Beautiful Scars (12 page)

Stunned, he stared, the blood roaring in his ears, his heart wrenching in his chest.

Cancer…you had cancer and you never told me
.

Tearing his gaze from her chest, he stared into her eyes. Swallowing, he rasped out, “When?”

“I had the mastectomy just over three years ago. Right before the divorce was final, incidentally.” She threw the shirt down and sauntered over to the chair, flinging her long, lean body down in it, and stared at him, her chin propped on her fist. “As you can see, Marc, I’m pretty damn damaged.”

“The hell you are,” he growled, stalking over to her. He should have pounded Tim into a bloody, bruised pulp. Going to his knees next to her chair, he went to say something, but found himself staring at the scars again. At the tattoo. At the marks of the pain, the fear she must have suffered…alone. At the mark she’d given herself. How she’d survived. Risen above it. “He divorced you over this.”

“Oh, he didn’t divorce me because of the mastectomy,” she said, her voice lazy. But the glint in her eyes was weird, a hard, almost manic little light. “He divorced me because he didn’t really love me. I didn’t really love him, either, so that’s fair. Things had been rough between us for a while. Still, it might have been nice if he’d stuck it out with me until I was through the treatments, the surgery. But he didn’t want to deal with me being sick. Maybe losing my hair—that really worried him. And I did. Man, he would have loathed that. But what really bothered him was the freak I’d be when the surgery was done… I lost everything, as you can see. It was pretty advanced and the only way to save me was to take it all. He didn’t want to live with a deformed freak.”

Snaking his hand out, he clamped it around the back of her neck and tugged her in, slanting his mouth over hers. “Stop,” he rasped against her lips. “You’re not a freak. You’re not…”

And to his disgust, he felt something burning his eyes.

Shoving upright, he started to pace. “How in the hell didn’t I know about this?” he demanded, turning to glare at her. “Shit, Chaili, you’re one of the few people I actually consider a
real
friend and I don’t hear about something like this? What the hell?”

“Maybe you would have…if you were ever here.” She shrugged and crossed one leg over the other. “But you weren’t. After you left for the ’09 tour, it was eleven months before you came back home and by then, the surgery was done. What do you think I should have done? Whip up my shirt on one of the rare times you came by to see your sister?”

“I…” Groaning, he covered his face with his hands. Yeah. He’d stayed away for a long time because it was easier. He’d fucked up so often, and it was so much easier just to hide from his life. He’d fucked up with Lily. And there was the fiasco from a few years earlier with another girlfriend he hadn’t ever told anybody about, not even his sister. His lawyer knew, but that was it.

Shera had warned him about Lily. She’d tried her hardest, he had to give her that.

He hadn’t listened.

He’d gotten himself screwed over.

And the worst part was he knew he deserved it.

Why should he come home and try to have any kind of life when all he did was screw it up?

Still…

He hadn’t come home and he’d spent years missing one of his closest friends and because of it, he’d ended up missing something that he damned well should have known about. Cancer, for fuck’s sake. She had cancer.

And she’d been alone.

He stopped by the back window, staring out over the backyard. “You were alone through the whole damn thing, weren’t you?”

The rigid line of his shoulders, the way his voice was gruffer than normal had her heart shuddering a little. She couldn’t block out how his voice affected her, but if she didn’t look at him, maybe, just maybe she could get through this. Looking away, she said, “No. I wasn’t alone. Shera was there. She hired extra help at the office so she could be around.” Glancing over the apartment, she added, “She offered me the apartment here. I…well, I was looking for a place but…” The pride she’d had to swallow so often over the past few years crept up. She wasn’t going into that with him. No way. No how. “It was just easier, being around somebody. She tried to give me some lame excuse that it would save her from having deadbeats trying to rent the place, but I think we both needed each other then. I never meant for it to be long term but here I am.”

Broke. Busting her ass to pay the medical bills. But mostly at peace with things, she guessed.

Or she had been. And then she’d made that fatal mistake a week ago. Reaching for something she was never meant to have, even if it was just for a little while.

A hand closed over her knee. Startled, she swung her gaze around and realized Marc had come back to her. Golden eyes, burning with intensity, stared into hers. “I hate that I didn’t know. I hate that you didn’t have somebody with you.”

“I did. Shera—”

“It’s not the same.” His lip curled, a disgusted look on his face. “That son of a bitch walked when you needed him most. I never liked that bastard…you deserved so much better, but I never thought he was that low, to leave you when you’d need somebody the most.”

She watched as his gaze dipped back to her chest and she fought the urge to pull her shirt back on. She’d come to grips with how she looked. She wasn’t going to cringe away from her appearance. Still, this was worse than being stripped bare. Worse than being naked. She couldn’t handle seeing pity in his eyes and she couldn’t handle it if she saw repulsion either.

Falling back on the mocking humor that had been her shield for so long, she smirked at him. “It’s a pretty sight, isn’t it? Not hard to understand why he didn’t want to hang around when this was going to be the end result.”

“Stop it.”

“I mean, I was never exactly stacked. I barely even filled out an A cup, but these days—
hey, damn it
!” She went from sprawling on the couch to half sprawled against his chest. His hand cupped the back of her neck and the gold in his eyes all but sparked with anger. “Damn it, what in the hell is your problem?”

Instead of answering that question, Marc banded an arm around her waist, locking her against him before he asked a question of his own. “Tell me something…how did you get hooked up with that stupid fuck? He doesn’t deserve you. Didn’t then, doesn’t now. How did the two of you happen?”

Chaili tried for one second to twist away from him before going still, glaring at him. “What?”

“I want to know. How did the two of you get together? Why did you marry him? You already told me you didn’t love him. So why marry him?”

“We met through a couple of friends,” she snapped. “He asked me out, I said yes. We were compatible. After a few months, he asked me to marry him and I said yes. No, I didn’t love him and, no, he didn’t love me and we never pretended otherwise. But we clicked in other areas and that worked for us.”

His eyes narrowed. “You settled for compatible. Shit, Chaili. What in the hell does that mean, anyway?”

“It means I wasn’t going to get what I really wanted, so I might as well be with somebody who could make me happy enough. It wasn’t perfect but so what?” She couldn’t look at him while she talked about this. If she did, he was going to see what it was she
did
want.
Who
she wanted. All but dying inside for want of him, it seemed.

His hand traced up her back and she shivered, her lashes drifting shut. One finger stroked over one of the scars along her side. All the scars were neat, faded now, but they were still scars. Still harsh reminders. She didn’t even look like a boy. Skin stretched tight over her ribs. A few of the women she knew through the support groups had gotten breast reconstruction, but it wasn’t an option for her and she doubted she’d bother with it even if she could afford it.

“You should go after who you want, not what’s available,” he whispered, pressing his lips against her shoulder.

Yeah. She’d tried that. Had ended with her heart shattered in her hands this last time around. And the first time she’d tried to go after Marc, he’d all but patted her on the head.

Of course,
now
those strong hands were stroking over her body, one palm curving over her ass. The other hand fisted in her hair and dragged her head back. “Just how were you compatible, Chaili?” he whispered, staring into her eyes.

She felt the dull rush of blood creeping up her cheeks as he watched her. Chaili wasn’t ashamed of what she liked. Not now. She had been, for a while. But after the hell she’d gone through with the diagnosis, the surgery, the treatment, all the while dealing with a divorce…she knew who she was.

But it was unsettling, to say the least, to discuss something like this.

“Oh, come on,” she said, shooting for a smart-ass smile. “You heard him. I’ve got a thing for being hit. You probably noticed I get off on being bossed around too. He has a thing for spanking and giving orders. We were a decent match.”

As he lifted a hand, traced it down her shoulder, down her arm until he could catch her wrist, he said gruffly, “A thing for being hit. Chaili…there’s a difference between what you want and being hit.” He braceleted her wrist, drew it behind her back. Repeated it on the other side. Securing both of her wrists in one hand, he used his hold on her to tug her back, bowing her spine as he bent forward and pressed his lips to the center of the tattoo, where the wings flared out from the ribbon. “If he thinks ‘being hit’ is giving you what you need, then he’s a clueless dick. You settled, baby girl, and you settled awful damn low.”

Her breath hitched in her throat as she stared at his bent head. His lips feathered over the delicate lines and swirls of the tattoo, the flare of the wings. Heat flooded her, rising from her chest, spreading up over her neck to suffuse her face.

I shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t be sitting here with him…
Blood pulsed inside her veins, a hot, teasing sensation that was far more erotic that she could recall experiencing before.

When he shifted his attention to the scars, though, she tried to twist away.

His free arm caught her, pinned her in place.

“Just how did he make you feel? Did he make you happy?” he whispered before he used his tongue to trace the line of one neat, pale scar.

“We gave each other what we needed,” she said, trying for casual but failing. Her voice skipped, caught.

“No. You scratched an itch,” Marc said, moving to the other scar. “I’ll give you what you need. What you want… Things you probably don’t let yourself think about.”

“Hmmm. Arrogant, much?” She blinked her eyes. Damn it, she wasn’t suddenly seeing him through a veil of tears. That wasn’t happening. And he
wasn’t
right. She’d been okay with Tim. She’d been happy. For a while, at least.

Swallowing around the knot swelling in her throat, she jeered at him as he reached up and stroked his thumb along one of her scars, tracing to where it ran under her arm before it ended. “What’s up, Marc? You want a freaky fuck for your memory book?”

“It’s not going to work, Chaili. You’re trying to push me away. I’m not going anywhere.” From under his lashes, he continued to stroke the scar, as though he was learning it by touch. “This doesn’t faze me. Doesn’t bother me.”

“That’s why you can’t stop staring,” she said sourly. “Why you can’t seem to stop petting the damn things. You got a scar fetish?”

“I can’t stop staring at you. Don’t want to stop touching. And I just might have a fetish, but it’s not about the damn scars.” He used his hold on her wrists to bring her closer, sinking his teeth into her lower lip until she gasped.

Then she shuddered as he licked the small hurt and sucked it into his mouth. “You’re expecting me to stare,” he said, his voice flat and unyielding. “That’s why you did this… You wanted me to stare, wanted to shock the hell out of me and make me freak and run.”

Abruptly, he let go of her wrists and caught her head between his hands, slanted his mouth over hers. Against her lips, he rasped, “I’m not running…got that?”

When he kissed her, she opened for him, unable to do anything else.

When he stood, supporting her weight with his own, she wrapped her legs around his waist and clung to him.

And when he lifted his head, long moments later, she tried to pull him back to her. If he would just never, ever stop kissing her, maybe she wouldn’t have to think. Maybe she wouldn’t have to worry and maybe she wouldn’t have to think about how damned scared she was. About how screwed up she still was…after all this time.

She’d thought she’d dealt with what Tim had done, but damn it, she hadn’t.

Large hands stroked down her back, cupped her ass, squeezing through the denim. “You’re not going to hide this time, Chaili,” he said quietly. “Not again. Not ever.”

There were tears in her eyes, and it hurt his heart to see them. Tears that made her eyes gleam even as she tried to hide them, dipping her head so he wouldn’t see. But he wasn’t letting her hide anything.

Cupping her chin in his hand, he kissed one eye, then the other, before reaching behind him and unhooking her ankles. “No more hiding,” he murmured against her lips.

“And what about you?” she whispered, her hands resting on his waist, kneading the flesh just above his hips restlessly. “You’ve been hiding a hell of a lot too.”