Hurt (The Hurt Series, #1)

by Lydia Michaels

  He glanced down at her pretty hand holding his mangled fist and his skin burned under his collar. She never seemed to stare at his scars or focus on them.

  He pointed to his nose. “That’s how this masterpiece happened.”

  “You’re a masterpiece,” she whispered. “I think you’re beautiful.”

  He frowned at her, trying to see through the words and pinpoint the lie, but her eyes showed such sincerity he couldnae make sense of it. He knew what he looked like.

  “Ye dinnae see all the scars. There are more that my clothes hide.”

  “They’re just scars, Callan.”

  He nodded, considering how some still hurt. The tight skin at his ankles prickled. On days when he overlooked caring for his burn scars, they could pain him something fierce. But all that pain was nothing compared to the damage he carried inside.

  He drew in an unsteady breath. A valve had been opened, and the only way to shut it off was to finish expelling the toxins inside.

  “I put Innis and Gavin in a private school with the money I made havin’ the shite kicked out of me on a weekly basis, so it was worth it. My da was not a kind man, and every time I won—every time—I saw more of him in myself. I hated it, but we were finally able to save a little and eventually we’d move. But there was a house fire. We dinnae have much, but the things we did have...”

  “Callan, if this is too difficult to talk about—”

  His fist opened, and he caught her fingers, squeezing. He instantly softened his grip and kissed her knuckles. “I left Gavin and Innis home. After that...”

  He couldnae bring himself to share the stories of Innis. He dinnae want those haunting images lingering in Emery’s head.

  “I lost everything. I lost them.”

  Her chair scraped over the floor, and she caught his face in her hands, pressing her lips to his cheek. “Oh, Callan...”

  Her sympathy was a jagged pill he couldnae swallow, so he nodded and nudged her back to her chair. Understanding and deep sorrow swirled in her glittering eyes.

  “It was all tied together. The fights, the gambling, the corruption, and the man behind it all.”

  The cold, expansive ache in his chest started to warm, and then it started to burn as his words up to this point ignited like a bed of kindling for the fire of hate that now blazed in his gut.

  “My world was a dark place.” He pulled his hand away from her touch as if his hands still wore the blood he’d spilled. “I killed the men who started the fire.” His eyes stared, no longer seeing the surface of the table, but recalling the towering flames and screams as he’d watched them burn alive. “I wanted vengeance. I wanted my family back. And after that, I planned to die.”

  Silence enveloped the kitchen for a long time. He dinnae look at her. Couldnae. But he felt her next to him. The markings on his arm came alive on his skin, each one quivering just beneath the surface with a memory.

  He saw himself on a rampage, slashing through flesh, hacking apart bone, bathing in rivulets of blood. He’d buried bodies from one end of Scotland to the other.

  His sins went to God and God alone. But she needed to understand his hands were far from clean. “They were all bad men, Em’ry. Men who had stolen guiltless lives, ripped the innocence away from the weak. I acted as judge and executioner, never regretting my ... actions.”

  “They deserved to die.”

  His head jerked up, his memories splashing away as he looked in her eyes, unsure he’d heard her or imagined the conviction in her voice. “Pardon?”

  Something cold flashed in her stare as if she was seeing her own nightmares. Her lashes flicked, and she looked at him. “Some animals just need to be put down, Callan. Especially if they’re putting innocent people in danger.”

  Thrown by the assertion of her uncompromising vengeance, he was unsure if he should celebrate her comprehension or mourn whatever part of her goodness that died to make room for it.

  “The man who ... touched you... Is he still alive?”

  Of course, she’d want to know about Rory. “No.”

  It had been more than three years since he’d left him rotting on the floor, nothing more than a bloodied pile of bone and tissue. Though he hadn’t been the last person Rory saw before leaving this world, Callan should have taken some sort of peace from knowing his tormentor had died. But peace dinnae exist after something as horrific as what they survived, only a strange sort of inner quiet that could be just as unnerving as the endless noise.

  Innis had every right to take his eyes. In the end, his death was hers.

  “Could you not have gone to the cops?” she asked.

  He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “The polis dinnae help criminals, and that’s what these men were. It’s what I became the moment I was forced into a job workin’ for them. Life got complicated, some days all I could feel...” His lips worked as he tried to put a name to that dark feeling that owned him. “Hurt.”

  He covered his jaw, massaging slowly and working his fingers over his mouth, so his teeth dinnae chatter and his hands dinnae shake. The hurt still anchored him. But so did she. He needed to balance the two, show her this side of himself. It was the only way he could accept her love. She had to truly know the darkness inside of him to truly accept him, even if he could only reveal a wee bit at a time.

  He knew nothing about love but knew everything about pain. Violence could lift the skin right from the muscle, tearing it back from the bone. It was tangible, messy, and palpable. When a man fought, and he got his arse pummeled, he couldnae forget he was trapped in that battered bag of flesh. But when the bruises healed and the exterior pain was gone, the hurt remained, and the real ache began.

  But hurt was different. Hurt lay beneath flesh and blood, within the hollow of the bone. Hurt was dark and lonesome.

  Hurt was the phantom slap of God that knocked a man to his knees when the rest of the world only felt a breeze. He had so much hurt inside of him when he came to this country, he’d been nothing but a sack of shattered glass.

  Elspeth had taken care of both him and Uma, acted as an accomplice when they robbed the estate, proving herself a trustworthy friend—his only friend—until he met Emery. His world was small by choice. His home a fortress and his heart a vault.

  But little by little, his guard dropped. Uma, with her wee fingers, and her laugh that curled into him... It was the little things that first slipped past his watch.

  His appreciation for Elspeth grew with his respect. Women knew things, like when a tooth was loose or how to get knots out of little tangles without making Uma cry. He needed her, and she proved a devoted companion for his niece.

  But Emery, she was different. He coveted her since the day he set eyes on her, knowing he had no right to even look her way. But her beauty tempted him, and her laughter intoxicated something inside of him, something that quieted the hurt.

  Addicted to watching her, wanting that strange sense of peace she brought, he changed his shifts to make sure they matched hers. Even on his worst days, when the memories were inescapable, and the hurt pushed him close to ending it all, she had the power to settle him. She quelled the storm, quieted the beast inside, and quickened his heart.

  He hadnae killed a man since making her acquaintance. It seemed ironic that her circumstances had awakened the beast she’d so effortlessly tamed. But he would see to her justice in the end. It would be the poetic finish to his sorry life. And while it would disturb his sanctuary, possibly stir up trouble he couldnae outrun, he knew loving a woman meant slaying her demons and not becoming one.

  Uma would have Elspeth and Emery would have peace.

  Her sniffle dragged him out of his head. Damp streaks cut through her beauty, shredding his heart. He’d given those tears to her. “Please dinnae waste tears on me, love.”

  “I hate that you had to go through that. I hate knowing you suffered.”

  Once again, he couldnae bear her tears. Pulling her into his lap, he pressed his li
ps to her hair. “Dinnae waste yer tears on me, love. I was built for pain.” Because pain hit the exterior. The thing that ate at him most was the hurt. That’s what rotted him from the inside out—but she couldnae see that. It was good to keep it hidden. In the end, it would serve his purpose well.

  She burrowed into his strength, her silent tears leaving damp stains on his shirt. “When I look at you, I see this unstoppable force. I can feel power thrumming from you and sense you before I know you’re there. I can’t imagine anyone hurting you. And that man who...” Her voice faltered. “I just can’t, Callan.”

  He softly brushed her hair away from her eyes and tucked it behind her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It wasnae like what happened to you, leannán. As much as I hated it, I never lost complete control. He had my body, but he never touched my mind.” Yet, he’d wrecked his soul.

  For several minutes, only their soft breathing broke the silence. Both of them lost in their own memories, unforgettable nightmares that had more sides than a kaleidoscope. That was the tricky part of trauma. You never saw it twice from the same angle, and every viewing hurt.

  “I remember,” she whispered. “Hiding in my head. I was there, in the bathroom, the sink, my screaming reflection all I could see. But there’s also this other memory. I’m just sitting, in a dark corner. My knees are up, and I’m hugging them, but no one’s touching me. It’s like the pain’s at the door, banging hard enough to rattle the walls, but it isn’t touching me.”

  She lifted her head from his chest and looked him in the eyes. “It’s not a real place. But I’ve been there. I went there when he went inside of me. And the walls would suddenly vanish, but then they’d come back.” She blinked, her brow knit into a frown. “I can see myself clear as day, like it was a real place. But it wasn’t. He had me all along.”

  His arms tightened around her. “I did the same. I tried to become as empty as I could. It sort of flickered but never held. I just remember the pain.” He swallowed. “And the shame.”

  Her eyes closed and her weight sagged into him. “I know the shame.”

  No more words. They sat in a timeless silence, drowning in the hurt with no urge to struggle. Sometimes hurt just needed to do its thing, so they let it drag them down.

  Her hurt seeped into him. And his into her. Together they weighed each other down, and that hadnae been his intention. He never wanted to add to her burden.

  “Ye help me, Em’ry.”

  She sniffed and lifted her face. “I do?”

  He nodded. “Maybe love is the glue that puts a broken man back together. When I’m near you, I feel ye in my soul, like every look from your eyes is somehow sewing me back onto the bone.”

  Her lips parted as she breathed against him, the soft heaves of her chest pressing with each inhalation.

  Her eyes wore a mask of pain, one he’d seen before. “I tell myself it can be everything or nothing.” She shook her head. “Like, I didn’t have a choice then, but I do have the choice now. And I get to decide what I make of it.”

  He understood what she meant, if she’d let it ruin her or if she’d rise from the pain, bury the hurt. For him, it was everything. The vengeance, the hate, the drive, it all started and ended with one person. But in the end, it hadnae been a loop that came full circle, it was just a messy labyrinth of derailed turns that confused his past and left him more lost than he’d started. But it led him to Emery.

  “I think that’s the difference between men and women. On most days, most men believe themselves at least half-gods. When our power’s ripped away, and the truth of our vulnerability is all we have left to feel, it turns us into something ugly. But women... I dinnae ken why so many women take that blame and put it on themselves.”

  A small gasp slipped past her lips like a deformed laugh made without humor. “I still blame myself for going into that bathroom.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “I know. But it’s true.”

  His lips formed a thin line. “I blame myself for Innis and Gavin. I even blame myself for leavin’ you tha’ night. Had I been there...”

  She stared up at him with stunned comprehension. “Callan, no—”

  “Let’s not argue the irrational logic of blame. I know better than to try to convince ye out of yours. You’ll not convince me out of mine.”

  Her mouth closed, though he sensed her lingering need to argue with him. He kissed her softly, needing to feel her lips but pulling away before any expectation could be drawn.

  “Do you believe in destiny?” she asked.

  “No. I believe in very little these days. Even God seems to have turned his back on me.”

  “Has He? Maybe we were brought into each other’s lives for a reason. Maybe I was always supposed to walk into that bathroom, and you were always supposed to pick me up off the floor. What if all the pain prepares us for a bigger reason? Struggles harden us in ways nothing else can.”

  “I think that would be a nice belief if one could actually believe it.”

  Her lips pressed to his, firm and meaningful. “Maybe we’re meant to heal each other, Callan. You say I help you. Well, you help me, too. Maybe we’re here to ease each other’s burdens the way only you and I can because on some level we share the same pain. We know the weight and shape and ache of the hurt that’s inside.”

  “I dinnae ken if I can be healed, love. Sometimes things break, and help takes too long to arrive. They have to be broken again to reset. I dinnae have enough left in me to break again.”

  “I think you’re wrong. I think we have to push through it. Every minute I spend thinking about the past feels like days stolen from my future. I refuse to let him win, Callan.” She shook her head, a spike of hostility in her voice. “He took from me without asking. He took so much. I refuse to give him one more piece of me. I won’t let him rob me of this.” Her fists closed around his shirt, shaking him like a caterpillar shakes a tree.

  “What are ye sayin’, love?”

  Her eyes screamed what she struggled to say, but he needed to hear it from her lips. She slipped off his lap and stood, the robe tumbling over her bare legs and swallowing her petite form.

  “Let’s be the rain, sliding down each other’s skin, washing away whatever came before.” Her fingers laced with his. “Come upstairs with me.”

  His head shook before his brain could form the word no. “It’s too soon.”

  “No, it’s not,” she argued. “We need this. Both of us. And it needs to be now.”

  “Em’ry, it’s been only a few months since—”

  “Don’t put him in this, Callan. He’s not a part of the equation any more than the monster that hurt you is a part of it. This is about us. We love each other. We’ve been pining for three years and our time’s finally here. I want to show you that love can heal. And I need you to let me show you so that I can prove it to myself—prove that I’m not permanently broken.” Her chin trembled as she waited for him to respond. “Please.”

  Every panic attack she’d had flashed through his mind. The way he’d handled her like a rutting bull the other day, finishing in his pants with uncontainable lust. Everything inside of him said they shouldnae do this, that this would be a well-intentioned mistake that might ruin everything they had.

  “Please, Callan. I need this. So do you.”

  She spoke those magic words and he couldnae bear to turn her down. Not for him, but for her. He could never refuse her needs. He’d die trying to meet them. “All right, love.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Saratoga Springs, New York—America

  Present day

  Emery led him into the bedroom, not unlacing their fingers until she approached the bed. Callan’s gaze dropped to the floor, and she sensed his reluctance.

  Drawing in a galvanizing breath, she flattened her palm over his pounding heart. “Callan.” She waited for him to look at her, flinching at the uncertainty in his eyes. “I want this. I want you to have this part of me.”
>
  His finger traced down the side of her face, achingly tender. “I could never forgive myself for hurtin’ you, Em’ry. And I dinnae ken how to do this.” The last of his words ripped from his throat as if drenched in acidic shame.

  She shook her head, swallowing down her nerves. “You do it the way you know how. No one else is here but us, Callan. This is ours. There’s no right or wrong to it, okay?”

  He glanced away, jaw ticking with tension. When he looked back, his lips were bleached of color. “I cannae tolerate bein’ touched... I dinnae know what I’ll do if ye put your hands on me, love.”

  “Where?” Her ability to gather the needed facts surprised her. “Tell me where I shouldn’t touch you.”

  He swallowed. “Where he got inside of me.”

  “Okay. Anywhere else?”

  “I dinnae ken.” Her heart cracked with his voice.

  Her eyes prickled with the onset of fresh tears, but she hardened her jaw and blinked them away. “I can’t... Don’t grab me from behind. I need to face you at all times, okay?”

  He nodded. “Aye.”

  Neither of them seemed to know how to begin. She pivoted and opened her drawers, digging around until she located the box she needed. She pressed it into his hands and shrugged. “For pregnancy.” She didn’t know if she could have kids, but she knew she wasn’t ready for that conversation.

  He stared at the box, finally pulling the cardboard flap and removing a foil covered condom. He placed the box on the bedside table and drew back the covers. It was a strangely gallant gesture.

  His dependable chivalry numbed her nerves, a gentle anesthetic that boosted her courage and built her confidence. She gave him a shaky smile and unbelted her robe.

  They’d done this dance before. He often walked her to bed and tucked her in, but now she was naked, and soon he would be too. Lowering herself to the pillows, she watched him.

  “Wait.” She grabbed Max and tossed him into the bedside drawer and smirked. He silently chuckled and the moment suddenly seemed lighter.

  Pulling the covers over her bare chest, he stared into her eyes. His finger dragged slowly from her eyebrow to the tip of her chin, and her nipples tightened under the cool weight of the sheet.