Scarred (27 page)

“Ronnie,” I said softly, “it's okay. I'll be okay. I don't want you to get in trouble. Please...he'll be leaving in a minute.”

She looked at me with warning eyes then reluctantly started back up the stairs. I stared at Sean, not knowing what to say.

“Ruby, if you did something...something I need to know about,
now
is the time to tell me,” he said softly, avoiding my eyes. “Do you hear what I'm saying?”

“Yes,” I whispered back.

I didn't know what to say. I couldn't tell him what happened because he was
Sean.
He'd eventually land on the question that would cinch the noose around my neck:
how did Matty get infected?
It wouldn't help for him to know that I couldn't override Scarlet either, that she'd stuffed me into a back corner of my mind somewhere only for me to wake up later in a questionable state of dress. That fact would have knocked the chair out from under my feet, my neck stretched long in no time flat.

The problem was that I had to give him something,
anything
to make him go away. Seeing him was too painful, and I couldn't bear the guilt I felt,knowing I had betrayed his trust. The trust I'd only just recently gained.

“I don't think you do, Ruby,” he said, looking at me with a pained expression on his face. “If there's a mess to clean up, I need to know
now
…before it can come to light. Do you understand me?”

I did. Loud and clear. It seemed his threat of old no longer applied. Killing me wasn't an option for him anymore. And he wasn't going to let it be an option for anyone else either.

“I don't know what happened, Sean. Honestly, I don't,” I whispered, putting my hand up to deflect his brewing reaction. “Please, Sean. I don't want to talk about it...
can't
talk about it. Not yet.”

He froze for a moment, a montage of emotions playing across his face. Unable to watch any longer, I turned away. The bed shifted slightly as he lowered himself onto it, and I reflexively curled up, pulling my extremities into me under the cover of the blanket; I wasn’t ready to be touched.

I felt horrible about lying to him, by omission or otherwise.

I
felt
like a traitor.

“What business were you taking care of in Boston on the full moon?” he asked, trying to restrain the anger in his voice. He failed miserably.

“It's not what you think,” I sniffled, still avoiding his gaze.

He inhaled deeply, and I was afraid he was going to let loose one of those howling, roaring war cries of his, but he didn't. I'm sure it took every ounce of resolve he had not to.

“I want to hold you,” he murmured, still audibly fighting his emotions.

“I can't,” I cried, as a few tears ran down my face. “I'm sorry, Sean. I'm so sorry.”

After a long pause, he got off the bed and headed for the stairs. My stomach turned at the sight of him leaving. I couldn't bring myself to touch him or be touched by him, but it was comforting just having him there. It felt right, especially after learning that I was no longer on his hit list.

“Let me know when I can,” he said over his shoulder. Looking completely dejected, he climbed the stairs and left me to my isolation. It was what I deserved. I'd made Matty what he was, effectively creating the very situation that caused my suffering. It was poetic justice of sorts—an eye for an eye—I ruined Matty's life, and he ruined mine. Maybe we were perfect for each other.

I flopped back down, trying to ignore my ever-racing mind. My hope was that it would tire eventually after realizing that, no matter how I played it, there were no acceptable solutions to my problems. Always when I thought things were on an upswing, my rope would snap, plummeting me down farther into the crap I'd just escaped.

My life was cyclical if nothing else.

* * *

I hit the ground with a shriek. Ronnie was wrong; her cocktail did nothing to keep the bad dreams at bay. If what I'd had was an improvement, I shuddered to think of how bad the alternative would have been.

After untangling myself from the bed sheets, I glanced at the clock: 3 a.m. I sighed and dragged my weary body upstairs. I needed water after all the sweating I'd just done; the bed sheets were soaked. They'd need to be thrown in the wash when I came back down.

Once I crept up the stairs, I opened the basement door quietly, hoping that nobody had been woken by my scream. The light leaked out into the living room, creating a fading, yellowy path on the tan carpet. In that path stood Sean.

“Jesus!” I cried, grabbing my chest, completely startled. “You
scared
me. What are you doing?” He was standing a few feet away from the basement door, looking pensive and torn.

“I was debating something,” he replied, unmoving.

“Debating what?” I asked, thoroughly confused.

“Whether or not I should come down and check on you. I heard your cry.”

“Oh,” I said softly. “I had a bad dream.”

“I know,” he said, running his hand back and forth through his hair. When he pulled it out, his hair was completely disheveled in the way that takes two stylists and a lot of product to achieve. It made me smile.

I looked past him to see a blanket draped across the couch, the pillows all askew. When I brought my attention back to him, I noticed his clothes were creased and wrinkled.

“I thought you left,” I said, running my foot across the illuminated patch of floor. “Ronnie let you stay?”

“I wouldn't say she
let
me stay. I think she just surrendered the idea that I would leave. It was a compromise of sorts,” he said soberly. “I needed to know you'd be alright.”

“I am. I promise,” I said, returning his gaze. I saw the dark circles under his eyes; he hadn't slept.

“Go to bed, Sean. You look exhausted.”

“I could say the same to you,” he countered, the two of us staring at each other, completely still.

“I need some water,” I said, cracking under the pressure and escaping to the kitchen as quickly as possible. He didn't follow.

I leaned against the counter, sipping at the tumbler of water. Sean returned to his post on the couch without a word―without argument. It became wildly apparent to me that he was truly trying in his own way to give me what I had asked for without sacrificing his own needs.

He was in a no-win situation. If he'd demanded to stay with me—press me for answers—he was an abusive bully. If he left me there to suffer alone, even though it was exactly what I had asked for, he was an insensitive, pouting asshole. His solution was to create a happy medium—to meet me halfway.

Maybe I needed to meet him halfway too.

“Sean,” I called, walking out of the kitchen towards him, slowly. He was sitting on the edge of the large brown sofa, and I stopped only a couple of feet in front of it, taking a deep breath before I said anything else. I wasn't sure that what I was about to do was smart, or if it would set the ball rolling so quickly down Clusterfuck Lane that I wouldn't be able to stop it.

No more running.

“You can,” I said softly, my eyes closed.

“I don't understand,” he said, matching my gentle tone.

“You told me to let you know when you could hold me again,” I explained, opening my eyes so I could read his expression. “You
can
.”

He hesitated at first, his face terribly uncertain. Before I could lose my resolve, I closed the distance between us in two tentative steps, pressing myself between his knees. I reached for his hair; the motion of running my fingers through it was impossibly soothing. He pressed his cheek to my belly while his arms wound tightly behind my back, his hands coming back around to my sides. He crushed me to him, locking me in his love.

I felt every ounce of it.

We stayed like that for ages, neither of us saying a word until my legs finally tired and I shifted my weight against him for support. He seemed to find the new position objectionable, so he picked me up and laid me gingerly on the couch alone, wrapping the blanket tightly around me. Satisfied with my comfort, he then pulled the coffee table closer, sitting on the corner of it so he could trace the lines of my face and let his hands get lost in the tousled curls atop my head. He never pressed for anything more than that, nor asked a single question about the events that had frightened me so. Instead, he lulled me to sleep with the touch of his hand, promising dreams so sweet that I would never want to wake.

“I love you,” I mumbled, caught in the narrow window between consciousness and sleep.

His lips brushed my ear as he spoke, his breath tickling ever so slightly.

“You'd better,” he whispered sweetly. “You are mine.”

20

“So, do you want to grab a coffee at that
Toast
place downtown?” he asked as we drove around the turn leading into the old part of town.

“
The Friendly Toast,
” I said, groaning overtly. “It's called
The Friendly Toast
, Sean.”

He laughed rather heartily before answering.

“I know what it's called, but I love your reaction. It's worth it every time.”

“Jerk,” I said, folding my arms over my chest in mock protest. “If you're going to pick on me, I'm not going. Besides, I need to go to work.”

“Peyta and Jay are already there. She didn't want you to rush. She's worried about you,” he said, putting his hand on my knee. “That makes at least two of us.”

“I'm okay, Sean. I promise.”

“You keep saying that,” he said, pulling up in front of the restaurant. “I hope it's the truth.”

“I didn't say I'm
great
,” I told him, catching his gaze, “but I'm good enough. That's the best I can do for now.”

He white-knuckled the steering wheel for a second, the leather objecting to his grip, before he got out of the car. I collected my purse from the floor and opened the car door to join him. As I did, I was flooded with memories. I remembered waking up in Matty's room, barely clothed, lying across his body. I'd taken one look around and full-on panicked before tearing around his room, collecting my clothes—my purse—and running out. I had dressed on the fly as I ran down the hallway, and managed to locate my keys in the back mudroom, having thrown them on the floor the night before. I got in my car and drove. I didn't stop till I wound up at Ronnie's.

When my mind brought me back to the present, Sean stood next to the passenger door, staring wildly at me as though he detected a danger present that I was unaware of. Something had him spooked, and it took a second or two to realize it was me.

“Okay my ass,” he said, frowning.

I wanted to tell him something to alleviate his stress, but there was no truth from the night before that I could afford to share—nothing that would do anything but cause him further duress. I was totally screwed.

While I stalled, trying to think of anything to say, it dawned on me that I'd completely forgotten something at Matty's. Something I needed
badly
.

“Dammit!” I said, grinding the words out through gritted teeth.

“What?” he asked, thrusting his face in mine.

“My phone...”

“It wasn't at Ronnie's,” he said, looking mildly embarrassed. “I looked for it while you were sleeping.”

“Oh,” I said, thinking that it was a blessing of epic proportion that he hadn't. That realization brought awareness to another loose end dangling around me. “Fuck...
Cooper
,” I yelled, thinking that the last thing he'd heard was Matty Changing, knowing I was right where he'd explicitly told me not to be.

Cannon fodder.

“I really don't like those two words used in a sentence together, especially given that last night was the full moon. Don't think I'm going to forget that little detail,” he said, trying to hide his anger.

“No, no, no. It's not that.
Totally
not that—I promise,” I said, flailing my hands around in an effort to drive my point home. “I hung up on him last night by accident and I'm sure he's worried.”

“
Worried
,” he quietly scoffed to himself. “I'm sure he is. So where is your phone?” he asked, leaning his body in closer to me.

“Well...”

“I could have one of the boys locate it for you...follow the GPS locator on it,” he said, his eyes calculating.

“No,” I blurted out, praying he was bluffing. “I'm pretty sure I know where it is. I'll go there today and see if they have it.”

“Are you sure? It wouldn't take more than a phone call and we'd know
exactly
where it is.”

I didn't like what he was clearly implying.

“Nope...it's totally fine. I'll just bang down there later and pick it up. No problem at all.
Promise
.”

“There’s that word again,” he said with the slightest edge to his tone. “You're making a lot of promises lately. I hope you're good for all of them.”