his stare as he takes me in one last time before turning to leave. Right before he steps off the porch, I hear him murmur, almost to himself, “I meant it when I said I’d never hurt you.”

I close the door, leaning against it. Part of me wants to laugh at the absurdity of what just happened, but the other part—the one that feels small and raw and exposed—aches.

Chapter Five

Levi

“Welcometotheteam,man. You killed it out there today.”

I grunt in response and take a sip of my beer. The words come from Ryan, one of my new teammates. The last thing I'd wanted to do was get stuck playing football again, especially for a crappy, broke team like the one here in Easton Creek. Everything from the faded bleachers to the ragged, weed-filled end zones screams disappointment. I know I'm supposed to try to blend in as much as possible, but holy hell, why does it have to be so hard?

It's been a little over three years since my mom and I left my father. Three long years, since we packed a few bags, closed a couple bank accounts and left in the middle of the night. Four moves later and the places we land keep getting worse. Mom insists we need to do everything we can to not draw attention to ourselves—the less visible we are, the harder it will be for him to find us. She's fooling herself, and I don’t have the heart to tell her so.

My father is as smart as he is ruthless. He has a long reach and I have no doubt that he knows exactly where we are. It wouldn't surprise me if us ending up in this hell hole was his idea. He's a master at pulling strings and getting exactly what he wants. To him, the world is a chess board and everyone, including us, is nothing but a pawn.

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