There’s a loud thump and I can tell he’s mirroring my position on the other side of the door. For whatever reason, Peyton’s voice pops into my head. ‘Even I can see he’s not shallow. He’s a good guy, Fran.’ In my heart I know she’s right, but I just don’t want to see the look of horror in his eyes, followed by pity when he sees how damaged I am, when he sees all of my broken pieces.
With a resigned sigh, I push myself to a standing position, wiping the wetness from my lashes and cheeks before clicking the lock. Backing up a few steps, I wait for the inevitable to finally happen…for Matt to see who I really am.
He walks through the door, a somber expression covering his face, worry lines crinkling his eyes. “Thank you for letting me in,” he says with so much relief that it nearly breaks me knowing I ran from him. “Now that you have, I want to know if you’re okay and I want you to tell me what’s going on. You’ve been crying, and before you say anything, I’ve seen you go through so many different emotions this past week, so don’t tell me it’s nothing and try to sweep it under the rug.”
“It’s not nothing,” I reply, trying to swallow the nausea crawling up my throat at the thought of revealing my darkest secret.
“What happened out there, Fran?” He keeps his distance but his voice is soft, his hands remain at his sides.
“My dad used to call me Franny,” I mutter, and I don’t have a chance to say anything else before he interrupts me.
“God, Fran, you must miss him so much.”
I shake my head back and forth in a violent fashion and know I must look like a crazy person, which is fitting considering what I’m about to say. “I don’t miss him. I’m glad he’s dead.”
“I don’t understand,” he says, his brows knitting together, his arms now crossing his chest.
Everyone has a defining moment and this is mine. I’ve never willingly showed a man my scars, even with Kyle, he stumbled upon them. But now, here with Matt, it’s as if I’m standing on the precipice, about to hurl myself over the edge. The fear is crippling, all of my life’s insecurities culminating to form a tight, uncomfortable ball in my throat that strangles me from the inside out.
I never thought this would be the way Matt would first see me naked, but I suppose it’s better he know now. Before I lose my nerve, and with my heart pounding fiercely inside my chest and beads of sweat dotting my upper lip, I lower my hand to the belt and slowly pull it loose until it unravels and my dress is parted down the middle. With one last look at Matt—his eyes narrowing, the lines of confusion burrowing deeper into his face—I push the fabric apart.
An audible gasp breaks the silence in the room.
His eyes widen and his jaw hangs open as the sound travels between us. It’s the sound of horror, of mortification, of disgust. I’m scared to look into his eyes, to see the disappointment I’ve become all too familiar with. Instead, I glance down and notice the vein in his neck pulsing as he examines me, taking in the rough, jagged lines on my belly, the dark circles on my thighs, weathered imprints of pain, of survival. Everything bad in my life stems from these scars, as if they’re the tree and I’m the branches, when it should be the other way around. My legs and knees grow weak and I feel faint. I’m completely vulnerable under his scrutiny, the need to cover up and hide overwhelms me, but I’m tired now and I can’t run anymore.
“Jesus Christ, Fran. Who did that to you?”
But before I have a chance to respond, he answers his own question, realization of my previous words hitting him hard.
“Your dad,” he utters in a shocked whisper.
“He used to come to my room at night,” I say, my voice a strained whimper, not wanting anyone to overhear even though there’s no one else in the room. “He had these black, heeled boots he always wore and when I heard them tapping on the wood floor, I knew it wouldn’t be long.” A recurring shiver crawls across my skin at the memory. “I was so scared, you know, and I didn’t know what to do. I was just a child and he was my father.” An anguished tear rolls down my skin and I wrap my arms around myself. “He wasn’t supposed to hurt me. He was supposed to love me.”
Matt wastes no time, closing the gap between us. He tilts his head to the side, forcing my eyes to meet his before his hand comes toward my stomach and I flinch.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Fran. I would never hurt you.” His hand reaches my belly, his jaw clenching as he traces one of the rigid scars with his fingertip, and when his gaze finds mine again, his blue eyes are clouded with tears. “Oh, baby.” He doesn’t say anything else, but I see the pity in his eyes. The look I didn’t want to find there. I don’t want him feeling sorry for me.
Another tear slides down my cheek, landing on his finger. “I didn’t want you to see the ugliness and I don’t want you to look at me and feel sorry for me. I don’t need your pity.”
He brings my face to his, brushing the hair from my eyes. “Is that what you think? That I see ugliness? Jesus, Fran, what kind of a person do you think I am?” He drops his hands with a pained sigh. “Do you know what beauty is to me, Fran? It’s not wrapped up in porcelain skin and eyes that sparkle. It’s the human spirit that shines through when cancer comes knocking…when thick eyelashes have fallen out, when once-prominent cheekbones are sunken into hollow cheeks, when a graceful neck has turned to nothing but bone. A soul that remains hopeful in the face of devastation…that’s the most beautiful thing on earth.”
A rush of air leaves his mouth before he continues. “Your dad may have marked your body in horrible, unthinkable ways, but your soul, Fran, your soul is intact, and it’s beautiful.” He stares at me, determined blue eyes to shattered green. “So, you don’t need to be pitied, Fran, and no, I don’t feel sorry for you when I look at you.” He pauses, lifting a finger to my wet cheek. “I just feel.”
That’s all it takes for me to crumble, my insides melting at his raw honesty, my tears resuming their natural course down my cheeks. With a trembling hand, I reach out and smooth a piece of hair away from his forehead, needing to see his eyes. I’ve always heard the saying ‘the eyes are the windows to the soul,’ and I’ve just seen a soul so pure, so brilliant in its magnificence. It’s blinding and beautiful and I’m undeniably drawn to it.
“Matt,” I murmur, before gently pressing my lips to his, wanting to be one with this kind, beautiful spirit.
His hands come to my face, caressing me so tenderly I nearly fall apart again, while still wanting to show him with this kiss how much this moment means to me. It’s something that I will tuck away in a corner of my heart. Something I’ll take with me when I go. And as that last thought hits me, I part his lips with mine and wind my arms around his neck, giving myself to him in a way I’ve never given myself to anyone, our mingled breaths joining our souls for one precious instant. One I will never forget.
When we finally untangle our tongues, Matt continues to kiss the corners of my mouth while I try to rein in my ability to breathe. “You realize that you’re standing here kissing me like that wearing just a sexy bra and panties,” he whispers, his grin a tickle against my lips.
“Yeah, and what are you going to do about it?” I purr, drawing his body closer to mine.
“Nothing. I don’t like the ambience here. The cardboard boxes are kind of ruining it for me.”
I belt out a laugh and playfully tug on his shaggy hair.
“Come here and let’s get you dressed. Caleb and Peyton are worried about you and Caleb feels awful,” he says, tying my belt back up and looping it into a knot.
“I feel terrible that I snapped at him. I need to apologize,” I reply, feeling regretful of my outburst and the way I stomped off.
“No worries. Caleb is a very understanding guy and you have nothing to apologize for.” He finishes with my belt and reaches into his pocket for some tissue, sweetly wiping away the remainder of my tears before dropping a kiss on my nose. “There, good as new.” He laces our fingers together. “Come on.”
When we finally ch
arge through the packed bar and make it back to the table, Peyton springs up from her seat and hugs me. “Jesus, Fran, I was so worried about you,” she says, her concern echoing in my ear.
It’s amazing how our friendship has risen to a whole other level since we’ve been here but I guess that’s what happens when you decide to let someone in. My eyes stray to Matt before Caleb’s up next, giving me a huge squeeze.
“I’m so sorry, sweet cakes,” he apologizes, and I smile at the endearment. “Whatever I said, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
I push away and look him in the eyes. “No. I’m the one who’s sorry, Caleb. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s just that…I’ve got issues.”
He puts his arm around my shoulder, resting his head against mine. “We’ve all got issues, Fran. We’re all fucked up. That’s what makes the world go round.”
I’ve never wanted to kill anyone with my bare hands until now. And the fucked up part? The person I want to kill is already dead. Still, I’ve never felt rage like this before, a seething hatred, the kind that makes your blood boil. I couldn’t breathe at the sight of those marks that Fran’s asshole father left on her, the thought that a father could do that to his own daughter—a vulnerable, innocent child who only craved love, and instead got brutality—what a poor excuse for a human being. Bile churns my stomach, my veins straining against my skin.
Then the other side kicks in, the one who looked into Fran’s eyes and saw the undeniable agony, the eyes of a child who’d been hurt by the person she trusted most…and it nearly killed me. I want to strip away the layers of her pain, peel them back to reveal the beauty that lies beneath…because there’s so damn much of it.
She thinks I feel sorry for her. She’s so far off and has no freaking idea. I feel so much when I look at her and none of it has anything to do with pity. Truth be known, it scares me to death.
That guy Ryan’s face suddenly flashes in my head and I go from seeing red to seeing green. He’s good looking, I’ll give him that, and he’s obviously into Fran, but then again who wouldn’t be?
I don’t even realize my teeth are clenched tight and when I glance down, I’m white-knuckling the steering wheel. Well, my left hand is. My right hand is enfolded in Fran’s as she stares out the window, the lights of the city passing by in a colorful blur. She seems lost in her thoughts, so every now and then I gently squeeze her hand to bring her back to me, a reminder that I’m here for her.
The emotional drain of the night has taken a toll not just on Fran, but on me as well, taking me back to Mom and Clara, replaying it in my mind as if I were stuck in the past, watching them die all over again.
Fran turns her head to look at me, a part of her face disguised in the shadows. “You okay?” she asks, and she must feel the tension rolling off of me, see the ticking of my jaw.
“Yeah, I’m just worried about you, honestly. It’s been a rough night.”
“Well, you made it better for me. I don’t think you realize just how much.” She whispers the last part, hearing Peyton and Caleb snoring lightly in the back seat. She glances back at them and smiles, continuing quietly, “I think they’re really cute together, even though I know it’s only temporary.”
Her words cut me deep and lure me back to reality, the one where she’s going back to New York soon, and I suddenly wonder what the hell I’m doing, what I’m allowing myself to feel knowing it won’t last. She has a life to get back to just as I do but it feels like we’re living a double life right now, one I’m not anxious to leave.
“Yeah, they are,” I admit, “and I think Caleb thinks so, too, although he probably won’t fess up to it.”
“All good things must come to an end, I suppose,” she states flatly, and her profiled expression changes as she stares blankly out the window. I squeeze her hand once again.
The rest of the ride is quiet. Caleb and Peyton are still snoring and Fran is dozing as well. When we arrive back at the hotel, I’m hit with the same wave of exhaustion that everyone else seems to be feeling. As much as I don’t want this night to end, I need some sleep.
It’s midnight, and the lobby is scarce, the only exception being the tanned, bottle-blonde behind the registration desk and an elderly couple walking to the elevator.
Fran stops and addresses Caleb and Peyton. “Listen, I just want to apologize again for ruining the night.”
“You didn’t ruin the night, Fran. Peyton and I still had fun while you were gone,” he teases, knocking Fran’s arm playfully. “Seriously, sweet-cakes, it’s fine. We’re just glad you’re okay.”
Caleb gives Fran a kiss on the cheek and Peyton hugs her, whispering something in her ear, and then they take off to do whatever it is they’re “temporarily” doing.
I latch onto her hand at the same time we hear a crashing noise. She immediately pulls away, running toward a frail, gray-haired woman who has fallen, her walker tipped over on its side. Fran bends down and clasps her elbow, helping her rise to a full stand before placing her fragile hands back on the arms of the walker that she places upright in front of her.
“Can I help you get to your room?” Fran asks, turning to what I assume is the husband, his eyes filled with both worry and gratitude.
“No, thank you, dear,” he replies in a shaky voice, “but thank you for noticing we needed help and not walking on by.”
Fran’s mouth pulls up in a smile as the old woman lifts a trembling hand to her cheek.
“Such a darling girl. Thank you,” she utters, her voice cracking, “you have a good heart.”
Truer words were never spoken.
Fran keeps her head on my shoulder the entire ride up to her room, her arm entwined with mine.
“Sleepy, sunshine?” I ask, basking in the smell of jasmine floating in the air.
“Hmmm…,” she replies, her eyelids fluttering closed, a dreamy smile on her lips.
We stop just outside of her door and she rests against it, sliding her hand down my arm and her fingers between my own.
“So I’m going to visit my mom tomorrow in Santa Barbara. She’s staying at a friend’s house,” she tells me through a wide yawn, “I’m leaving during the lunch break.”
“Oh? Do you want some company?” I ask, looking down at our hands and hoping she’ll say yes.
“Normally, I would, but I want to spend some time with her. We haven’t seen each other in a while and we have a lot to talk about, but…thank you.” Her slumberous eyes meet mine and a sweet smile curls her lips.
“Sure,” I reply, trying not to sound or look as disappointed as I feel. “Wait. How are you getting there?”
“I’m going to rent a car. It’s only a little over an hour from here,” she says casually, toying with my fingers.
“You can take my car,” I offer, surprising even myself with my spur of the moment decision.
“What? No. I couldn’t possibly take your baby,” she kids. “That’s your pride and joy.”
“Seriously, I want you to take it. I’ll feel better knowing you’re safe.”
She narrows her gaze, her dark brows pulling in. “What’s happening to your tight-assedness?”
“Tight-assedness? I’m not sure Webster would approve of that word.” I chuckle, plucking at her hand. “You know, I wasn’t always a tight-ass,” I volunteer unexpectedly, feeling the need to explain, wanting her to understand.
“HA!” she barks out, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
“It’s true.” The mood around us shifts suddenly and I pause to find the words. “When my mom died, I felt my whole world come crashing down, but Brad began to spin out of control and I had to watch out for him, and Clara, too. My dad was no help; he was too lost in his grief. So, I…I don’t know. I felt like the only way I could handle things was if I was sure they were in order, it was the only thing that gave me any sense of control over my life.”
She cups my cheek with her hand, sending an empathetic smile my way. “Matt, if anyone can understand that, it�
��s definitely me. I get it, you know. You do what you have to do to survive.”
Except I don’t want to just survive anymore.
“Well, I guess I should go so you can get some rest,” I say hesitantly, taking a step closer, her warm hand remaining on my cheek, and I circle her nose with my own.
Shy green eyes look back at me with a careful gaze as she bites her bottom lip. “I don’t know how to thank you for what you did for me tonight.”
“Fran,” I reply, meeting that soft gleam in her eye, “I really didn’t do anything. You’re the one that bared yourself to me in such a brave way. You’re stronger than you realize…and you’re a survivor.”
She sucks in a sharp breath. “We both are.”
I study her face, the wonder of it, of her, and the emotion overwhelms me. “But it’s time to do more than that now. It’s time to live.” My knuckle slides down her cheek and she blinks. “Do you know who showed me that?” She shakes her head, unaware of the effect she has on me. “You did.”
She lifts her chin, offering her mouth up to me and I don’t need to be asked twice.
I watch her lashes spill across her cheeks before our lips come together, starting out as a soft brush but turning into so much more. She parts for me, her tongue seeking out mine, flicking it back and forth, the feel like velvet stirring a groan to rip through my chest and hunger to take over. I’m trying to go slow, but the smell of vanilla mixed with the warmth of her mouth and the feel of her pressed up against me spurs me on until my hands are in her hair, angling her head so I can penetrate her mouth, taking as much as she’s willing to give. She whimpers when I suck on her tongue and the sweet sound travels to my cock, now straining against my jeans.
Reluctantly, I break the kiss, the pounding of my chest and my hard-on a dead giveaway to my desire for her. “Fran….” I let out a jagged breath. “I should stop now or I won’t be able to stop at all.”
“What if I don’t want you to stop?” She looks up at me with those lustful green eyes and my resistance threatens to crack in half.
Scarred Beautiful Page 17