Page 86 of Beautiful Scars

Steam rises from the bowl of soup, carrying memories of easy laughter in the kitchen. The bread is still warm, golden-brown and perfect. Such a simple gesture of care, but it makes my eyes burn with fresh tears.

I carry the tray to the small desk by the window, sinking into the chair. The soup is exactly what I need—warm, comforting.

But it does nothing to stop the questions I can't let go of. How am I supposed to face either of them? How do I reconcile the Levi I knew, the Levi who left me, and the man who claims he never stopped loving me? How do I trust the things I feel about Zane when everything is such a mess?

For now, I don't have to decide anything. For now, I can just exist in this room and let tomorrow's problems wait until tomorrow.

But I know I can't hide forever. Eventually, I'll have to face them both. Face these feelings. Face myself.

The sun sets outside my window, painting the room in soft shadows. I finish every drop of soup, every crumb of bread, grateful for a small bit of comfort in the middle of all the chaos.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Sunny

I'msittinginthewindow seat watching a couple men work on fixing a stretch of fence in the distance. It's been more than twenty-four hours since Levi got here. Since I told him I hated him. I still haven't worked up the nerve to leave my room.

The words still taste bitter in my mouth.

Sleep comes in waves, dragging me under then spitting me back out. My dreams blur with memories until I can't tell which is which anymore. Levi finding me. Levi leaving me. Z’s quiet knock on the door every few hours pulls me back from both.

This room feels both too small and too big. Four walls closing in on me while the space between them stretches out endlessly. I hate being trapped here, but where else can I go? My apartment isn't safe. The club isn't safe. Nowhere is safe.

I roll over, pulling my—Z's— shirt tight around me. It's comforting and I hate that it helps.

A sketchbook that Chase slid under the door for me sits unopened on the desk along with the pencils he gave me. I should draw, lose myself in the familiar motion of pencil on paper. But my hands feel empty, useless. Like they belong to someone else.

Footsteps approach my door again. Not Z's usual quiet tread—these are heavier, purposeful. A knock follows.

"Sunny." Z's deep voice carries through the wood. "I know you’re probably not ready to come out yet."

I stay silent, curled on my side.

"Wolf and I were working in the basement, bringing up some boxes." He pauses. "We found some… things. Things you need to see."

My heart stutters. What could they have possibly found that I need to see? I can't imagine anything good coming up from a basement in a place like this.

"I won't push," Z continues. "But it's important. When you're ready, come find me. I'll be in the office down the hall."

His footsteps retreat, leaving me alone with the weight of his words.

I close my eyes, trying to sort through the chaos in my head. Part of me wants to stay here, locked behind a door where nothing can touch me. Where I don't have to face Levi or my past or whatever Z found in that basement.

My fingers trace the wildflower tattoo wrapping around my ribs. The artist who did it said flowers represent rebirth. Growth from decay. Beauty from pain. I wanted so badly to believe that.

Z's words echo in my head. Things you need to see.

Need, not want. Z chooses his words carefully. If he says I need to see something, he means it.

I drag myself up, muscles protesting after hours of stillness. My reflection in the mirror shows a stranger—hollow eyes, tangled hair, borrowed shirt hanging loose on my frame.

This isn't me. This isn't who I am.

I splash water on my face, run fingers through my hair until it looks less wild. I grab another T-shirt from the drawer and slide it on. It'll have to do for clothes, I'm not ready to face anyone long enough to ask for anything else.

The hallway stretches endless before me when I finally open the door. Voices drift up from downstairs—Wolf and Chase discussing the last shift change, Ty's laugh, the clatter of dishes. Normal sounds that feel anything but normal right now.

I pad silently down the hall to the office, bare feet silent on worn wood. The door stands half-open, warm light spilling out. Z sits at his desk, head bent over something I can't see.

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