The Scars Between Us

by Schiller, MK

  He suddenly grips my neck with his large hand. He doesn’t squeeze, but his strong fingers press into my flesh.

  “What do you do in this scenario, Cooper?”

  I back away, but his grip hardens.

  “Wrong. Just because you’re small doesn’t mean you lack power.”

  I am not a petite girl, but anyone would be small in comparison to him. “What should I do when someone is choking me?” I have no idea how my voice is calm during the freaking avalanche of fear and adrenaline.

  His thumb moves back and forth, rubbing against my neck. It’s almost a caress, one that heats my entire body. This is crazy.

  Stop this, Emma.

  But I don’t.

  “Take your left hand, place it over my wrist to keep it steady,” he commands in a firm whisper.

  I follow his directions, trying to ignore the deafening beat of my heart.

  “Now squat, and lift your other arm. Then bring down your elbow with as much pressure as you can.”

  I do it. His arm doesn’t budge.

  “That the best you got?”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  He laughs at that. It is a silly statement, considering the difference between our frames.

  “Hit me. Hurt me. Do your damage.”

  I try again, bringing my elbow down with as much force as I can. This time, his arm moves, but it doesn’t fall away.

  “Better, but not great. Twist away from me. Then strike my face with your fist.”

  “I’m not going to hit you, Aiden.”

  “You’re right. You won’t because I’ll stop you. You’re thinking about this way too much. Stop thinking and trust your instinct.”

  Twisting out of his hold, I swing my fist. His hand swipes through the air catching my wrist before I make contact. He grips it hard, his eyes unyielding. Someone has turned down the volume on the music, or perhaps we mask it with the heavy thump of our heartbeats. His rich, woodsy scent drifts toward me. It’s a mixture of soap, earth, cedar, and mint. I’m sure there’s some C-4 and brimstone in the mix, too, because my instincts tell me an explosion is coming.

  “Now what, Cooper?”

  Somehow, in the sparring, he’s backed me up against the wall. It’s me in the corner now. I lift my leg to knee him in the groin, but he catches the underside of my knee before I can, not taking his eyes off me. Even through the denim, I feel the slight caress of his fingers. Swallowing hard, I wonder if he might kiss me. If he does, I will punch him.

  He smiles, leaning closer. “I’ll admit your balance is good, but your reflexes are slow.”

  I shove him. He drops my leg and backs away.

  “That’s interesting, Aiden, because your reflexes are sharp, but you are definitely not balanced.”

  I walk to the stairs and take them two at a time. “Dinner’s almost ready,” I say before shutting the door. “Wash up.”

  …

  Emma

  The room is full of flowers. My feet sink into the plush, rose-colored carpet as I walk toward the casket. The long, ornate wooden box shifts into a hospital bed, the same one Mom lived in the last few months of her life. A white sheet is draped over a figure on the bed. I rush toward it, feeling a surge of urgency spiked with dread. The faster I run, the farther away it seems. My gut wrenches as I sprint toward the bed. Finally, I make it. Except it’s a casket once more. Trembling and out of breath, I lift the lid. The woman inside is hollow, her papery skin sunken in. What’s left of her honey blonde hair is limp and dirty. Her once sparkling blue eyes are dull and lifeless as they stare at me.

  “Mommy.” I call out, shaking her gently.

  She sits up so fast a rush of air fans my face. Her thin, bony hands grasp my shoulders. “Take a deep breath, Emma.”

  She disintegrates in front of me, turning to dust. The small bits of grit linger, gathering in a cloud of doom. The dust gets in my pores, my nose, my mouth. I can’t breathe. It fills up the room. I swing my arms and legs, swatting the fragments, but it’s like swimming through sand. My mouth opens to scream, but nothing comes out.

  “Don’t leave me! I need you.”

  I wake up in a cold sweat. It takes a minute to realize I’m in the guest bedroom at Mac’s house, tangled in a plaid comforter. I turn on the lamp, letting my eyes adjust. Falling back on the bed, I let out a groan. “Mom?”

  The urn isn’t in here. I want to talk to her and hear her voice.

  Shit, Aiden had left the urn on the coffee table downstairs. I meant to bring it up but I forgot. I need it. I need my mother.

  And, also, a glass of ice water.

  And probably some serious therapy, but that can wait.

  The dinnertime conversation was awkward. Aiden didn’t acknowledge me. Mac filled in all the empty spaces, inviting Aiden and me into the conversation frequently. I did my best, grateful for Mac’s hospitality. Aiden barely said a word, spearing his food and nodding occasionally. He never met my eyes, as if he was ashamed by what happened in the basement. Then he excused himself, taking the dogs out for a late run. How much did this man work out? I’d been here a day, and he’d spent most of that running or punching or grappling.

  I’m torn because I don’t like Aiden. And also, I like him. And worst of all, there is something wildly beautiful about him. I remind myself for the millionth time I have a boyfriend, but it’s hard to remember that kind of thing when said boyfriend doesn’t return your texts. Still, my mom raised her daughter better than that. Betraying the people you’re committed to is self-treason. But as much as I want to flip these feelings like a light switch, I can’t turn them off. I can’t even dim them a little. What I can do is control my actions.

  Why am I even thinking of Aiden Sheffield? Tomorrow, with every passing mile, the memory of him will fade. I am sure of it.

  Right now, I just want the urn. I creep out of bed and down the hall, skating my socked feet against the wooden floor until I get to the stairs. As my foot lands onto the third step down, I pause, taking in the shadow of the man on the couch. It’s large and looming and it flickers against the fire in the hearth.

  Theo lies beside him. The dog jerks his head in my direction. I hold a finger to my lips as if he can understand. Except the thing is, he does understand, because he lays his head back down. Aiden sits on the leather couch, a bottle of clear liquor in his hand. He takes a long swig before slamming it on the table. Theo cocks his head. His master pets him reassuringly. Aiden bends forward, elbows on his knees. He places a hand on each side of the brass urn that rests on the coffee table.

  “Don’t be sorry,” he says in a low voice that’s barely audible over the crackle of the fire. “You were there for me. I wish I could have been there for you. I’m the one who is sorry.”

  Oh my God, he’s talking to the urn.

  Aiden doesn’t make a sound, but his broad shoulders shake. His body tenses before it shakes again as if he’s trying to physically damn up the emotions threatening to spill out.

  I’ve invaded his space too many times. He needs to say good-bye to mom more than I need the urn. I pivot and swiftly make my way back to the guest room.

  I get under the covers and say a little prayer.

  It’s okay, Aiden. Put down your shield. You’ve been carrying it for a long time.

  Chapter Five

  Aiden

  I’m gonna regret getting drunk last night. I rarely get wasted these days, and never when I’m in training for a fight. But this girl comes into my life, uninvited, bringing with her all the turbulence of a hurricane, unearthing all the demons I buried a long time ago. I’m not prepared to deal with any of it. I want her out of my life as quick as possible. But here I am, fixing her damn car.

  One thing’s for sure, whoever checked out her truck sure as shit didn’t know a damn thing about automobiles.

  She sits next to me, watching me, which doesn’t make it any easier. She’s like a fucking puppy, full of energy and emotion. She almost cried when she saw me brin
g in the tires. You’d think I gave her a brand new truck with that reaction. Although I refused, she insisted on paying me for them. I get the feeling arguing is pointless, so I give her a price. She looks skeptical until I explain I knew the guy and he gave me a good deal.

  I do know the guy, and he did give me a good price, but it was nowhere near the vicinity I quoted Emma. The same with the alternator. “Can I try one?” she asks.

  “Go for it.”

  I hand her the wrench. I gotta give it to her. She is determined. She even looks fierce on her knees. She’s on her knees. The dirty thoughts race through my head like a runaway train with no brakes. Focus Sheffield. Not an easy task when your dick takes all your brain cells hostage.

  The sun reflects off her hair. It’s brown, mostly, but when the light hits it just right, strands of red and gold appear like fire and sun against the earth. It’s one long, shiny mane broken up by a few waves. She has it twisted in a knot. It makes her neck stand out. I’ve never been much of a neck guy. It’s tits and ass for me. Emma’s got some nice assets in those departments, too, but this girl has the kind of neck that could make the most uncreative man long to become a sculptor. My fingers twitch at the memory of placing my hand on that beautiful neck. I was so shocked by my own action I’d almost let go, except she gave me this look that said, “Bring it on, asshole. You don’t scare me.” Beneath that rebellious streak, there was something else, too. She trusted me.

  I tell myself it’s part of her nature to trust. She’s had a good, safe life. That makes a person more open. I’ve been rude to her. She doesn’t deserve the way I’ve treated her. I hope the small gesture of fixing her truck can make up for being a massive asshole.

  Her eyes are gray. I don’t notice eyes too much, but hers are unusual because gray is a cold color, yet they are warm and bright. There’s the tiniest dimple that forms under the right corner of her mouth when she smiles.

  Not that she’s all that pretty.

  But ordinary never looked so extraordinary.

  I remind myself she is leaving as soon as we finish. I’ll be better off once she’s gone. She’s no concern of mine. Speaking of which, I should focus on taking off her tires…not her clothes.

  “Tell me about this boyfriend,” I say, because on top of everything else, I’m a masochist.

  “Kenneth?”

  “You say that like you don’t know his name.”

  She laughs, holding up her first lug nut like a trophy before she tosses it to me. I place it with the others. “We grew up together. Our parents were friends. We’ve been dating for a few years.”

  “Kenny’s a good guy, then? He takes care of you?”

  “Kenneth. His name’s Kenneth,” she says, drawing out the syllables. I’ll call him Fuck Face for all I care. “Why are you asking me about him?”

  Why am I?

  “Just curious.”

  “Don’t tell me you care.” Her face turns to stern concentration as she twists the wrench on a stubborn nut. How in the hell is this turning me on? She grunts with the exertion. That grunt is dangerous—sexual and feminine at the same time. I want her to do all of the tires now. In fact, I want to put the one I took off back on, screwing it extra tight so she’ll grunt extra hard.

  “Sure, I care. You are the sister I never had.”

  Disgust weighs on me as I vocalize the thought. She makes a similar expression.

  “You’re not my brother, Aiden.”

  “True, but I am the closest thing to family you got.” I recognize how weird this is, considering what I said yesterday. I suck at conversation. Why am I trying so hard in the first place?

  “I guess you’re right about that.” She pauses to see if I’m serious or giving her shit. At this point, I’m not sure myself. “Kenneth’s nice. He loves me.”

  Nice? Why the fuck is this nice guy letting her go on this stupid trip by herself? It’s clear Emma is as stubborn as they come, but there’s no way I’d let my girl suffer through all this alone. It isn’t normal.

  Then again, what do I know about normal?

  “He’s a DJ,” she adds.

  “In Los Angeles?”

  “Yeah. I lived there too for a while when I attended UCLA, until I had to drop out.”

  I can’t picture her living in L.A. She’s got wholesome small town written all over her.

  I don’t ask her why she dropped out. It’s obvious she did it to take care of her mama. “Are you planning to go back to school?” I ask instead.

  “Eventually. I have to save up some money, get a job, and all that good stuff. I lived in the dorms with my friend, Natalie, but I need my own place now that I’m not in school.”

  I admire her. Even in the face of darkness, she holds no despair.

  “What was your major?”

  “Undecided. Story of my life.”

  “I bet you and Kent will be happy together. You’ll be one of those photo-frame couples.”

  She flashes an angry look at me, a shade of pale pink slowly coloring her cheeks. “Kenneth,” she corrects through clenched teeth.

  “Sorry.”

  She returns to her work, biting her lower lip.

  “How come you wear a man’s watch?” I want to distract her from going off on me, not that I don’t deserve it. The watch is the first thing I noticed about her… Well, one of the first things. It’s far too big for her tiny wrist. The cheap leather strap almost covers the clock face, rendering it useless.

  She looks down at the item in question, adjusting it.

  “It was my dad’s. It doesn’t keep accurate time anymore. I bought this for him a few years ago for Christmas. He had nicer watches, but he always wore this one. It makes me feel closer to him when I wear it.”

  Is this what the Grinch felt like when his heart started growing?

  “What was he like, your dad?”

  I regret the question. The last thing I want is to make her sad. I also don’t want to hear about her family and their perfect life. But it’s out there now, and I can’t withdraw the question. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious. She smiles, though. Her smile is worth a million awkward questions.

  “He was wonderful. He coached my softball team, helped me with my homework every night, and he taught me a lot of stuff. He said my only limitations were the ones I set for myself. I’d say as far as dads go, I got the very best one.” She looks down at her hands. “He used to tell me that, too, all the time.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “He’d say something like, ‘I don’t know how I got so lucky, but out of all the kids in the world, I’m pretty sure I got the very best one.’”

  I could almost feel the memory like a tangible object.

  Emma cleared her throat. “I’d always say, ‘Are you talking about me?’” She pointed to herself, her eyes widening with exaggerated surprise as I’m sure they did when she was a girl. “And he’d say, ‘Who else, kiddo?’”

  Her smile fades, and she drops the wrench. She rubs her eyes. “I’ve got something in my eye.”

  Yeah, Emma, it’s called a tear. This is where a good man would comfort her. But there are no good men in the vicinity. There is only me. I don’t do a damn thing. The realization hits me right in the gut. Between the two of us, I am the weak one.

  She sniffs and takes a deep breath, trying to compose herself. It’s not working.

  I’ve never been this conflicted. Part of me wants to push her away, but the rest of me wants to envelope her in a hug, tell her it’s going to be okay and wipe away those tears. But I don’t do either of those things. I freeze.

  “I’ll be right back.” She walks to the door connecting the garage to the house.

  Theo pads over to me. I expect him to rub against me as he usually does, but instead he gives me a disappointed look before going toward the garage door. He rests on his haunches waiting for Emma’s return.

  I grab the wrench and pick up where she left off. “Don’t make me feel guilty. Just because you like
her doesn’t mean I have to.” The sooner I fix this damn truck, the sooner she’ll be out of my life.

  I have two more tires off by the time she comes back.

  Theo, the smitten mutt, follows her as she sits by me again. She offers him a smile and rubs his chin. “Sorry about that.”

  I don’t respond. I focus on my task and not this girl who’s cast some weird spell on my dog.

  “What was your dad like, Aiden?” She asks the question that makes everything clear for me again.

  The very opposite of yours, Emma.

  Thankfully, Mac saves me when he interrupts our little Dr. Phil moment. “We just got a call. They took down a fighting ring in Adams.”

  I stand, all my senses on alert. “How many?”

  “They’re predicating twenty, maybe thirty dogs. There are two other shelters on their way. I can’t go on this one, Aiden. Tom called in sick today.”

  “I can handle it.” I turn to her. “Emma, we’ll have to finish this when I get back.”

  “May I come with you?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “I’ll stay out of the way. I can even help.”

  “No.”

  I take my keys out. She’s already on her feet.

  “I said no.”

  “You can use the assistance,” Mac says. “It’s going to be a big rescue.”

  Et tu Mac?

  “She’s not trained.”

  Mac doesn’t waver. “She can do the paperwork. You hate that part, anyway.”

  I don’t debate. I need to get moving. These dogs need me. Not that she’s waiting for my answer. She follows me to the van.

  Just like that, Hurricane Emma pulls me in deeper.

  Chapter Six

  Aiden

  I tried to prepare her for what she’d see, but that’s impossible. Each time I’m called to a rescue I have no idea what to expect, and I’ve come to the realization that even when I expect the worse, I am disappointed to find out there is a new low. Today when we arrived, we were told the police arrested the offending parties. But the aftermath of it makes it clear their victims will never be free of the scars.