Page 88 of Painted Scars
“That you’re halfway in love with her and three-quarters fucked over it.” He throws the ball at me hard.
I catch it with a grunt, my hands clenching tighter than they need to.
Outrunning the countdown ticking in my head is impossible. Eventually, I’ll have to take off my helmet and show her the man she used to know. The one who let her down when her world fellapart. Who left her to rebuild alone, in the name of protecting her. I called it strategy and sacrifice. I was a fucking coward. Afraid that personal attachments would weaken my purpose, when it’s done the opposite. My feelings for her have sharpened my aim.
I’ve spent too long denying myself and my team any sliver of happiness for the sake of a cause that was meant to mean something. Somewhere along the way, I stopped being a man and became a weapon for vengeance. Kate reminds me to feel. Strips away the armor that numbs me. Shows me that I want more. Deserve a slice of heaven in this hell surrounding us.
I want to believe that what we’re building now is strong enough to survive. Deep down, I know better, and that’s why I’m delaying the inevitable. The truth has a way of leveling everything. If she looks at me, eyes shining with betrayal at the ghost who failed her, I don’t know if I’ll survive. She built a wall to protect herself. I built mine to protect everyone. I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me. I’m terrified that this time, she’ll be the one to walk away.
Grayson’s voice hauls me back from the edge. “Tell her before it gets too late, August.”
My body ices over.
We wander back to the bunker, him to change, and me to get him back safely. I leave him there, rolling in guilt, and type out a text to Glitter Bomb.
I miss you already.
Delete.
Wish I could sleep beside you.
Sappy. Delete.
Me: Something came up. Won’t make it back tonight. I can’t fix it with fists and fire. Don’t wait up.
Kate: Everything okay?
I swallow at the lump in my throat.
Me: I hate being away from you. Just tired. Need to clear my head.
Ice in my blood sinks into my bones as I ride home. I fire up the furnace to warm up and fashion something that will fix this. Hours later, when it reaches temperature, my home workshop hums with the burners combusting the gas in the furnace, melting the glass. Orange fire glows inside like a reopened wound.
My jacket’s slung over the chair, helmet tossed on the workbench, weighing more than my guilt. My sleeves are rolled. I need my hands steady, but they shake with dread as I remove the melted blue glass from the belly. I watch it stretch and soften before I begin to work with it, using the metal arms of the jacks to refine the shape.
Kate wears her colors like a mask, Cinderella wearing a spell.
Inspired by our fairy tale—or upcoming nightmare—I fashion her a rainbow pumpkin of tangerine, lemon, blue, with veins of violet and pink running through it. Unlike me, this ornament can be salvaged if I don’t get it right, and I pour my damn soul into it. I pinch the glass into the desired ridges of the vegetable. It shapes up to be one of my best creations as I tease out the stalk and cut off any residual with shears.
When it’s finished, I sit and stare at it. I’m the grumpy prince under a spell. The glass slipper. The illusion. It’s only a matter of time before midnight hits, and the truth shatters our fragile bond, and she walks away. And no fairy godmother is coming to wave her wand and save me.
CHAPTER 24 - KATE
The living room looks like a confetti cannon exploded with cardboard, packing tape, bubble wrap, clothing, and stickers. Boxes teeter on the edge of my floor, sofa, coffee table, and TV unit. Shipping labels coat the carpet like snow, and there’s glitter in places it shouldn’t be, like Josh’s coat. This is the last remaining vestige of space after my office is crammed with packed boxes, and my kitchen table’s been usurped by stacks of bookish mugs, piles of sweaters, hoodies, and a new t-shirt Harper designed weeks ago.
We’ve got a factory assembly line happening. Charlie’s perched on the floor, surrounded by a swarm of metallic gold envelopes, handwritten thank-you cards in her cute, curly script. She tucks smutty stickers, sprinkles glitter like she’s a book fairy and drops a pamphlet for her wig company into the envelopes. Glitter smears her forehead where she wipes it and dusts her fiery wig. She hums to the Celine Dion soundtrack playing in the background.
Harper’s folding hoodies, sweaters, and shirts with brutal efficiency, wrapping them in tissue paper. Earbuds pump death metal into her ears to cleanse her ears of emotional ballads.Turns out, her new design, theThick Thighs and Stalker Vibeshoodie, is our best seller, outperforming the rest by three hundred percent.
She twitches each time glitter leaks onto her. “If one more speck of glitter touches me, I’m suing you, cupcake.”
Charlie and I giggle.
“Blasphemous wench!” I throw a dick plushie at her. “I’m revoking three Lachlan Kane points!”
“I’m seriously reconsidering our friendship,” Harper mutters.
“Love you too,” I tease.
