Page 47 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

"'Client' sounds so formal. But yes, your client wants you to break the fingers of men who touch without permission. It'll teach them not to do that."

His laugh deepens and he runs a hand through his hair. The heavy energy between us finally retreats. I'm happy. We were both being too serious, so this feels much better.

I'm expecting this lightness to last, but his expression suddenly drops. The lines in his face are back to standing out as he's etched with a remorse that seems to run bone-deep.

Without thinking, I reach out, gently touching the back of his hand. The contact is electric; his skin is warm beneath my fingertips as it pulses through the subtle ridge of veins.

This is the second time I've wanted to touch a man in six years. Both times it's been Sean. I guess it shows how comfortable I am around him, despite my brain's attempts to deter me.

"I'm happy you intervened," I say softly. "Thank you. I'm really happy you were there and I wasn't by myself."

His fingers twitch beneath mine, like he wants to turn his hand over. Or maybe I'm imagining it. Either way, the moment passes, and I return my hand to my lap.

"You were terrified of me," he says. "You can understand why I think I acted too aggressively and scared you. I've also noticed you have some level of unease around me. If I'm going to protect you, I need to know why. Your past is your past, and I'm not trying to dig into it. I only need a better understanding so I can do my job."

I swallow hard, knowing he's right, though I wish he wasn't. The truth sits heavy on my tongue—the full, ugly reality of what happened to me. But I can't speak it. Not ever. Not to anyone. Instead, I search for a version that's true enough without leaving me exposed.

"You, um…" I begin, then falter. I start again. "You remind me of someone from my past. A man who was… verbally abusive." The lie tastes bitter because it diminishes what actually happened,but it's all I can offer. "There's no rational explanation, but I see his face when I look at you. It's not your fault. It's me. Just my brain playing tricks."

"How so?"

I gesture vaguely toward his head. "It's the way you style your hair, I think. Something about your cheeks, your jaw, but mostly hair. The man from my past isn't Asian, there's just… a resemblance." I let out a brittle, deflated laugh. "Or my brain is crazy and seeing things. Probably the latter." I look down at my hands like they have a better explanation. They don't. "I'm really sorry. You haven't done anything wrong. I mean that, and I still trust you."

The silence that follows stretches uncomfortably thin. I can feel Sean's gaze on me, that uncanny sense that he's reading between the lines, seeing the paragraphs I've tried to delete. It's like he knows that the man from my past did more than just verbally abuse me.

He doesn't try to dig into the full truth. Instead, he asks, "So my hair is the same?"

"Yeah. The same cut, color, the way you style it. It's mostly that I think. Just reminds me of Alan, or—"Damnit.I bite my tongue. I never wanted to say his name out loud. Saying his name gives him too much humanity when all he'll ever be is a devil.

Sean stands, the movement fluid despite the tension I can see coiled in his muscular back. "Thanks for explaining it," he says. "And if I did scare you, I'm really sorry."

"You didn't. I liked that you—"

"Get some rest. Goodnight."

Before I can say anything else, he's gone, the door closing behind him with finality. I hear each lock turn from the outside because he and Mike have their own set of keys in case they need to rush in for a rescue. They're my security guards, so it makes perfect sense. But the thought of someone else being able to enter ignites a momentary flash of scene-stealing panic.

Then I remind myself it's Sean. Just Sean.

He's a gentleman and only dislocates fingers, while I'm the barbarian ready to break them.

I sink back into the couch, replaying our conversation. I tried to explain myself, but I worry he still thinks he did something wrong. In reality, my heart is touched by how quickly he appeared and handled Marcus. I loved his protectiveness.

For years, I've been my own sentinel, my own guard. Tonight showed me there's another possibility, one where I'm not completely alone in watching for threats.

I run my fingers over my book, determined to get another chapter finished because tomorrow night is our book club meeting. Tomorrow will be awkward. I'll need to find a way to make Sean truly understand that his intervention wasn't the problem. My reaction was. Beneath the panic and the flashbacks, I was grateful.

He needs to know I like having him near.

Chapter 15

SEAN

THE STREETS OF MANHATTAN ARE crowded with the usual lunch rush: suits power-walking while talking into AirPods, tourists standing in the middle of sidewalks to take photos, delivery guys on bikes weaving through it all like they've got a death wish. I'm just another body in the current, except I'm swimming upstream.

Mike's face when I told him I had a 'quick personal errand' was priceless. The guy can't hide his thoughts for shit. I could practically hear him wondering what I might be doing because I'm never so shady.

I let him think whatever. Better than explaining the real reason.

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