Beautiful Scars (11 page)

“Son of a bitch, he came,” Jack muttered. He went rigid next to her and he gripped her arm, squeezing excitedly. “And…oh. Shit. I think I just creamed my pants. Babe, I gotta go. Have fun, okay.” He swatted her on the ass and while she stood there, her jaw hanging open, he lost himself in the crowd.

“That’s probably the most action you’ve seen in years,” a low, familiar voice said.

The sound of it was enough to make her skin crawl.

Slowly, she looked up and found herself staring into a pair of eyes that had once made her feel…well, mostly happy. She’d never been ready to dance around on a mountain side when she’d been married to Tim, but she’d been happy enough. She’d thought they suited each other.

And then her life came apart at the seams.

She touched the ring she wore—a ring Shera had given her the day her divorce was final. As she stood there staring at her ex-husband, Chaili remembered what Shera had told her the day her divorce was final. The ring—a twisted band of oxidized silver—was designed around the ruby that had once been part of her wedding set.
It’s a reminder of you…it’s remade. Like you. Only better…silver is stronger than gold, right?

Chaili had worn it every day for the past three years. Remade. Stronger than gold. And maybe a little tarnished.

With a cool smile, she met Tim’s bland gray eyes. “Action…I barely even know what it is,” she drawled. “You did a lousy job teaching me, after all.”

A faint smiled curled his lips and he tipped his glass. “I kind of miss those claws of yours.” Then he glanced over and lifted a hand.

A woman came over, placed her hand in Tim’s and stood there, silently, head bowed. All nice, demure and submissive. The way Tim had wanted her to be.

It wouldn’t have ever happened. Things had started getting dicey between them even before Chaili’s…problem. All because she wouldn’t be his little submissive in all things.

Oh fucking well. Looked like he’d found one. Judging from the look in his eyes, he was waiting for a reaction too. But if he thought the sight of the big-breasted, blonde doll-baby was going to bother her, he needed to get his head examined.

Maybe they were happy together. Not that she cared about Tim being happy, but Tim’s asshole tendencies weren’t this kid’s fault. Holding a hand, she said, “Hi. I’m Chaili. Tim and I were once married. It’s one of the less pleasant facts of my past.”

“Ouch,” Tim joked, resting a hand on his chest. “But there are so many pleasant things we shared before…”

His gaze dropped.

Chaili lifted her glass to her lips, studied him over the rim for a long moment. “You need to watch it, man. You’d hate for me to make a scene, after all.”

“Now, you won’t do that.” He winked at her. “You never were much for public displays, right?”

“You’d be amazed at how things have changed.”

“Chaili.”

The low rasp of
that
voice made her shiver. Oh, now this was just wrong, she thought wearily. Wrong on so many levels. Although she understood now why in the hell Jumping Jack had been yapping about creaming his pants. And eeewww, what an image. Chaili tossed back the rest of the punch, put the glass down and turned to stare into golden eyes.

“Marc.”

He flicked a look past her shoulder and then looked back at her. “Maybe we can have that talk now,” he said.

“What talk?” She gave him a brilliant smile.

“The one you’ve been avoiding for a week.” Holding out a hand, Marc stood there. Waiting.

“Um, is that…?”

“Be quiet, Nina,” Tim said, his voice sour. “Marc. How nice to see you again.”

A scowl darkened Marc’s face and he took another, longer look at Tim. She saw the moment he recognized her ex. The two men hadn’t ever spent much time around each other and she had the impression Marc hadn’t liked her choice in husbands. Looking back, she realized sometimes he showed moments of true wisdom.

“Tim,” he bit off, his voice curt. Then he looked back at her and the hard glint in his eyes softened. “Chaili, please.”

Her heart just wanted to shatter. Or maybe it wanted to melt. She didn’t know. But then she reminded herself. She was done with this. With dreaming about him and—

“Hell, Marc. Why you wasting time on a bitch like her?” Tim said, his voice thick and scathing. “Dude like you, you ought to be dating one of those Kardashian babes or some starlet or something. Chaili’s damaged goods, you know.”

Shame hit her hard. Fast. But even as it came on, she shoved it down. Anger bit into her.
Damaged?
Staring at her ex-husband, she could have kicked herself for even letting herself
feel
ashamed.
Damaged
?

She didn’t even realize she was moving until she’d already snatched the glass from Marc’s hand and tossed the contents into Tim’s face.

His face went red. She curled her lip at him and saw him moving, braced herself to block the punch she saw coming, but she was pushed out of the way and two seconds later, Tim was on the ground, one big, angry man crouched over him.

Damaged goods
—

Blood roared in his ears and he didn’t know what had him more enraged. The fact that this son of a mother-fucking
bitch
had been that close to hitting Chaili, or what he’d just said about her.

“I ever see you lift a hand to her,” he whispered, bending down until he was speaking directly into Tim’s ear. “I’m going to gut you. And I’ll do it slow, my man. You hear me?”

Tim panted, his face still red, eyes snapping with fury. “Hell, she
likes
it when a man raises his hand to her, don’t you know that?” He tried to smile, but it fell apart. “Come on, buddy. I’ve seen where you go. I’ve been to Blue’s too. I know what you like…haven’t you figured out what she’s into yet? She likes it.”

“Oh, now that was the completely wrong thing to say,” Marc purred, his hand curling into a fist, muscles bunching. He could see the color red—splashing in his mind as he plowed a fist into Tim’s face. Red, one of the colors he saw pretty well, and just then he wanted to see it damn bad, spreading out in a fountain over Tim’s face. “I’m not going to wait to hurt you. I’m just going to do it now.”

“Stop it, Marc.”

It was probably the only voice that could have gotten through to him.

Slowly, he dragged his eyes away from the man he really wanted to beat bloody and stared into Chaili’s face. She was crouched by Tim’s head, her elbows resting on her knees. As he stared at her, she shook her head. “Don’t. If you do, it’s just going to cause you more trouble and you get enough of that on your own. You don’t need to pick up
my
trouble.”

Her vivid eyes rested on his, steadily. And she wasn’t trying to get away from him.

Okay.

Blinking, he blew out a breath and looked back into Tim’s face. Damn it, he wanted to see him bleed.

“You don’t want me to hit him,” he said slowly.

“No.”

“Shit.” Letting go of Tim’s shirt, he remained crouched over him for a minute. “You want to watch what you say, what you do. Shut the hell up, don’t look at her…don’t speak to her. Don’t speak
about
her.” Then he made himself look away from Tim before he did what he so badly wanted to do. As he straightened, he kept his eyes focused on Chaili, staring at her, only at her. “Leave with me. Talk to me.”

“Ahh…” She backed away a step.

He narrowed his eyes and glanced down at Tim who was scrambling his way to his feet. “Well, I can always finish what I started, I guess.”

Chaili rolled her eyes. “Now that’s just juvenile.”

“Fine. I’m juvenile. It will feel damn good.”

“Damn it, people are watching,” Chaili hissed, stepping in closer.

“Like I give a flying fuck.” He tossed her a reckless grin.

“You stupid son of a bitch.” She continued to glare at him.

But as he took a step away, she caught his hand. “Fine.” She glanced around and gave her ex-husband a mock look of concern. “Damn it, Tim, you should be more careful. You didn’t hurt anything when you slipped, did you?”

“You crazy bitch, I—”

Nina—that was her name, Marc thought, leaned in, caught Tim’s arm, giving him a wide-eyed look, shaking her head.

“Tim, dude, you always were a clumsy freak,” Miguel said from behind. “You shouldn’t go hitting the punch so hard. It’s got a kick to it, ya know.”

Hell, Marc had forgotten about him.

Shooting his friend a look, Marc tried to figure out what to do about getting
him
home when he had to get Chaili out of here before she changed her mind.

“I’m going to go call my lady,” Miguel said, sighing. “I think I ate too much.” He patted his belly and turned away, heading into the crowd.

As people started to press in closer, Marc pushed his way through, gripping Chaili’s hand. “Let’s go.”

“Go?” Jumping Jack demanded. “But you just got here?”

“And I got who I came for,” Marc said, still holding on to her hand, praying she wouldn’t slip away. He could make this right, damn it. He could do it. Of course, it would be easier if he could do it without talking.

Chapter Eight

“Your ex is a bigger asshole than I remember,” Marc said after thirty minutes of silence.

“Yes.” She stared out the window, her gaze focused on the lake. “Where are we going?”

He drummed a hand on the steering wheel. “I don’t know. Where do you want to go?”

Sighing, she rested her head on the back of the seat. “Home. I’m tired.”

“If I take you home, are you going to talk to me?”

“I’m talking now, aren’t I?”

From the corner of her eye, she saw him gripping the staring wheel so tight his hands were almost bloodless. “You’re not talking to me,” he said quietly. “You’re talking through me. Looking through me. Around me. I was an asshole and I’m sorry and I’m trying to make it right and you won’t let me and it’s killing me.”

She was pretty certain her heart cracked. Right down the middle. Damn it. She was ready to be
done
with him. She
wanted
to do be done with him. But how could she do that when he kept pushing himself inside her like that? And why
now?
When she was determined to excise him?

Part of her, the angry part of her that had waited and yearned for so long before giving up hope, wanted to tell him to fuck off. Another part of her still hoped. But the part of her that took control was the part that just couldn’t stand to see him hurting. She’d loved him for too long. And hell, he was a friend.

They had to find a way to make this right. Get things level, and then they could move past it.

“We can talk, Marc,” she said, rubbing her thumb over the bumpy surface of her ring.
Remade
, she told herself. She could remake herself again, remake the shattered pieces of her heart, but not until she handled this part first.

Damaged goods
.

It bumped around in his head, didn’t want to settle.

What the fuck…

No. Not now. Not now,
he told himself as he followed her up the stairs and into to her apartment. Dipping a hand into his pocket, he rubbed his thumb over the ticket stub to the Springsteen concert, felt the worn, smooth surface. He had both the stub and one picture from the pier with him, holding them like good luck charms.

He needed to do this and get it done first, see if he could get her to believe him, get her to accept him and give him another chance.

That was what he needed to focus on.

And yet, as Chaili turned around to face him, without him even realizing what he was going to say, he blurted out, “You were raped, weren’t you?”

She blinked, looked a little thrown off. Then she sighed, passed a hand over her face. “No, Marc. I wasn’t raped.”

“If you were, you can tell me. I mean…I want to kill whoever…” And he would, damn it. He’d find him. Kill him slow and…

“I wasn’t raped.” She turned away and moved to the window, staring outside. “Damn that son of a bitch.”

“What…hell. You know what? Doesn’t matter.” He stared at the back of her head, willing her to turn, to look at him. “He’s a dumb prick, running his mouth off…”

Chaili reached for the hem of her shirt and dragged it off.

Then she turned around.

The first thing that caught his gaze was the tattoo. It was pretty, he noticed inanely. And there was no mistaking the pink ribbon, and the ribbon made up the body of what looked to be a butterfly, the wings spreading out to cover the altered planes of her chest. The wings were vividly blue-green against her skin, the pink ribbon an elegant, graceful swirl.

The scars were surgically neat on her seemingly frail torso. One of them was all but hidden in the wings of the tattoo, but he could still see it.

Her skin looked so fragile, stretched tightly over her ribcage, the flat expanse marred only by the scars…and that elegant, graceful tattoo that told the story so very plainly.

Below it were the words:

Hope. Courage. Will
.