Beneath the Scars

by Cherise Sinclair

  It was a legitimate concern. Her asshole father—and Everett—had done this damage. “You know what it feels like when a parent rejects you. I get it.” Holt rubbed his cheek against hers. “There are no guarantees in life. Circumstances change, people change. I can say I love you and want you and Carson as my own, but I can’t make you an ironclad promise everything will work out forever.”

  Everything inside him wanted to do exactly that, to fix everything in the world for her.

  “I know.” She looked away. “I’m just not sure I should risk—”

  He set his fingers under her chin. “Look at me, Josie.”

  Her eyes met his.

  “Children learn by example. If you toss me aside to protect his heart—and yours—what are you teaching him? That he should flee every time his heart is at risk? That he should never fall in love because he might get hurt?”

  Her eyes widened as his words struck home.

  Life was full of lessons—and pain. After Nadia’d dumped him, he’d spent a fair amount of time thinking. Working through his reactions. It was instinctive to try to protect vulnerable bits. The balls, the throat…the heart.

  “Oh, God. I’ve been teaching him to avoid love.”

  “And loving him at the same time.” Holt stroked her soft cheek. “Truly living—and loving—is…risky, but isn’t that what it’s all about?”

  When tears appeared in her eyes, his heart wanted to break. But the sweet acceptance was there also. She agreed.

  He breathed out a relieved sigh. “Our relationship is going to take work, Josie. You, sweetheart, are a scrapper when it comes to everything else. Can you fight as hard to be with me?”

  His muscles tensed as he waited.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  Yes, that was the answer he needed. Thank-fucking-God.

  Josie rubbed her cheek against Holt’s, breathing in his masculine scent. She loved him so much.

  And she wanted him as a father for Carson. What finer gift could she give her son? Holt would show Carson everything a man could be. He’d fight for her boy. Comfort her boy. Love her boy.

  He already did—she could tell.

  She wanted Holt for her, too. She could think of nothing better than to spend her days with him, this man who would help her when she was weak, cheer her on when she was strong. He’d take charge if she wanted him to and wrap her in comfort and care.

  And in turn, she’d be there for him. She remembered his grief that night after he’d lost a tiny patient. She had her own strengths to bring to the relationship, her own kind of comfort to give in return.

  They were stronger together than they were apart.

  Life wasn’t easy, though. There would be struggles in their future. That’s what he was concerned about. Whether she’d go the distance with him.

  He’d taught her that he’d give his all to stay together. She smiled, thinking of the chocolates. He hadn’t given up on her and Carson. He’d bided his time and paved the way with sweets. Then he’d tied her down until she had to talk with him. She looked up at the headboard and the wrist restraints. “You’re pretty sneaky, aren’t you?” she muttered.

  His lips curved in a smile. “Sometimes.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what, sweetheart?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’ll fight to keep us together. I won’t cut and run. We’ll work things out…together.”

  His eyes lit and the satisfaction in his expression silenced her completely.

  At least until he started to move. Then the only thing she could do was moan as he took her…slow and gentle.

  Hard and fast.

  And very thoroughly.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Soccer practice finished, Carson sat on the grass and stuffed his soccer shoes and shin guards into his backpack. Around him, the rest of the kids were also packing up to go home. Muttering, Yukio was trying to unknot one of his shoelaces.

  After zipping up his pack, Carson pulled his phone from the side pocket. A quick glance at the top of the display showed a tiny envelope. He’d gotten a text. He grinned. It still gave him a rush, having his own phone like everyone else.

  “Yo, Cars, whatcha reading?” Yukio looked over.

  “Got a message.” Carson frowned, seeing the sender. “It’s Brandon. Now what?” All week, Brandon had acted like Carson wasn’t even in the room. So had Ryan. Made him feel like shit. At least, Yukio and Juan were still talking to him.

  Carson read the message aloud. “Cars, cuz yer my friend, your father is gonna pay for being an asshole and treating you like shit.”

  “What?” Yukio said.

  Carson read it again as fear grew in his belly. “Today’s Thursday. Brandon’d said Everett and everybody would be at Disney World tonight.”

  “And he wanted to start a fire.” Yukio scowled. “I thought you told him no. Did you change your—”

  “No, I didn’t change my mind. He’s not even talking to me!” Carson’s heart thumped inside his chest like he’d run a dozen laps. His thumbs felt fat and awkward as he texted back. “Leave my father alone.”

  Yukio beside him, he waited. A minute, then two ticked by.

  He tried to make a regular phone call. Waited.

  Yukio spoke first. “He’s not answering. You suppose he really went to your dad’s place?”

  “Oh shit-buckets, what am I gonna do?”

  “Call your mom?”

  Carson shook his head. “What if Brandon’s bullshitting, trying to piss me off or something?”

  “Yeah, he does that a lot. But what if he’s not?”

  The other soccer players had left, and the field was quiet. The sports lights flickered and came on.

  It was getting dark.

  Carson swallowed. “I need to go check. Make sure.” His voice came out thick. He’d told Brandon no. Told him. It’d take an hour to get to asshole Everett’s house, and Mom expected him back when it got dark and that was like now. “Can you call, too? Keep calling? Tell him not to do anything? I mean…”

  “Sure.”

  “I…I’ll call the cops if I have to.” The thought made Carson want to puke, but he hauled in a breath. He would.

  Yukio grimaced. “Yeah, I hear you. Can you call me…whenever? Let me know if it’s all okay?”

  Nothing was going to be okay. He’d have to ride his bike in the dark past that street where he’d gotten attacked. What if those men were there? A shiver of fear went through Carson.

  “Okay.” After shoving his phone into his shorts pocket, he yanked his backpack on. “Thanks, Kio.”

  An hour later, Carson made it to his father’s fancy house.

  Near the place where he’d been attacked, the streets were filled with bumper-to-bumper cars. An accident had happened, and nothing was moving. Even the ambulances and fire trucks were stuck. Jeez. He’d only gotten through cuz he could take to the sidewalks.

  Shaking inside, Carson steered into the driveway. He dropped his bike on the front lawn and spotted two others. Ryan’s gold-striped bike lay in the shadows. Shit-buckets. This was crazy. After getting butt-hurt and ignoring Carson all week, why was Brandon acting like they were bros again? Saying he was gonna burn Everett’s house for Carson?

  Carson scowled.

  Brandon’s bike had a cloth cargo trailer hitched behind it. Carson walked over and pulled the covering off. The smell of gasoline wafted up.

  The trailer was filled with red gas containers, glass bottles, and lots of other stuff. Carson’s mouth dropped open, and he jerked back. Brandon was going to do more than toss one bottle into a room.

  Carson shuddered, looking around desperately. Was anyone home he could tell? The sun was long gone, and most of the yard was dark. Only one dim light showed upstairs. The outside front door and garage lights were on, like people did when they left. Brandon had been right about Everett being gone.

  Spotting movement at the corner of the house, Carson lifted his hand and hissed.
r />   Brandon jogged over with Ryan trailing behind.

  “I knew you’d show,” Brandon whispered. His grin was big and happy and excited. He did a fancy victory shuffle. “This is gonna be epic.”

  Burning down a house was epic? “No.” Carson got up in his face, so mad he felt like his eyes would cross. “I told you no. Leave my father alone!”

  “Oh, come on, Cars. It’ll be fun,” Ryan whined.

  Brandon scowled. “You said you hated him. Now you’re all loving to your asshole daddy?”

  “I’m not. But setting a fire’s wrong. Illegal.”

  “What a pussy. I thought you had a pair, but guess not. Wish I could burn my fucking father’s place around his ears.” Brandon unhitched the bike trailer and pulled it toward the house. “C’mon, Ryan.”

  Ryan hesitated.

  Carson hauled in a breath. Shit-buckets. They weren’t listening. His heart hammered crazy in his chest as he watched Brandon just…keep walking away. Toward the house.

  Carson’s hands clenched. He had to do something.

  Putting his head down, he charged, tackling Brandon from the side. It was like hitting a wall—a mushy wall, but still.

  Whipping around, Brandon punched him. Hard.

  Carson landed on the ground, his shoulder hitting first. Owwww. Lying in the cold grass, he held his throbbing cheek. “You—”

  “Stupid fucktard!” Brandon kicked him in the gut.

  Pain roared through Carson as he grabbed his stomach, trying to breathe. Tears burned his eyes, making everything blurry. “Don’t do it. Leave my fa—”

  “I’m going to light this fucking place up.” Brandon’s lips pulled back so far his teeth showed like a dog’s. “I’m gonna watch it burn.”

  As Brandon pulled the trailer around the side of the house, Ryan dropped down beside Carson, his eyes scared. “Jesus, Cars, he got you good.”

  Carson sucked in a breath. “Don’t help him, Ryan. He’s crazy.”

  “Yeah, kinda.” Glancing at the house doubtfully, Ryan rose and pulled Carson to his feet. “I…I’m outta here. You better run, too.”

  “I will.” Moving slower, Carson reached his bike and got on.

  Ryan lifted his hand, bike almost flying as he sped toward the driveway. He got there and paused, looking back.

  Rubbing his aching stomach, Carson waved him on, and Ryan pedaled into the street and away.

  The yard felt awfully lonely. Slowly, Carson lowered his bike. He couldn’t just…leave. It didn’t matter who owned the house—burning it was wrong. He had to try to stop Brandon again.

  But what if Brandon wouldn’t stop?

  Call 911? Jeez, he couldn’t. They wouldn’t believe him anyway—he was just a kid.

  Call Mom? She’d come. She could do something. Only Brandon was awful big and strong and knew karate. He might hurt her.

  Who could handle Brandon in a rage? Handle…the word brought back a memory. “Just remember you can call me if you get into trouble you can’t handle.”

  He pulled out his phone, looked up the number, and touched the CALL button. Guilt swept through him. He’d sure been a stupid jerk.

  “Yeah? Who’s this?”

  “Holt? I need help.”

  * * * * *

  With Josie beside him, Holt parked at the curb outside Everett Lanning’s house. He jumped out of the car, fuming with frustration. Detouring around a massive traffic jam at Dale Mabry intersection had delayed them.

  What the fuck was going on? Why was Carson here? The kid hadn’t explained, simply said he needed Holt “right now” and hung up. Jesus, he hoped the boy hadn’t gotten caught sneaking around the asshole’s house.

  Josie’d been with Holt when the panicked call came, and she’d insisted on coming. Not that he’d argued. They needed to work as a team with Carson.

  With Josie beside him, he jogged up the driveway, smelled fire, and stopped dead. White plumes of smoke rose from the house. Through the busted-out front windows, he could see multiple fires consuming the walls and flickering over the ceiling. “Oh, fuck.”

  As fire alarms in the house blared, Holt yanked out his phone and punched 911. “Josie, do you see Carson?”

  He heard the emergency dispatcher answer, didn’t bother to listen, and snapped out, “House fire.” How many of the normally answering units were stuck in the Dale Mabry traffic jam?

  As he recited the address for the dispatcher, Josie headed to the left.

  Spotting movement around the side, Holt ran toward the right.

  Shovel raised over his head, a husky kid stood over a lump on the ground. Over Carson.

  Holt roared, “Drop it!”

  The boy—Brandon—spun, dropped the shovel, and ran.

  “Carson.” Holt sprinted forward.

  Carson shoved to his feet and limped to Holt. “You came! He started a fire. We have to call 911.”

  “I called.” After guiding him to the portico at the front of the house. The yard light revealed bruises and cuts on his face. What the fuck happened here?

  Where had Josie gone?” Holt shouted, “I’ve got him, Josie.”

  Inside the house, the fire’s roar was beginning to compete with the sirens and then something exploded with a loud bang inside. A new set of flames shot up. Had Carson’s friend used Molotov cocktails here the way he had at the school? Jesus.

  “Is anyone inside?” he asked Carson.

  “No. Brandon said everyone was going to Disney World.”

  Relief rolled through Holt.

  “Carson!” Josie ran toward them across the lawn.

  “Mom.” Breaking free, Carson met his mother in front of the broken out front window.

  Above the portico where Holt stood, a window shrieked open. “Help!” A dark-haired boy maybe a year or so older than Carson appeared in the window. “I can’t get out—I’m locked in. Please, help my sister. Help Britney!”

  Children. Holt’s chest compressed as he moved to below the child. Dammit, what with that pileup, no telling how soon the firefighters would make it.

  A terrified shriek came from inside the house.

  “No!” Carson shouted, moving closer to the window. “The stairs are on fire. No, don’t!” Evading his mother’s grab, he vaulted into the house through the busted out window.

  “Carson, no!” Josie screamed and followed.

  And Holt went after them. As he reached the window, heat poured through it. Fuck, no. The room was reaching flashover when everything would ignite. Terror filled him.

  A young girl stood frozen, as Carson charged up the burning stairs toward her.

  Holt jumped through the window, seeing that Josie was half-way across the living room.

  Bang! Something exploded. A sharp pain ripped through Holt’s arm.

  Fresh flames shot upward. Bottles were scattered here and there in the room—unexploded Molotov-cocktails—and Holt knew when the fire reached them…

  Too close to the one that had exploded, Josie staggered. Blood poured from her shoulder and leg.

  “Mom!” Carson reversed course to run down the stairs.

  “Go up,” Holt roared, running across the room. “I got her. Go. Up.”

  Grabbing the girl’s hand, Carson headed up the stairs.

  Without slowing, Holt scooped Josie up and took the stairs, two at a time.

  The children stood outside a room. Hammering came from inside. The girl—Britney—jiggled the handle, crying and yanking at it. “It’s locked, it’s locked. Timothy!”

  “Put me down, Holt,” Josie said. “We have to get that door open.”

  He glanced at her. Bleeding—but under control. His Josie was something special.

  “Stand back, kids.” He set Josie on her feet and yelled, “Timothy, get away from the door.”

  Carson dragged the girl away from the door.

  Using the power in his hips and lower back, Holt kicked the door beside the lock. The piece-of-shit door cracked like an icicle and shot open. Holt shooed
everyone inside.

  With a foomph, the living room ignited. Hell. Shit would burn fast now—he needed to get everyone the hell out.

  Josie dropped onto the bed, pulling a trembling Carson into her arms.

  Grabbing a T-shirt off the floor, Holt yanked a big shard of glass from Josie’s leg and made a hasty pressure dressing. “You with me, baby?”

  “Yeah.” She pressed her hand against the cut on her arm. “Can we get out of here?”

  “I think we’d better.” Holt saw the girl moving toward the door. “Stay here, sweetie.”

  She stopped, and when Josie held out her hand, edged toward the bed.

  Timothy was at the window.

  Holt joined him. “Is anyone else in the house?”

  “Uh-uh. Just me and Britney.”

  Thank fuck. Holt leaned out the window, judging how far down the portico roof was, how far to the ground.

  The boy looked up. “Are we stuck?”

  “Nah, we can do this.” Holt gripped his shoulder and told everyone, “I’m going to go out, stand on the portico roof, and help you guys out. You with me?”

  The kid nodded. Carson nodded. Josie gave him a faint smile and her “Yes, Sir,” pleased the hell out of him. Beside Josie, Britney nodded.

  Good enough. “After me, I want you, Josie.”

  “But—” she looked at Carson.

  No time for explanations. “Trust me.” He held her gaze.

  She nodded.

  “Then Britney, then Carson.” He ruffled Timothy’s hair. “You help the others out and come last. I’ll be ready to catch you.”

  Timothy struggled to contain his fear. “Okay.”

  “Good boy.” Holt didn’t wait, but went out the window, feet-first, belly-down. He hung onto the windowsill until he’d calculated his angle, then swung slightly and dropped. The portico roof was almost directly under the window, and he only skidded slightly on landing.

  He braced his feet, one on each side of the peaked roof. “Josie, stomach down, hang, and drop like I did. I’ll catch you.”

  He could see her reluctance to leave Carson, but damn, she came anyway. A second later, he had her in his arms. He gave her a quick hug and pointed down. “I want you on the ground. I’ll lower each child to you.”