Hidden Scars

by Amanda K. Byrne

  “The Bria up near Pioneer Place. We’re only here through Sunday afternoon. Our flight home leaves at four.” Her dad wiped his hands off with the dish towel hanging from her oven handle. “Taylor seems like a nice guy,” he said casually. “And astute. Picked up on your ‘rescue me’ look.”

  She laughed. “He is. Sometimes he uses that to an unfair advantage. He’s become my French fry pusher.”

  His expression softened. “I hope he makes you happy, munchkin.” He hung the towel on the handle. “I’d better round up your mother and get her out of here before she’s got us camping out on your floor.”

  * * *

  Taylor waited as Sara ushered her parents out the door, anger a slow burn in his gut. He wanted the hunt down her bastard of an ex and rip him apart.

  She wandered over to him, uncertainty wafting off her. “I’m going to have another glass of wine. You want?”

  He nodded, and she disappeared into the kitchen. The couch cushion sank under his ass as he sat on the end, sprawling out in the way he had the last time he was here, watching people running around in dirty pre-Victorian London on her TV screen while she’d curled up against him. He wanted to hold her like that again. Even if it meant watching more costume drama crap.

  She came back in and handed him his wine glass, the dark red liquid capturing the lamplight. The cushion shifted as she sat beside him, knees on his lap and head on his shoulder. Her knuckles were white as she clutched the stem of her wine glass.

  “You said he didn’t hit you.”

  Her sigh was quiet. “And he didn’t. When I told you he never raised a hand to me, that was the truth.” He waited while she sipped her wine, spinning the bowl around in her small hands. “About two months after I’d moved to Sacramento, Sam broke into my apartment. I’d ended it with him before I moved, and he hadn’t been happy about it. I stayed with a friend of a friend of a friend, the whole six degrees of separation thing so he couldn’t find me, until I got a job and was able to move. I don’t know how he found me. He held me at knifepoint for about three hours. Krista called the cops when I didn’t show to meet her for lunch and didn’t answer my phone. That girl saved my life. If I hadn’t already gone to the police about possibly filing a restraining order, they might have taken even longer to respond.

  “He was sentenced to fifteen years for assault with a deadly weapon. He was released on parole a few days ago. Seems he’s gotten time off for good behavior. I found out the first night you came over,” she whispered. “I’m safer here than I was in Sacramento. He can’t get to me without violating parole.”

  Safe was debatable. He could see the knife at her throat all too easily. Only it was Tony holding the knife. His hand rubbed over her shoulders, down her back, and curved around her hip. “You’re not safe with me,” he murmured, his nose in her hair.

  She stiffened. “What makes you say that?” She scooted back on the couch, out of his hold, and set her wine glass on the coffee table.

  The less she knew, the better. Safe. “The past has a nasty way of catching up with you.”

  “And you have a nasty way of getting me to talk and not saying a damn thing yourself. It’s annoying.” She picked up the remote sitting on the arm of the couch and aimed it at the TV.

  His glass was on the table, the TV was off, and he had her flat on her back in under a minute. The expected fear had been replaced by anger, and she glared up at him. “This shit isn’t gonna fly, Taylor. You don’t get to be cryptic. Not with me, not when I’m already freaked out. So either you talk, or you leave. The choice is yours. Now get off me.”

  He reversed position, cradling her to him as he sat up, Sara straddling his lap. She pushed her hair out of her face and scowled. “Cute.”

  The soft brown waves tickled the back of his hand as he threaded his fingers through her hair. “The gang I told you about? Tony Flaherty’s the current leader of the Pretty Boys. He’s got a job for me, and he’s not happy I’ve refused. You’re a weapon, Sara. If Tony finds me, and he will, he’ll find you, and he’ll use you. It’s what he does.”

  He’d seen the damage the man would inflict. The bruises, the cuts, the broken bones. The all-consuming hatred bearing down on him. A hatred he rightly deserved, for not protecting his family from his own stupidity.

  Getting any deeper with Sara was a mistake, but he couldn’t make himself leave.

  She sighed. “You know the only way this will work is if we’re honest with each other.” He arched a brow, and she stuck her tongue out at him. “Yeah, so maybe I should have told you about Sam’s parole sooner.”

  “Maybe,” he agreed. “I mean it, though. With Sam, you’ve got a certain measure of security with the police tracking his whereabouts. I don’t. The Feds have been running surveillance on Tony for years and haven’t made a move,” he explained. “With the lack of evidence, they have no cause to stop him — or one of his men — if he leaves town for a bit.”

  She frowned. “You never went to the police?”

  She was right. They couldn’t make this work without honesty, and for the first time, he found he wanted to talk about being Tony’s spy. “Once. Tony had always been on my ass about getting good grades. When I found out I’d qualified for a partial scholarship to Carolina, I thought he’d be pleased. College was my ticket out and the best way to keep from falling in permanently with the Pretty Boys. I was right; he was pleased. Practically crowing. Then he calmed down and explained that there were opportunities for me right there in the neighborhood that I wouldn’t get in college.”

  “He lied,” she said quietly.

  “By omission, yeah.” The calculating gleam in Tony’s eyes had been familiar. So familiar that the moment Taylor’d seen it directed at him, he’d known the only way he’d get out of Charlestown was through a world of pain, and even that wasn’t guaranteed. “Tony had a job for me. Bank robbery. He walked me through the planning, helped me locate the necessary supplies, sat there as I briefed the other guys on the crew. It took a while, and I tried to drag it out as long as possible. When everything was in place, I went to the police. Without physical evidence linking Tony to the crime, though, there was little they could do.”

  Sara’s mouth dropped open. “How was your testimony not enough?”

  “It never is. It’s he said/he said. Do you think Sam would have gone to prison if you hadn’t testified?” She studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Because there was enough physical evidence on you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Combined with the 911 call.”

  He didn’t have that. None of it. “Tony found out. He always does. Never said anything to me about it, but a few days later, I was jumped coming home from the store. Ended up with bruises, a broken arm, and a new scar. But he didn’t leave it at that. He went after Matt, my youngest brother. He was in a coma for three days, still walks with a limp, and refuses to talk to me except at Christmas, and that’s only if Ma makes him. We exchange emails every now and then, but that’s it.

  “My beating was punishment for going to the cops. Matt’s was payment to let me out. He hasn’t gone near my family again, until now. Being with me puts you in danger,” he said. “And I’m selfish enough I don’t want to give you up. Not yet.”

  The touch of her hands on his jaw was soft and familiar, and he closed his eyes as she leaned in, pressing a kiss to his mouth. “Good. I’m not ready to give you up, either.”

  Before Sara, his future had been clearer. Lonely, but clearer. The longer she stayed, the murkier it got…and the more his happiness grew. She was a hell of a lot stronger than he’d first thought, and he was glad. Her strength had quickly become one of his favorite things about her. He shifted his hold on her and got to his feet. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

  “The lady requested a backrub. I aim to please.” Striding down the hall, he tossed her onto the bed, grinning as she shrieked in surprise.

  “I’m going to hurt you for that,” she threate
ned. Then she pulled him down to the bed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  No! The shout burst through her mind and her eyes snapped open. Every muscle went taut as the arm around her waist twitched.

  It was heavy and warm. The chest at her back was solid. She remained immobile, body crying with the effort to stay still. The terror dripped away as she registered the looseness of the hold. More like a drape. She glanced around. Her bedroom. In her house. In Portland. It wasn’t Sam in her bed, it was Taylor. She went limp with relief. She was going to call last night a success. Aside from the panic when she woke, she’d slept beside him through the night, likely pressed against him for a good part of it. Progress.

  She scooted over a few inches, and he grunted and rolled onto his back, sound asleep. Turning over and propping herself up on her elbow, she took the opportunity to study him. A thick lock of hair had fallen over his forehead. She pushed it back, fingertips trailing along the side of his face. She glanced at the clock. They needed to be getting up or they’d be late.

  Waking Taylor proved to be difficult. She poked and prodded him. She gave up and laid her head on his chest, over his heart, curling into his side. If he wanted to sleep a while longer, she was going to indulge in a few extra minutes herself.

  His breathing changed, and he wrapped an arm around her, his hand stroking up her back to tangle in her hair. She lifted her head to find him studying her with sleep-hazed eyes. She gave him a small smile. “Morning.”

  Oh, wow, she could get used to his smile in the morning. Her already softened heart practically melted at the sight. “Morning,” he said. The smile faded, and she inched up to kiss him. “Mmm. Sleep okay?” She nodded, then lowered her head.

  “We should get up.” His free arm tightened around her waist.

  “In a minute.” She tucked her head beneath his chin.

  This was what she’d wanted, all those mornings spent with Sam. Warmth. Contentedness. Love. A love that didn’t come with curses and fear and exhaustive, weeping fights and over the top declarations.

  She wanted more mornings with Taylor, wanted to see if what they had could become the kind of love that made her happy and comfortable.

  Thirty minutes later, they’d managed to shower and dress, and Sara made a quick call to her dad, letting him know they were running late. “Hold on,” she said before Taylor could open the front door. She punched in the security code, noting Taylor kept his gaze trained on the door the entire time.

  “You can look, you know.” She walked past him onto the front porch, pulling out her keys to lock the door behind them. “I change the code regularly anyway. It’s got a special sensor tied to the doors, too, in the event someone tries to force the door open.”

  When he didn’t respond, she glanced over at him. He was busy checking his phone. If he hadn’t reached for her hand to draw her to his side, she would have been insulted. As it was, she’d hold judgment for a moment. He was too deliberate to be so outright rude. “Across the street,” he said, his eyes meeting hers as he tucked the phone into his pocket. “Blue four door, parked at the curb, two doors down. Recognize it?”

  “Am I supposed to do this discreetly?” She managed a small smile, but his words, his tone, had nerves buzzing under her skin.

  He stroked his hand up her back. “Other option is to just get in the car and drive past, but it’s the opposite direction from where we have to go, and if we’re followed, whoever’s in the car might figure out we figured out your house was being watched.”

  The blood drained out of her head, leaving her dizzy. Was this what he’d been talking about last night? Or had Sam violated parole? “The police would have notified me if Sam had skipped town.”

  “It might not be Sam.” His hand continued moving until it cupped the back of her head. “Breathe, Sara.”

  She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until he said something, and she sucked down air. Focusing on the warm, steady weight of his hand on her head, she scanned the street and found the car Taylor was talking about.

  “I’ve seen it several times before.” The knowledge didn’t calm her anxiety, and she stepped away. “We need to get going.”

  The drive into downtown was quiet and tense. Sara considered her options. The safest one would be to end things with Taylor now, while there was still the possibility Tony wouldn’t connect the two of them.

  She didn’t want to. She wasn’t going to let some gangster she’d never met intimidate her out of the best thing to come into her life in years. If Taylor wasn’t giving up, neither was she.

  Taylor found a parking spot a few blocks from her parents’ hotel. She followed him onto the sidewalk, watched as he fed the meter. “Taylor? Do you really think Tony will come after me?”

  He tucked his wallet into his pocket and faced her. “If he continues to ask me to help him, yes, he will. He may already know about you.”

  “Then I’d be safer with you.” At Taylor’s arched brow, she stepped into him, tipped her head back. “If he already knows who I am, then he’s likely already figured out who I am to you. It wouldn’t matter if we stopped seeing each other, right? He could still use me.” Taylor nodded slowly, and she looped her arms around his neck. “So there’s no point in trying to hide it.” Threading her fingers through his hair, she urged his head down, her mouth meeting his.

  He resisted at first, his mouth remaining closed, and she licked along the seam of his lips, entreating him to respond. She needed this. He had to understand she needed something to wipe her panic, to push it into the tiny box where it belonged until she had time to take it out and examine it.

  His lips parted and she slipped her tongue inside, the heat rising as he fell into the dance with her. The soft warmth of his hair on her skin, his lips rubbing over hers, the hard lines of his chest against the softness of hers drowned her in sensations. Drowning. An excellent, and apt, description of what was happening to her. She was drowning in him, and she didn’t want to come up for air.

  The hoots from some passing pedestrians did the job for her. Dazed, she opened her eyes, the glazed look of desire reflected in his, pleasing her enormously. If she was going to be stumbling down this road, she didn’t want to do it alone.

  He recovered first, moving to her side. She automatically draped an arm around his waist, the heavy weight of his settling around her shoulders. It was closer, much more intimate, than holding hands. More, it fit them better, what they were becoming.

  Her parents were waiting in the hotel lobby. She had to smile when they didn’t notice them. She hung back, taking a minute to watch them. They were entirely too cute for their own good, holding hands and smiling goofily at each other, like love-struck teenagers on their first date.

  If she was being honest with herself, her parents’ relationship scared the crap out of her. Together more than thirty years, they were as in love with each other now as they had been when she was a child, and it was a hard standard to achieve.

  Were Taylor’s parents the same way?

  Her mother glanced toward the door, and Sara pasted a smile on. “Showtime, bud. Remember, you’re the one who suggested this, so don’t whine to me later when you’ve had enough of my mother. She doesn’t know when to stop talking, and worrying about me is her favorite pastime.”

  They started forward, and Taylor bent close. “My mother makes yours look lax in the worrying department. Gold medal. She’ll take on all comers and win every time.”

  She burst out laughing and stopped in the middle of the lobby, swinging her arms up around his neck and giving him a smacking kiss on the mouth. “You’re fantastic, you know that? Stellar.” She kissed him again, softening into him when he wouldn’t let the kiss end.

  But she didn’t want a repeat of what had happened on the sidewalk, and as the kiss edged toward completely inappropriate for being in public, she eased back and dropped down onto her heels. She greeted her parents with hugs, using the gestures to pull herself back into an even k
eel. Somewhere between the car and the lobby another piece of this relationship puzzle clicked into place, and she wanted a moment to think about it.

  Breakfast passed without any major interrogations on the part of her mother, and it was mostly thanks to her father, steering the conversation toward more mundane topics. Sara got into a heated argument with him over the Mountaineers performance this tournament season, which had her mother twisting her mouth in displeasure.

  She almost took pity on Mom and opened her mouth to steer the conversation in a different direction when Dad tried to appeal to Taylor. “You can talk her out of this, can’t you? This odd bent she’s got for some nobody team that stands no chance of making it into the upper echelons of tournament ball?”

  Taylor, for his part, appeared amused. “I’ve seen her yell until she was hoarse. There’ll be no talking her out of WVU.”

  A gleam appeared in his eye. “Really? You watched a game together? Brave man. She’s been known to beat on the person sitting next to her.”

  “Took her to a game. The West Regional opened play at the Rose Garden. My alma mater made it into the tournament, and I managed to snag a couple of tickets.”

  That was all the encouragement her father needed to start throwing questions at Taylor. Unlike the ones her mother lobbed, though, Dad’s remained on the fringes of getting to know you.

  Sara gave her father a quick hug as they departed the restaurant. “Thanks.”

  “No thanks necessary. He’s an interesting fellow. A good one. Your mother will come around eventually.”

  She didn’t have time to wonder what he meant. “You mentioned the Saturday Market?” Mom asked brightly, looping her arm through her husband’s. “What kind of artwork do you have in mind?”

  To repay her dad for the interference he ran during breakfast, she strolled ahead with her mom, listening to her thoughts on what would work best in the living room, the only room in the house her parents had seen, other than the attached dining area. She lost track of the number of stalls they stopped at. The art all blended together anyway into a wild, colorful mess.