Page 111 of The Devil's Scars

“Hey –”

“No, it’s really OK. I mean… yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I was dumb to think – I mean, this is all my fault, and I know that, and I don’t blame you for being angry at me and dumping me. I was stupid to hope that we’d be able to get past this – you got hurt because of me bringing Gil here, and you’re going to be in pain for a long time, and if I were you, I wouldn’t want to –”

“Look at me, Zoe.”

She screeched to a conversational halt, peered at Scars. “Ummmm. I am?”

“No, beautiful. You’re not. Look at me.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion, but she did as he said. She looked at him, and she was hurt and upset at first (and felt like a goddamn moron for thinking that this was going to work out long-term, because it never did, did it? Nooooo, not ever), but as she kept looking, she began to calm, to see. Because when she looked at Scars, she didn’t see any blame, or anger, or accusation.

No, she saw hurt, lots of that, and no surprise there. Worry too, etched into every line on that gorgeous face. Warmth and tenderness, she was overjoyed to see. And – something else.

What is that?

Then she knew: it was fear.

“Why are you afraid?” she asked quietly. “You are afraid, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Of what?”

“Have you seen under these bandages, baby?”

“Yes,” she replied, the word constricted by the lingering horror of the memory of flesh burned to black, oozing, jagged edges. “I – a few times, nurses and your brother kicked me out when they changed the dressings, but I saw. I – I know how bad it is.”

“So how the actual goddamn hell can you stand to look at me?” Scars asked her, his voice breaking as he finally uttered his truest, deepest fear, the one that was rooted in self-loathing and -disgust, the one that spoke both from memory and certainty of the present. “Knowing what I am now, and what’s hiding underneath? How can I expect you to ever look at me the same way again? All you’ll see are my scars, Zoe. I know it, and I don’t blame you, but I can’t live with it. You deserve better – you deserve a man who is whole.”

Zoe gazed at him, lying there on that bed on his stomach, his massive arms cradling his head, that broad, muscular back covered by thick white bandages, and she thought how gorgeous he was, even shaved bald, because his cheekbones and eyes were brought out in sharp relief. He was stunning, this man, and even being immobile and weakened and damaged didn’t change that for her. Zoe looked at him, and all she saw was Scars.

“How can I stand to look at you?” she asked softly; she wasn’t looking for a fight here, but she also wasn’t going to stand for this crap. “My God… you don’t have the first clue what I’m going to see when I look at those scars, do you?”

He stayed silent.

“Babe. Look at me.” She paused. “Please.”

Scars turned his eyes in her direction.

“Those scars… they represent your courage and selflessness for running into flames without a second of thought about yourself. They represent your facing down your own terror of fire, and not just facing it down, but kicking it smack in the balls, like the warrior that you are. But most of all, they represent my daughter, my sweet, amazing girl who is still with me, who will come home with me, because of you.” Her voice thickened, and her eyes stung with tears. “They represent her, so trust me when I say that your scars will never be anything but beautiful to me. I’m promising you, Scars – that’s all I’ll see and think when I look at them. Your actions and decisions have been literally branded into your skin… and I love and respect every one of those scars of sacrifice.”

“I – I can’t, Zoe. I can’t let you put yourself through what’s coming.”

“What are you talking about? What’s coming?”

“The treatments and surgeries and skin grafts. The physical therapy. The frustration and pain and anger. It’s – I’ve done this before, baby, and I know what it was like, and this will be way, way worse. I won’t let you make this your burden. I can’t do that to you.” He took a shuddering breath. “So – I’ve decided. I’m going to go to California, to the treatment center that Sam told Wolf about. And I’m going alone.”

Zoe stared at him, completely silently, for about thirty seconds. Then she shot to her feet.

OK, I wasn’t going to fight with him, for obvious reasons… but now? Now I’m going to the goddamn mattresses.

“Like hell you are,” she snapped, almost laughing at the look on his rough face at her less-than-sweet-and-supportive-girlfriend tone. “If you want to go to California for excellent treatment, well and good. Awesome decision. I applaud you. But you are not going without me.”

“Zoe –”

“Shut up,” she growled at him, reminding his strongly of Wolf. “I love you. We’re going to figure this out. The end.”

“But –”

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