Page 94 of Beautiful Scars

"That won’t be a problem." I can’t help the slight smirk that plays at my mouth. "Sunny and I spent most of the night... uh, working things out."

I watch as Z's pen stills mid-sentence. His eye twitches—a tiny tell that most people would miss, but I know him well enough to spot it. The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees.

"Working things out?" His voice is carefully neutral, but I can see his knuckles turning white where he grips the pen.

"Yeah," I continue, knowing I’m acting like a jerk. "It was really, really good for both of us." I let the implication hang in the air.

Z finally looks up, his eyes flat. "As long as you remember this isn’t about you getting what you want. This is about keeping her safe."

"Like I'd forget," I shoot back. "Don't worry. She's in good hands. I'll make sure she'sverywell taken care of."

The pen in his hand snaps, and I feel a surge of satisfaction that I’ve gotten under his skin.

The silence stretches between us, heavy with words we're both holding back. I know Z is thinking about Sunny wearing his clothes, sleeping in his room. Just like he knows I’m thinking about our shared history, about how she was mine first.

"Look," Z says finally, his voice tight. "We both know this isn’t the time for... complications."

"Complications?" I laugh, but there isn't any humor in it. "That’s what we’re calling this?"

"She needs space. To figure out who she is without either of us pushing for more." He meets my eyes steadily. "You know I’m right."

I know. It doesn’t make it any easier to watch her gravitate toward him, though. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"I don't like it either," Z replies, and for a moment I hear the strain in his voice that matches my own.

Before I can respond, movement at the door catches my attention. Sunny stands there, drowsy and rumpled from sleep, wearing another one of Z’s damn shirts that hangs almost to her knees. Her hair is a mess of honey-blonde tangles, and she blinks at us sleepily.

My chest tightens at the sight of her, both from want and from the knowledge that Z's the one she came looking for first this morning.

"Morning," she mumbles, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room. "Is there coffee?"

I watch Z’s expression soften as he looks at her, and my jaw clenches. Yeah, we’re both stuck alright. Stuck watching each other watch her.

After Sunny leaves to shower and change, I head downstairs to wait. My mind keeps circling back to last night—how much it took for her to let me hold her hand, how hard she has to work to relax with me. A lifetime of hurt doesn’t disappear overnight, no matter how much I wish it would. Every small victory feels huge, but we have a long way to go, and not much time to get there.

The living room feels too small for my restless energy. I pace, trying to figure out how we’re going to make this look convincing without pushing things too far, too fast. Everything in me wants to protect her, but here I am, about to ask her to put herself in harm's way. The irony isn't lost on me.

When Sunny appears in the doorway, hair damp and wearing her own clothes for once, my chest tightens. I stop my pacing and sink onto the couch, relaxing and trying to make my posture less threatening. She looks smaller today. More vulnerable.

"Hey," she says softly, hovering uncertainly at the edge of the room. The distance between us feels loaded with everything we’ve been through, everything we still need to work through.

I hold out my hand, palm up, letting her choose whether to take it. "Come here?"

She studies my face for a moment, then my hand, before crossing to me. Her smaller hand slides into mine, and the trust in that simple gesture makes my heart clench.

"Just this for now?" I ask quietly, running my thumb over her knuckles. "We can take it slow."

"Yeah," she whispers, and I feel her fingers relax in mine. "This is nice."

"You’re shaking a little," I murmur, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "We don’t have to do any of this if it’s too much. We can figure something else out."

She shakes her head, taking a small step closer. "No, I want to try. I trust you here."

That damn qualifier at the end. What she meant to say, but didn’t, is that she trusts me as long as she knows Z isn't too far away. Fuck.

I tug her hand gently, drawing her closer until she’s standing between my knees. "Tell me if you want to stop, okay?"

My free hand moves slowly to her waist, barely touching, giving her time to pull away. Instead, she lets out a shaky breath and leans slightly into my touch.

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