by T. S. Joyce
Everly’s face fell, and her gaze dropped to the single bathroom sink. “I look terrifying.”
Brighton brushed his finger under her chin, lifting her face again until she looked at herself. “Not to me. To me, you look just right.”
A small, relieved smile took the corners of Everly’s mouth. “I thought you couldn’t talk.”
Pain filled his chest at what he’d lost, at how much he wished he could talk to her like Denison talked to Danielle. His voice had sounded much like his brother’s once. “It’s not really talking,” he whispered, then pointed to the scar on his throat, the one he could only cover up with a long beard. When he had to look at the damned thing in the mirror every morning with a clean-shaven face, his bear shredded him.
Time didn’t heal all things.
Everly turned in his arms and ran her fingertip down the surgically-straight raised mark. Then her gaze dropped to his torso, striped with the scars of his youth. All in the name of science. Dark curls of anger unfurled within him as he wished she could look upon a body he didn’t have to explain. He waited for the horror, the disgust on her face, but her eyes dimmed to soft blue as she drew her fingertips across each scar that curled around his ribs, one by one.
Her touch felt phenomenal against his skin, and by the time she reached the ones across his hip bone, he didn’t feel so dark inside anymore or so insecure in front of her. The humming rage of his bear was being stifled like flames under a spray of water.
Between his legs, his cock swelled as she brushed his last scar, the one that curved from his inner thigh around to his ass.
Everly inhaled a long, shaky breath as she drew her attention to his erection jutting between them. “Is that because of me?”
He nodded.
Her voice dipped even quieter than his own. “That scares me.”
She was telling the truth. If he hadn’t heard the honest notes in her voice, he would’ve known from the faint bitter smell of fear that filled the space between them.
He took a step back and whipped a fuzzy white towel from the rack by the shower, then covered himself up. Only when he was sure the smell of her fear was diminishing did he lean against the wall farthest away from her and speak. “Who made you afraid of a man’s body?”
She was quiet for a long time, eyes filled with sadness that gutted him. He thought she wouldn’t answer, but at last she said, “The man who bit me.”
Brighton slid his hands behind his back, clenching them so hard his knuckles hurt. He wanted to kill whoever had hurt Everly. She was too sweet for this world, and someone had taken advantage. Someone who was going to pay in blood by his hands someday.
“Will you tell me about him?” He had to force the words since they came out a hiss as anger constricted his throat.
“Will you tell me who did that to your body?” she countered.
He looked down at his ruined torso. One side of his profile was covered in unflawed skin, while the other was a constant reminder of what had happened nine years ago. Of course she wanted to know. Everyone who saw him without a shirt did, but he couldn’t talk about it without his bear taking his body over and over and over again until he was exhausted from the pain of the constant Changes.
He tucked his chin to his chest as he leaned his shoulder blades against the wall, then gave Everly a hard look through his lashes. He shook his head slowly.
“Because it hurts to talk about?” she asked, gripping the edge of the counter behind her hips.
Slowly, he nodded.
“For me, too.”
He got it. His scars were obvious, while hers were mostly on the inside. The inside scars, from his abundant experience, were much worse than the outside ones.
“I’m going to help you,” he promised.
“You gonna fix me, Brighton? Because right now, it feels like I can’t be fixed.”
He huffed a humorless, silent laugh and rested his head on the wall behind him. He and Everly were two peas in a fucking pod.
But out of the two of them, one was going to be okay, and he was going to make sure she got to a point where she could be happy again. Where she wouldn’t be sick or waiting on her next seizure, because the way her life was going right now, she wasn’t living. She was just waiting to die.
Everly approached slow, then traced the scar that ran from his nipple to under his arm. “At least tell me, did someone do this to you because of the bear inside of you?”
Brighton gripped her hand and pulled her touch away from his skin, then nodded.
“Will this happen to me?” she asked.
“Never,” he whispered. “The man who did this is dead.”
Her eyes snapped wide. “Did you kill him?”
Brighton lowered his chin once in affirmation. She should know who he was. That was the only way trust worked. If she knew the gritty stuff and still stuck around, maybe he could trust her back. “And if anyone hurt you like this, I’d avenge you, too.” And when he found out who the fuck Turned her against her will, that shithead was going to be in a world of trouble.
“So I’m a bear…person.”
“A bear…” His whisper faded to nothing, and he grimaced at the blinding pain in his throat. He mouthed his answer instead. A bear shifter.
“Does it hurt to whisper?” she asked, concern pooling in the deep sky color of her eyes.
A nod and, I can’t do it for long.
Her eyes dipped to where his scar was hidden in his beard. “Why do you hide that one?”
Because it’s the one that made me the ugliest inside. Irritation snapped through him, and he straightened his spine. I need to take care of you.
“What?”
You’re bleeding, and I can’t just stand here chatting while you’re hurt. My animal won’t let me anymore. He pulled a first aid kit out from under the sink and turned her until she was facing the mirror again.
She was a brave little thing, only wincing silently as he cleaned the half-healed scrapes on her elbow. He’d ripped her dress when he’d pulled her to him when he was a bear, and four shallow scratches were already closed up and on their way to being faint scars. Shifter healing was the best part about this gig. It was the only reason he was still alive after everything that had been done to him.
By the time he was finished, his bear was snarling to rip out of him again. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, happening so quickly, but he’d been on a bender since he’d killed Reynolds, and talking about his scars with Everly had only kicked up the grit that made his inner animal uncontrollable. At least he knew he was safe around Everly when he was Turned, though. Even as unbalanced as he was right now, his animal instincts roared to keep her safe instead of grow defensive and hurt her.
His skin tingled, as it always did right before a Change. Come on, he mouthed, pulling her hand. He led her swiftly into the second bedroom where he’d already laid the duffle bag he’d packed for her on the twin-size bed. This had been his room when he and Denison had first rented the place years ago. He’d bought the cabin and land in secret to have an escape from the trailer park when his bear was broken like this. Now, it felt right having Everly in his bed.
His bones were splintering as he let go of her hand and backed toward the doorway. I have to go.
She frowned and shook her head slightly, as if she didn’t understand why he had to run away from her now. “To turn into a bear again?”
Yes. He turned to leave.
“Brighton?”
Brighton froze in the doorframe, hands on either side, back flexed with his effort to stay human to hear what she had to say.
“I’m scared.”
He looked at her, over his shoulder. “I won’t ever hurt you,” he rasped out.
“Not of you. Of me.”
“You can’t be afraid of your bear, Ever. Accept her.”
“Brighton?”
A low hum emanated from his middle. He would’ve been growling if he had the tools to do so. He turned to look over his shoulde
r again.
Everly’s eyebrows arched. “Shave your beard and own that scar, and I’ll try to accept what I am.”
Brighton narrowed his eyes at her challenge, inhaling deeply as he absorbed what she was really asking him to do—expose his ugly side. Open up avenues for her to pry into what had happened to his voice. He gritted his teeth and curled his lip for an instant before he strode from the room.
Maybe he didn’t want her always looking at the scar.
Maybe he didn’t want to talk about the shit he’d been through.
Maybe he didn’t want anyone to actually see him, the real him.
He didn’t want her to think him hideous or damaged, even if he was. He wanted her to see him strong. If she didn’t, how could she trust him to heal her?
No, she didn’t need to see him weak, even if that’s what he was right now.
The beard needed to stay.
It was better for both of them if his secrets remained buried.
Chapter Six
Everly unpacked slowly. It was clear she couldn’t go back to town the way she was. If Brighton was right, and she really had a…bear…inside of her, she’d be a danger to people. When another tear slipped down her cheek, she dashed it away with the back of her hand. She was so tired of feeling weak. And it wasn’t just about what she was going through now. She’d always been fragile.
In school, she’d been the quiet one. Growing up in Saratoga hadn’t been easy. Momma was loud and embarrassing, and the townies all knew who she was. Sometimes Everly thought she’d been born to counteract the chaos Momma brought by being quiet and as close to being invisible as a person could become. Everly took up almost no space and had always preferred it that way, but now she was going to be a bear? Another traitorous tear slipped the inside corner of her eye, and she growled a very human sound as she wiped it away.
Turning for the mirror over the dresser, she bared her teeth like she’d seen Brighton do and said, “Grrrr.” With more feeling, she tried to look ferocious and gritted out another pathetic snarl.
She wasn’t bear material. In actuality, she wasn’t even strong human material.
She ripped her gaze away from her gaunt, scared reflection and pulled the clothes from her eighth grade chess club duffle bag Brighton must’ve found in the bowels of her closet.
Okay, so she was a bear person. No, Brighton had called them bear shifters. She inhaled deeply. “I am a bear shifter.”
It would be a lot easier to believe if she’d actually turned into something more than a frozen human with silver eyes. Brighton’s bear was much cooler and scarier than what she’d managed thus far.
Including the time Brighton was missing from the truck, his Change in the woods, and his current status as a giant grizzly hunting for honey or fish or blackberry bushes or whatever it was that bears did in the woods, he’d shifted three times since she’d met him today. In contrast, she’d Changed exactly zero times in six months, convincing her further that there was definitely something wrong with her bear. Which wasn’t surprising because Momma had always told her how abnormal she was. Hot damn, she hated when Momma and her poisonous tongue were right.
She sucked at being a human.
She sucked at being a bear.
And right about now, she felt like amoeba poop smeared on slimy moss that clung to river rocks.
Soft guitar notes sounded from outside, going louder then quieter as the wind picked them up and took them where it wanted. Her sensitive ears pricked, and she made her way around the small bed to the window. With two fingers, she drew the thin curtain away from the window.
The moon was full and high, illuminating a dilapidated barn. Clad in jeans and nothing else, Brighton sat in an old rocking chair. Blue light reflected off his shiny scars as he plucked the strings of an old, beat-up guitar. The song was a sad one, each note drawing out a lonely emotion from her and causing her to lean against the old window frame to listen.
As mortifying as it was, she’d noticed him at Boomer’s, then gone stalker and went to one of his shows once. He’d played music while his brother sang, and she’d grown such a crush on Brighton. He sat outside of the spotlight, as if he didn’t want to be seen, and she’d identified with that. She’d sat way in the back of Sammy’s Bar so he wouldn’t notice her there watching him, and she’d sworn to herself she’d work up the courage to talk to him. Someday.
And now here she was. Staying in his home in a bed that smelled like him, unpacking clothes he’d thoughtfully tucked into the duffle bag for her.
And he was a bear.
She allowed the curtain to fall and pressed her back against the wall.
Everything she’d thought she knew about the world had been dumped on its ass today. Her heart pounded against her sternum as she remembered the giant grizzly exploding out of Brighton. It looked so painful. She’d heard his bones snap, and he’d done it three times today that she knew about. Her bear was going to bring her so much pain.
She settled her clothes into an empty top drawer Brighton had thoughtfully left open, then changed into a pair of skinny jeans that tucked into her unlaced, clunky boots and an oversize teal-colored sweater that hung down to her knees. It wasn’t the most flattering outfit, but the thick fabric that enveloped her was comfortable, and she felt safer all hidden inside.
Besides, it was getting colder at nights, especially in the mountains where Brighton’s cabin was nestled, and she was about to go outside without a jacket. She had questions.
Brighton jerked his head in her direction as she opened the front door. In a graceful motion, he stood and set the guitar in the rocking chair behind him, then searched frantically for something.
As she approached, he stood tall and crossed his arms over his chest. It didn’t cover his scars by half, and now he couldn’t seem to meet her gaze.
“If you’re worried about me looking at your scars, I’ll try not to.”
Brighton stared off into the woods, then looked back at her as his frown furrowed his dark eyebrows. His abs flexed with every breath he drew, and she made a conscious effort to keep her eyes on his.
But…his abs. And the faint trail of hair that travelled from his belly button down into his low slung jeans. And now she was gawking at those perfect strips of muscle that delved over his hip bones… “Fuck it all, Brighton. If you don’t want me to stare, stop flexing, or breathing, or…” Her cheeks burned, and she looked away completely, angry that he had this much power over her. “Or put a burlap sack on, because those sexy T-shirts and thermals you’ve been wearing aren’t going to keep me from looking at you. And if you prance around here half naked like this, I’m going to stare, and you’ll just have to suck it up, buttercup, or put a damned shirt on.”
Brighton looked down at his stomach, then back at her. His eyebrows lifted, and a slow, curious smile took his lips. “You aren’t looking at my scars?” he whispered, and for the first time in six months, she was glad she had oversensitive ears. The better to hear him with.
“Well, yeah, I’m looking at those, too. How could I not? They are like adornment or like a really hot tattoo. And yeah, I know it must’ve been agony living through them, and whoever did this deserved whatever you did to avenge yourself, but I’ve already memorized them, so tucking them away isn’t going to matter. I have a very vivid memory. And my imagination is ridiculous. Overactive, Momma calls it.”
“So you like the scars?” His frown of confusion was scrunching up his face now in an altogether adorable fashion.
“Hell yeah, I like the scars, but the muscles get me more.” She poked his stomach, and it was just as hard as she imagined it would be. Her cheeks burned hotter as she glared at her finger. “I don’t know why I just did that. You didn’t invite me to touch you. Sooo,” she said, shifting her feet. “Do you work out, or is the Adonis body part of being a bear shifter?”
His amused smile widened. “You have questions?”
She pulled the sleeves of her giant sweater down over
her hands and crossed her arms over her chest. “Loads.”
“Good. Sit down. You can have my chair.”
“Thanks,” she murmured as she sank down into the rocking chair. It creaked but was more comfortable than it looked.
Brighton disappeared into the splintered barn, then returned with a small, wooden chair.
“I’m a lumberjack. I have to stay physically fit to do my job. It’s not in season right now, so my Crew is all on a break, but when it starts up again, I’ll be living back with them. Hopefully.” He swallowed hard and grimaced.
“What does it feel like to whisper?”
“Like strep throat.”
Her heart ached to see his pain, so she scooted her chair closer to his so she could see his mouth in the moonlight. “I like your voice, but enunciate, and I’ll read your lips. I can’t stand you hurting on my account.”
He stared at her for a long time with a surprised quirk to his eyebrows. How can you like my voice? It doesn’t exist.
“Sure it does. I hear everything now. Bear shit, remember,” she said, pointing to her ear and trying not to panic at saying that out loud. She covered the frantic trembling through her middle by forcing a laugh. “What I mean is, I can hear your whisper, even if you were way over here and I was way over there.” She pointed to his house. “I could tell the difference between your voice and anyone else’s. It has a sexy, gritty tone to it. A good quality. I bet you had a rich, deep voice once. Am I right?”
His eyes lightened to silver, and he looked away. A muscle twitched under his eye before he swung back to her. I don’t like talking about it.
“Okay. I’m sorry.” She studied him, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze anymore. Obviously, she’d made a huge misstep again. Her voice dipped embarrassingly low, but she couldn’t seem to find her volume anymore. “I came to watch you play once.” She scrunched up her nose and tried to find a way to make him understand her. “I don’t usually talk to men except when I’m waiting tables. And the only man I ever dated…well, he turned me into this.” She dared a glance at him.
Brighton lifted her feet into his lap and leaned back in his chair, shocking her to her core. When did you come see me play? He mouthed, fiddling with the undone lace on one of her boots.