Scarred

by Amber Lynn Natusch

“A clusterfuck,” I groaned.

  “I'm sure it was, but what else was special about it?” The look on her face was willing me to the right conclusion while she leaned closer to me.

  “Full moon,” I whispered, realizing her point. After I'd found out that Matty was going to Change, the full moon took on a different meaning and importance than it usually held. I'd totally forgotten about Scarlet and mating.

  “So Scarlet needed to...get some, right?” she asked inelegantly.

  “Yes, but she and I...we...we have an arrangement,” I admitted sheepishly.

  “I figured you probably did,” she replied with somewhat playful eyes. “But Matty was right there and newly Changed.”

  “So she jumps his bones? She's such a selfish, whorish bitch! She only cares about herself, her own needs.”

  “Maybe, but it doesn't really matter now, does it? It's done.”

  “But how am I going to tell Sean?”

  “You’re not,” she said, eyes narrowing. “You’re not going to breathe a word of it to him. I don't know Sean well, but I know enough to know that he won’t take kindly to this. At all.”

  “Fuck...,” I said, biting my lip.

  “Male werewolves are extremely protective of what they perceive as theirs, whether you actually are or not,” she said, as if I hadn't been made painfully aware of that fact on multiple occasions. “Sean will kill him.”

  “Ronnie, he can't just walk up and—” I cut myself off when I remembered the context of her comment. She thought Sean was a werewolf, and, if she wanted to stay above terra firma, I needed to keep it that way. “Shit! He can't find out, Ronnie.”

  “I know, and a neowere wouldn't stand a chance against him either. Sean's probably been around for a long, long time.”

  “Yeah...probably. I can't tell,” I lied.

  “To be honest, I'm amazed he’s let the whole Cooper thing go on as long as he has. I've been waiting for that to blow up for a while now,” she said, leaning back against the arm of the couch.

  “That's a precarious arrangement, but it's been worked out. For now,” I told her, hoping to drop that subject. Precarious was an understatement. “Besides, Sean and I have only recently been together—sort of.”

  “Right...,” she said, giving nothing away. “You seem to have quite a few ‘precarious arrangements’ in place.”

  I said nothing. I wasn't sure that I liked where she was going, and I wasn't going to give her anything else to ruminate over. If she was trying to get some intel for her little organization, I wasn't in the mood.

  “Any chance I can clean up and crash in the guest room?” I asked, eyes hopeful. “I need to avoid any further drama this evening.”

  Her expression changed immediately.

  “Of course you can,” she said, standing up. “But I think the basement might be a better idea. Jay and Peyta should be home shortly and I think it'd be better if they didn't know you were here. I'm going to go put your car in the garage. If they ask, I'll just say the remote isn't working, and they should leave mine out in the driveway.”

  “Thank you, Ronnie,” I said. I meant it too.

  “I'm glad you came to me,” she replied, walking towards the basement door. “I owed you one.”

  I could feel that she cared—truly cared—about me. There was sorrow in her voice, but love in her heart. It caught me off guard.

  “Yeah, ya did,” I said sarcastically. “Two actually.”

  She turned slowly to face me. A wide and wicked smile lit her face.

  “No. Only one,” she said, smile intact. “I owe Scarlet the other, but I'm not really in the mood to pay that one back yet. She's still on my shit list.”

  “Mine too,” I said, wearing a smile to match hers. That was the moment that I knew things were going to be okay between Ronnie and me.

  Eventually.

  * * *

  The shouting carried deep into the basement where I slept restlessly on the pullout couch. My head was still foggy from the hot toddy Ronnie had made me chug before bed. She said it would keep the nightmares at bay. I imagined that she knew a little something about that, so I didn't argue and slammed the cocktail as fast as I could. It tasted like medicine. As I pried my head off the pillow, I tried to focus on what was being said, but too many people were talking at once to make much sense of anything.

  “Peyta, go upstairs!” Ronnie shouted, her voice carrying over the others. I pushed myself off the bed and shuffled, fuzzy-headed, to the stairs.

  “Mom, what's going on?” Peyta yelled, voice shaking.

  “She's fine,” Ronnie assured her. “Go.”

  “Where is she?” a male voice asked, freezing me in place halfway up the staircase.

  “Jay, take Peyta upstairs, please,” Ronnie commanded through gritted teeth.

  “Let's go, P,” he said softly. “Your mom said she's fine. We can see her tomorrow.” I heard no further protestations from her, so I assumed that once Jay took her hand, she followed as always. I was glad.

  “I won't ask again,” Sean said, his voice threatening.

  “Then I guess you'll be standing here quiet and disappointed for a long time, won't you?” Ronnie quipped. I admired her spunk; she had balls.

  I swallowed hard before I crept as quietly as possible up the stairs. I appreciated what Ronnie was doing, but I couldn't risk her being hurt. Sean was too unpredictable when his emotions ran hot, especially when that heat revolved around me.

  Nervous, I popped the door open a crack. A few feet in front of it stood Ronnie, her back to me. She was defending the way to the basement.

  Sean eyed me from a distance over the top of Ronnie's head, his black eyes menacing as ever.

  “Where were you?” he growled.

  “You don't need to worry about that,” Ronnie snarled, backing towards me slowly.

  “Ruby?” he asked, expression unchanging.

  “I...I had to take care of some business in Boston,” I whispered, bracing myself against the solid support of the door frame.

  “And after?”

  “Something popped up,” Ronnie said, cutting in before I had a chance to say anything. I cringed at her choice of words.

  “Like a flat tire?” he asked, eyebrow raising.

  “No. No, it definitely wasn't that.” Ronnie said, voice laced with sarcasm.

  “Then what?” he asked, stalking toward us.

  “How about we keep it vague for the time being, mmm?” she asked, her body pressing back into mine.

  “Don't get cute with me. I don't enjoy cute,” he said plainly. “And I don't enjoy games either. I want the truth.”

  The door casing no longer gave me the stability I needed. My arms shook and my legs quaked. Limbs quaking, I stumbled down a step or two before regaining my footing. Ronnie looked over her shoulder to make sure I was okay before blocking the doorway with her tiny frame.

  “Back off, Sean,” she said, gripping the wood tightly in her hands. “Just drop it.”

  “I'm tired of working this hard for answers,” he said menacingly. “Someone is going to tell me what happened. Now.”

  “I can't!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “I can't tell you! Don’t you see that? Please...please just go.”

  I ran down the stairs and dove into bed under the blankets, waiting for the inevitable sound of footsteps to follow. Instead, I heard Ronnie whispering harshly.

  “She's in no state to tell you now, Sean. She's scared.”

  “Of what?” he said, speaking in a slightly calmer voice.

  “Probably of how you'll react given that you've taken everything sooo well thus far,” she said, her voice getting louder. “Listen to me, and listen good. She'll tell you when she's able to. Do you understand me?”

  He said nothing. I knew the look she was giving him. She'd given it to both Peyta and me on several different occasions. It said, “Read between the fucking lines, you stupid shit.” He seemed to get the point.

  “I need to see her,”
he said.

  “Bad idea,” Ronnie said, rejecting his request immediately. “It'll only make things worse.”

  “I disagree,” he said firmly.

  That was when the footsteps came—two sets—Sean's heavy and certain, Ronnie's light and frantic. I drew the blanket back to watch them approach. Ronnie looked like a yappy dog chasing him and cursing at him. Sean was unfazed.

  “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.