Scars Like Wings

by C. B. Stagg

  “What does it matter?” She opened the passenger door and held it open expectantly. ”Why can’t you just let me help you? Why are you making everything so difficult, fighting at every turn?” Then she started muttering about me being a prick and needing to get my head out of my ass. It would have been hilarious if the wind hadn’t been whipping through my clothes and I wasn’t so pissed off about my kidnapping. I stood on shaky legs.

  “You need to back off, woman. This is not what I need.” I was not even two inches from her, yelling, in her face. Nothing, not even a flinch. She was about as scared of me as she would be a butterfly. I couldn’t decide if I loved her or hated her for that.

  “Oh yeah, jackass? Well, I think this is exactly what you need. Now, get in the damn car.” I may have actually jumped at her roar. The girl could be scary when she didn’t get her way. But, getting in her car and out of the cold made good sense, given my condition. It by no means meant I was conceding.

  Jillian rolled the wheelchair back to the lobby and returned seconds later, started the car, and drove out of the hospital parking lot without so much as a glance my way.

  I assumed she was taking me home. I’d been waiting for her to ask for my address, having no idea what I would say. The library? I wasn’t even sure it was open, being this close to Christmas. If not, I was screwed. I had nothing but the shirt from my back when Jillian found me and now that was cut to shreds.

  “Where are you taking me?” My head was back against the headrest and my eyes were closed.

  She looked at me, right in the eyes. “Home Bennett. I’m taking you home.”

  Chapter 30

  Jill

  COLLEGE STATION WAS still a ghost town, so the drive home took less than ten minutes. I’d taken great care to ease around corners and into stops, hoping to keep Bennett as comfortable as possible. Turning into the parking lot of my condo community, I saw it was basically deserted, too. Given it was three days before Christmas, it wasn’t surprising. People who had a home (and were speaking to their parents) went there for Christmas. Then there was me.

  “This doesn’t look like my home.” He hadn’t even opened his eyes. I don’t know why he was being so difficult. I was almost positive he didn’t have a home, so I decided to test my theory.

  I threw the car in park and turned to face him. “The way I see it, this is the closest thing you’ve got to a home, so suck it up.” His eyes popped open. Yep, I hit the nail on the head with that one. Bennett was homeless, living in the library I’d guess, but that could be sorted out later. I had more important things to worry about.

  He was slow to get out of the car, and even slower getting up to the porch, but he refused my help each time I offered, stubborn ass.

  No sooner had I opened the door than Bennett, in an impressive show of renewed strength, plowed through and headed straight to the shower. So predictable. It was his escape, the one place he knew I wouldn’t go to confront him. Well, he was wrong. I wasn’t giving up and if he didn’t come out, I was going in.

  I wondered what he thought when he walked in and found the clothes I’d grabbed for him. I had stopped at Target after he kicked me out of his hospital room the day before and braved the last minute Christmas shoppers to make sure he’d be comfortable once he came home. I’d been pretty thorough, purchasing T-shirts, sweatpants, socks, and boxers. I stood on the aisle with the soap and bodywash, smelling every bar and bottle they had, trying to replicate the clean, piney scent that always lingered on his skin. I must have looked like a fool, especially when I found the right one and jumped up and down a few times. Hopefully he’d find that on the counter, where I’d also left him a comb, deodorant, and a toothbrush.

  Now that I had him, I planned to keep him.

  I put a Stouffer's lasagna in the oven, then decided to tackle the mess in my bedroom. I hadn’t come this far into the house since the EMTs rolled Bennett out on a stretcher, and it needed a once-over. It probably needed more than that, but from what I knew about Bennett, once the water started, I had roughly ten minutes.

  I ripped off the old bedding, throwing it in a pile by the door. I had a spare set, so I’d wash it later. The exact moment I grabbed the spare sheets from the linen closet, the bath water started on the other side of the wall, quickly followed by the stuttered spurt of the shower. My heart was beating post-cardio fast and I ran back into my room and wrestled with the fitted sheet. I heard movement, and once I think he elbowed the wall, making me jump. I pulled the top sheet up and yanked on a new quilt just as the water cut off.

  My shaky legs bounced with each step as I walked back into the kitchen. My breaths were fast and my heart beat even faster, waiting for him to come out. Why was I so nervous?

  Lucky for me, I didn’t have to wait long. He stepped out of the steamy bathroom, hair neatly combed, and completely dressed. His pants hung low on his hips, loose enough for that casual, I’m not trying look, but tight enough to highlight the strength in his muscular thighs. He’d pulled on a grey T-shirt, the closest I could find to the army shirts I was so used to seeing him in. On his feet, he’d pulled on the thick, white socks.

  The sight of him made me want to cry. I couldn’t believe he was here. Watching him being carried out on a gurney, so pale and lifeless, put me face-to-face with the possibility he may not recover. And now he was standing in front of me. And grumpy or not, I couldn’t help but appreciate the beautiful, broken man standing in front of me.

  He’d been running a towel over his damp hair, but he stopped when he saw me and then stomped into the kitchen. He insisted on banging every cabinet door during the process of looking for a glass and when he found it, he filled it from the tap and I heard him drink it all down in one gulp. What was meant to make me mad just made me smile and I was glad the couch faced away from the kitchen where he couldn’t see me. He was acting like a child and I found humor in that, but he didn’t need to catch me laughing at him.

  “Take me home.” He was behind me and I stood to face him, the couch a barrier between us like a line in the sand. But he was underestimating me. Because once a girl realizes she deserves better, she’s relentless in her pursuit for what she wants. And I wanted the man standing in front of me.

  “And by home, you mean… the library?” I crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for an answer. But when his jaw clenched, and his shoulders dropped, I’d have given anything for a do over.

  “Look, I’m sorry.” I rushed around to his side of the couch. Reaching for his hand, I tried to explain. “I didn’t mean—” But he recoiled at my touch. Which was just mean.

  I stood there, frozen in shock, the events of the last days, weeks, months even, swirling around in my head. Finally, I just asked.

  “What the hell is your problem?” The closer I came to him, the more he backed away. It was like a slow-motion cat and mouse chase as he circled around the couch to escape. But I was quicker and met up with him on the other side. This wasn’t nearly over.

  “Look, I don’t have a problem. I just—” His sigh was deep and rocked his whole body. It was heartbreaking. He looked defeated, like the first time I saw him walking out of Mrs. Lowe’s office... what seemed like a lifetime ago.

  “You just what, Bennett?” We were in a standoff and I wasn’t backing down without an explanation. “What did I do to make you treat me this way? Why are you being like this?” I was choking. This wasn’t, at all, going according to plan. “Why won’t you let me touch you?” Because that’s what I wanted. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to make him feel better. I wanted to help him and be a part of his life. I wanted… him.

  “God, Jill.” He ran his hand through his freshly combed hair, mussing it up into something even better. “Why can’t you just see that I’m not good enough for you?” The pain in his eyes almost brought me to my knees. Is that what he thought?

  “You? Not good enough for me? ” I looked around, ready to put an end to all of this. It was time to air the dirty laundry and he was going f
irst. I grabbed a long, black umbrella from the coat rack nearby. “Is it because of this?” I used the metal tip to lift the hem of his shirt, exposing the burns I’d caught glimpses of while caring for his fever. He stood like a statue, his jaw and fists clenching in time with one another.

  “Or is it because of this?” I reared back and hit the shin of his right leg as hard as I could with the umbrella. He lost his balance for a fraction of a second as the sound of the umbrella hitting whatever he was hiding under those pants echoed through the house. His eyes got wide and he stared at me, like I’d lost my mind… and maybe I had.

  “You’ve got scars. And you’re missing a leg. So?” Tears poured down my cheeks at the emotional outburst and the relief it brought just to get this all out. “What makes you think you’re so different?” He wasn’t moving, wasn’t speaking. I was scared I’d broken him. After a few beats, he slumped down on the couch.

  “Jill, I’m not—” I stopped him with my hand. I wasn’t ready to hear it. What if this was it? What if this was the last time we were together? What if he walked out of this place and never looked back? I couldn’t bear the thought. I closed my eyes, struggling to gain control. But not for too long. Because if these were the last moments we spent with each other, I wanted to remember everything.

  “Everyone has scars, Bennett.”

  “No.” He shook his head, looking straight up at me. “Not everyone. Not you. I’m not even a whole man and you... you’re perfect.” I gasped.

  “Perfect?” A maniacal laugh slipped from my lips. “You want to see perfect?”

  Chapter 31

  Bennett

  JILLIAN PUSHED ME back on the couch and stood directly in front of my knees. She was so close, I could reach out and touch her, but I held back. She seemed to have more to say. Never breaking eye contact, she reached up and slowly started unbuttoning her shirt.

  “Jill, what are you doing?” I reached up to stop her, but she shook her head. She had calmed down, her tears had stopped.

  “I’m showing you perfect.” With the last button free, she turned so I was looking at her back. With one quick motion, she shrugged, and the shirt slid off her shoulders where it fell in a puddle at my feet. I stole a glance at her skin, flawless with a light dusting of freckles across her shoulders. I wanted to touch her. I needed to confirm she was as silky smooth as she looked from where I was sitting. But I didn’t get the chance.

  Calmly and with the grace of a dancer, she turned back around, revealing angry red, webbed skin on her right side and across her torso. “How’s this for perfect?” she whispered.

  And it took just one flick of her wrist behind her, and the pretty pink bra she’d been wearing came sliding down her arms, uncovering even more of her hidden secret. The burns continued, covering her entire right breast, stopping just below the shoulder.

  “Jill, no, stop,” I demanded and tried to grab her hands as she tugged on the button of her jeans. “I get it.”

  She backed up, placing herself just out of my reach. “No, I don’t think you do, Bennett. I’m just getting started.” She wiggled her narrow hips and her oversized jeans fell down, pooling around her ankles, before she kicked them away. Jillian Walker stood in front of me, wearing only a small pair of pink panties, and I couldn’t breathe. Tearing my eyes from her body, I met hers and saw they were brimming with fresh tears. The burns extended all the way down to her knee and a giant, red surgical scar covered her hip and lower torso. It took every ounce of willpower I’d ever been given not to cross the two feet that divided us, but I knew this had to play out on her terms. I sat on my hands to keep from touching her.

  “My volunteer work at the cafe was not altruistic by any stretch of the word. A few months before, I’d driven drunk and run my brand-new little sports car up a telephone pole in the middle of the night. A Good Samaritan pulled me out of the burning car moments before it exploded, but not before leaving me… like this.” She turned 360 degrees to show me everything.

  “See, Bennett.” She sniffed. Tears freely streamed down her face as she looked at me. “You’re not so special. We all have scars.” With both hands, she wiped the tears from her face, but more took their place almost immediately.

  I looked her up and down while she watched, taking in the details of the body my imagination had dreamed of more times than I could count. Never, in my fantasies, had she looked quite like the reality that stood before me.

  “But I was right,” I simply stated. Her brows knitted together, and she cocked her head… as if that would help her understand.

  “Right about what?”

  I leaned forward and placed my palms on the backs of her thighs—pulling her close, planting my lips on her right hip—and kissed one of the worst scars on her body. “You. Are. Perfect.” I pressed my head against her stomach, directly on her burns, and almost instantly she cradled it, running her hands through my hair. It was perfect. Everything about the moment was absolutely perfect.

  We stayed like that for I don’t know how long. I didn’t want to let go. Because I’d done it. I got my mind set straight and I’d gotten the girl I never thought would give me a second glance. She was mine now. She was in my arms, holding me against her like I was the most precious thing her hands had ever touched. I pulled away just enough to look up into her beautiful eyes. Eyes that didn’t just look at me, but saw me.

  “These aren’t scars, Jill.” I pulled, yanking her down onto the couch. She landed in my lap, facing me. “They’re wings.” Her hands continued their assault on my hair while I ran my hands up and down her perfect imperfections.

  “I don’t understand… “ She looked free, like she’d just rid herself of the world’s burdens as her lips connected with my forehead.

  “These scars… they brought you to me.” Her breath caught and I wrapped my arms fully around her, bringing her beautiful body flush with mine. “But you were right about one thing. I am homeless.” Jill pulled back and we found ourselves nose to nose. She shook her head back and forth, so very slowly.

  “No, you’re not.” She grabbed my face between her hands and pulled my lips to hers, but just before they met, she whispered, “Not anymore.”

  Chapter 32

  Jill

  March 1993

  I LOVE SLEEP. I love it maybe more than ice cream. And alarm clocks are the devil. But when the alarm clock comes as a twenty-two-year-old hunk of muscle with soul-searching eyes and a smile that could light up the world—and he smells like bacon—waking up after a long and leisurely holiday from school wasn’t so bad.

  “I am seriously going to grow out of all my clothes if you don’t quit cooking all the time.” I kind of meant what I was saying, but it’s less convincing when accompanied by a cheesy grin and grabby hands stuffing the delicious breakfast into my mouth as soon as the last word comes out.

  “Cooking for you is the very least I can do, Jill.” Bennett was sitting on the edge of the bed with a tray full of bacon and waffle sandwiches, a thing that wasn’t a thing until we made it a thing. Because that’s what we did. We took two pretty incredible things and paired them together to make them even more amazing. It’s what we did with each other.

  “I have to go. I’ve got class and then my last day of training at the counseling center.” I’m positive that pride beamed from my eyes. I still got chills thinking about how Bennett was approached about a job counseling veterans who were now students. Because who better to help them work through the mess in their heads than someone who’d been there and done that?

  “I have a study group, so I’ll just have to meet you at the cafe.” Talking with my mouth full was probably not the most attractive thing in the world, but that’s one of the many things I loved about Bennett—he loved the good, the bad, and the ugly of Jill Walker. I still felt completely undeserving of his love, but I was working on it. Every day I worked on replacing the narrative ingrained in my head by my parents with the new story I was writing with Chance and Lillie Lowe, my new fr
iends at the cafe, and of course, my boyfriend, Bennett.

  After that cold December day when we shined a light on all our truths, we never spent another night apart. And that was a good thing. The heart bursting with love and a lifetime of kisses I’d been saving up… I now know were meant for him. Sergeant Bennett Hanson—my roommate, my best friend, and the man I hoped to spend the rest of my life with.

  “Hey, you said you’d reconsider our sleeping arrangements once we got back from spring break and well, we’re back… ” I let my voice drift off. While it’s true we never spent another night apart, Bennett spent his actual sleeping hours on the couch. Because of course, in addition to being gorgeous and brave and sensitive and funny and probably the most intelligent person I’d ever known, he was also honorable.

  “I really have to go. Can we talk about this tonight?” I nodded, a little disappointed. We would be talking about this tonight. “Good.” And he stood, then leaned down to kiss me goodbye.

  “Ewww, no,” I squealed, as I turned my head, throwing my hands up to cover my mouth. “Morning breath.”

  A roll of his eyes, a shake of his head, and a kiss on the hair, and he was gone. I fell back against my pillows with a face-splitting grin, wondering how I got so lucky.

  Chapter 33

  Bennett

  THE NINE HOURS I had to spend away from Jill felt like nine hundred, but eventually I was boarding the bus from my new job at the counseling center, headed for the cafe. Jill was still in class and would be for the better part of another hour, but I still really needed to hurry.

  “Is everything ready?” I called into an empty dining room the second I walked in the door, but I didn’t have to. My sense of smell told me what I needed to know. I busted into the kitchen and stopped short. Lillie and Chance stood at the stainless steel island in what looked to be a standoff. Clearly, I was interrupting something big.