Page 13 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

I can do that. I have some savings left from when I was on TV and getting paid well. I can afford security for a few weeks. Because even if I am just paranoid, even if it's all in my head, I can't keep living in this perpetual state of fight-or-flight.

I'm tired of being my own unreliable narrator.

Chapter 5

SEAN

THIS SECURITY CONFERENCE IS A maze of corporate exhibits and overeager salespeople who act like they're selling the cure for death instead of fancy tech shit. I've been fake smiling so much my face hurts, which is ironic since I usually get paid to look intimidating, not approachable. But hey, at least I'm getting a workout.

When I texted my mom about my aching cheeks, she responded in Korean, saying something like:Oh! Smiling is good for you! Helps your resting intimidation face, honey rice cake!

I rolled my eyes; if clients knew the dumb baby names she calls me, I wouldn't come across as so intimidating. But also, I have to completely disagree with her. I'm intimidating atwork, but I can be very charming in the right situation.

I shift my weight as I'm standing behind the NexaProtect booth, really wishing they'd let me read or listen to an audiobook. Four hours of being NexaProtect's living, breathing advertisement has left me desperate for a break.

This morning, I stood on stage like some kind of trained attack dog while Davis gave his presentation. Davis is the current CEO who took over after Declan stepped down. Thankfully, I didn't have to speak. I only needed to stand there looking capable of disassembling a threat with my bare hands while Davis talked about expanding NexaProtect's personal security division. Honestly, he held the stage like he was Steve Jobs introducing the Next Big Thing.

"And this is what sets us apart," he'd said, his sharp but friendly brown eyes bouncing to me for a second. "Our personnel aren't just physically capable. They're strategically trained to anticipate threats before they materialize."

Translation:Look at this guy. He can probably kill you with a paperclip, but he's house-trained.

Then he went through my credentials, which embarrassed the hell out of me. I'm not someone who likes attention, but I stood there, resting-intimidation-face on display, while Davis went down the list.

"Eight years in the Marines," he started. "Got picked up for a Special Reaction Team. CQB, high-risk entry, counterterror operations. Spent his last couple years on Personal SecurityDetail, protecting officers and foreign dignitaries in unstable regions. He left as a Staff Sergeant."

Davis paused and people clapped. I focused on a point in the distance, staring at the back wall and trying to forget a few hundred eyes were on me.

"He didn't slow down after leaving the Corps, though. He's a certified Executive Protection Specialist. Close Protection Level Four, UK standard. Trained in threat assessment and risk management. Firearms and tactical training… Basically, if there's a threat, Sean sees it coming before you even know you should be worried."

Ireallyhated that last statement. I like Davis, but that comment is no longer true. And since that presentation, people keep coming up to NexaProtect's booth to ask if they can hire me, offering obscene amounts of money. Each time, I politely decline, telling them I'm not available but NexaProtect has plenty of other personal security agents with a background similar to mine.

Or, people walk by and simply say, "Thank you for your service."

I know they're trying to be kind, but I keep thinking,Thank me for what?

Thank me for the French diplomat I was supposed to protect in Baghdad, the one who's paralyzed from the waist down because I misread the security landscape? We had four differentevacuation routes planned. I chose the wrong one. The IED was strategically placed exactly where I led our convoy.

Thank me for the civilians, a mother and her two children, who got killed when our squad moved through their village? I was the one who cleared that building. I was the one who said it was safe. I was fuckingwrong.

It doesn't matter if my record has hundreds of successful assignments with only a few errors—something everyone, including higher officers, said was remarkable and above average. When it comes to people's lives, fuck-ups should bezero.

The people with good intentions coming to the booth today don't know what this job actually means. They see the credentials, the posture, the heroism. But they don't understand how each assignment gets heavier and heavier. They don't see what happens when you make the wrong call. They don't understand that this isn't about looking impressive or having tactical skills. It's about the weight of someone else's life balanced on your judgment.

And the violence… one person's nervous system can only take so much. Any situation can go from calm to horrific in an instant, and certain gory visuals you just can't forget. I wake up in cold sweats, just remembering.

My previous client, Wunmi, left a particularly nasty tear in my heart.

I catch the gaze of a man in a suit who is approaching the booth. His eyebrows are raised like they're resting on top of all the questions in his head, and his lips curve up more and more the closer he gets to me. He's bursting at the seams. I just know he's going to bombard me, asking if I know martial arts, if I can do security for his company event, teach his current security team how to be proactive. Whatever's on his mind, I can't bear to give another canned response.

"Hey," I tell Patricia, one of the employees working the booth. "Cool if I take a break? Really need to get some air."

Her head bobs. "Of course, Sean! You've worked so hard and been so helpful. Thank you. Yes, please go take a break." She flashes a smile and nods.

I grab my jacket and walk away from the booth before the guy in the suit reaches it. Weaving through the crowd, I slip my leather jacket on, covering my black polo that has NexaProtect's logo on it. I expected this exhibition hall to be warm from all the body heat, but someone must've cranked the AC to 'Arctic Tundra' because it's chilly. I don't mind since it gives me an excuse to wear my jacket and attempt to look like any other attendee wandering the floor.

Just a normal guy. Not responsible for anyone's safety.

A shoulder jabs my arm as I'm lost in thought.

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