Page 23 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

"Whatever image of me you built up in your head isn't real. I'm sorry."

I wonder if something happened to make him doubt himself. He saved my coworker, and Mike thinks he's great. I even called NexaProtect to ask about him once I returned home from Cali.He has a ton of credentials and he's their top elite security guard. Everyone else says he's amazing, so why doesn't he feel that way about himself?

The look fades and he's back to grinning at Mike. "I know you're gonna do it," he says, "so let's get it out of the way. Show her your pictures. I think she needs to see more of your teddy bear side."

Mike snorts and then beams like someone told him he won a billion-dollar lottery jackpot. His entire energy shifts and he looks on the verge of bouncing. I'm a bit curious as he pulls his wallet from his jeans and flips it open. It's stuffed with photos that outnumber bills and credit cards.

He hands me the pile and I stumble for words. "Oh, uh…?"

Sean laughs. "He does this to everyone."

I glance down at the picture on top of the pile. It's two little, blond-haired boys sitting in the sand.

"That's Mateo and Noah," Mike tells me, beaming so wide I'm not sure how his face doesn't split. "Seven and eight." He takes that picture away so I can see the next one. It shows the two boys at the park with a beautiful blonde woman. "That's Mona." Mike touches his heart. "She's stunning, isn't she? Love of my life. Married fifteen years."

The stiff line of tension up my spine finally relaxes as I soften into the golden light Mike is now emitting.

"Here's our trip to Disneyland," he continues, chattering away. He goes through picture after picture, adding commentary about his sons being so smart for their age, how they get it from their mom, the amazing things Mona has done for him, like surprise hockey tickets for the Stanley Cup—which, he says, must've cost her months of saving up secretly because he didn't see a big withdrawal from their joint checking—and it was the most surprised he's ever been…

At one point, I glance at Sean and he's smirking at me in that lopsided way that shows one of his canines. I pinch my lips together so I don't smile back at him too much; Mike's monologue is a lot of oversharing but it's also very sweet.

When he's finally done, Mike stuffs the pictures back into his wallet.

"You have a very wonderful family," I say, truly meaning it since his warmth rubbed off on me. Now I'm feeling all gooey inside. "Can I ask why you carry pictures? Why not just ones on your phone?"

He tucks his wallet in his pocket and gives it a meaningful pat. "Photos are tangible. I have thousands of pictures on my phone, but I like having my family here." Another pat. "Feels like they're really with me."

More gooiness. "I think your wife is very lucky to have you."

He turns bashful, looking at his feet. "Thanks. But I'm the lucky one."

"Well," Sean cuts in, "Now that's out of the way, feeling more comfortable?" His eyes crinkle at mine, and I can only stare.

He noticed that much? Saw how completely on-edge I've been? People normally don't notice or care. Raven has been the only one to really anticipate my moods.

If Sean is this observant, what else is he seeing?

I nod, stepping away as the floor beneath me seems to tilt. The protection I've built around myself suddenly feels paper-thin. This man doesn't just observe; hesees.

Being truly seen is the most dangerous of all. That's how people manipulate you.

I swallow, turning away and pretending to study the couch. "So, um, what's next? Do you set up cameras?"

Sean nods. "Yup. Let's look around and talk about it."

Chapter 9

LONDYN

MY APARTMENT FEELS SMALLER WITH them here.

Two men, moving through my space, studying my walls and windows and doors. Opening blinds. Touching things. Looking at 'access points' and measuring the dimensions of my life for 'vulnerabilities.'

They're pointing out a lot of weak spots I never noticed despite my own hypervigilance.

I feel dumb. How did I not notice these things?

"The locks on your front door are solid," Sean says, examining the three deadbolts that make me feel a little safer at night. His long fingers trace along the edge of the door frame, which is a bitold with crumbling paint. "The strike plate could be reinforced. It's the weakest point if someone tried to kick in the door."

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