Page 91 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

THE AFTERNOON LIGHT STRETCHES ACROSS the apartment floor like it's searching for something, same as me. While Mike has been on monitor duty, I've been on a break, sitting on my damn bed like some brooding teenager. I've been flipping through the same poetry book, reading the same lines.

My mind has a problem that makes it hard to function: it's clouded from what Londyn told me yesterday. And from the decision I have to make.

Her words keep playing on repeat: Miller, the party, the people on stage, getting kidnapped, assaulted, released and then threatened.Jesus.My hands clench around the book spine as rage threatens to surface again. But beneath the anger is uncertainty. She went through hell, and now she's asking for a weekend alone.

Is she really ready? Am I?

I set the book on the floor next to my bed, then I walk to the tiny window. Outside, Manhattan goes about its business. A delivery truck blocks traffic while the driver argues with someone about a parking spot. A woman pushes a stroller around the chaos, her face tight with irritation. Life is moving forward. People rush from one place to another, never stopping to wonder if they're heading toward something or running from it.

Been wondering that myself a lot lately. My whole life has been about running toward duty, toward the next mission, the next person to protect. But what happens when protecting someone means crossing every line I've drawn?

Through the grimy glass, I scan for anyone suspicious. Where the hell are those Navy Caps? The whole thing doesn't sit right. Miller sent thugs to threaten Londyn after her assault because he's a sick fuck wanting to keep her scared and silent. That behavior checks out. But why the recent surveillance? After what Londyn told me, I can only draw the conclusion that the Navy Caps are the same thugs from California. Miller must've sent them. That's what the evidence says, but…

My jaw tightens. The sophistication bothers me. Those two were more than just hired thugs. They're trained. They're the kind of men a crime boss would have. Miller is involved with human trafficking, but is he the man in charge? Or is he running it for someone else?

Too many open threads.

There are no Navy Caps outside—not that I expected to find one—and nothing suspicious. I do spot a couple on the sidewalk. The guy is carrying grocery bags while the woman beside him is laughing at something on her phone. Normal. Easy. The kind of uncomplicated connection I've never really had. The kind Londyn deserves after everything she's been through.

What an amazing woman and so fucking strong. She showed so much courage as she shared the ugliest parts of her story yesterday. And the way she trusted me with her pain…

But what if we shouldn't have this weekend? What if she woke up this morning and changed her mind?

Before I decide anything, I need confirmation again, especially since this is such a delicate thing. I grab my phone and shoot her a quick text.

Me:You sure?

It's not much but I'm sure she'll know what I'm asking.

Londyn:Yes. Friday at 8.

So it's up to me then.

I either keep my distance or agree to whatever she has planned. Whatever sheneeds.

I run my tongue over my teeth, tasting the bitter remnants of this morning's green tea and all my unspoken doubts. If I cross this line, if I send Mike home and say yes to whatever Londyn wants, there's definitely no going back. I'll have broken every code of professional conduct I've ever followed.

But isn't that line already smudged? I kissed her. I've touched her. I've watched her pleasure herself while thinking of me. I've promised her 'anything.'

I offered to kill someone, for fuck's sake.

That promise is heavy. In that moment, staring at her tears, I would have done it. I would've hunted Miller down and ended him with my bare hands. The darkness of that impulse should scare me more than it does.

Maybe I'm just tired of men like him ruining the world.

Maybe I want Londyn to know she never has to fear seeing him again.

I press a palm against the warm window glass, feeling a burning ache in my chest that's too familiar. My body is voting against me. This isn't just desire for an incredible woman, though there's plenty of that pulsing through me with enough force to detonate a grenade. This is something deeper.

Last night, I hardly slept. Just stared at the ceiling and thought about how she might look waking up beside me. What her hairwould feel like spread across my chest. How her laugh would sound when it's free and open.

I'm already too far gone.

The military and my security work have always given me structure and purpose, but they've never given me what I really need, which is someone to share the quiet moments with. I need someone whose face lights up when I walk into a room and who chooses me, day after day, because they want to.

I need connection and somewhere to belong.

This is such a dangerous place for me to be, right between my duty and what I've always craved.

---