Page 89 of Knot Like Other Girls

I don't know why I'm telling her this. Maybe because her fevered body is pressed against the worst of the damage, and I need her to understand what she's touching. What kind of alpha she's asked to hold her.

"Does it bother you?" she asks softly. "When I touch them?"

I consider lying. It would be easier, cleaner. But something about her quiet question demands honesty. "No," I admit. "Not when it's you."

She shifts slightly, her hand finding mine. Her fingers brush over my knuckles, tracing the scarred ridges and valleys. "Good."

We fall silent after that, the only sounds our breathing and the distant hum of the air conditioning. Minutes tick by, measured in the steady beat of her heart against my chest. Gradually, her breathing evens out, her body relaxing further into mine as the suppressants begin to take effect.

I should feel relieved. Should be counting the seconds until I can escape this dangerous intimacy. Instead, I find myself memorizing the weight of her in my arms, the exact shade of her dark hair spread across my chest, the feeling of being needed instead of feared.

"Cole?" Her voice is drowsy now, the worst of the heat fever receding.

"Hmm?"

"Will you tell me what happened?"

The question freezes me, muscles locking up with the instinct to run, to hide, to protect what little is left of me from prying eyes.

But Bella just waits, patient and still in my arms. Not demanding, not pushing. Just asking. And somehow, that makes all the difference.

"It was an incendiary grenade," I say finally, the words feeling strange in my mouth. I never talk about this. Never. "We were on a mission. Hostage extraction. Everything went to shit." I swallow hard, the memory razor-sharp despite the years that have passed. "Didn't have time to think. Just threw myself on it. Was wearing tactical armor, but it wasn't enough. My hair went white after that. The debridement, skin grafts, and reconstructive surgeries were… extreme."

I expect horror. Shock. Pity. The usual reactions.

Instead, Bella's hand tightens around mine. "You saved them."

It wasn't a question, but I answer anyway. "Yeah. Guess so."

Bella sits up slightly, just enough to look me in the face. For once, I don't turn away, don't hide my scars from her gaze. Her eyes are clear now, the fever almost gone. She studies me with an intensity that should make me squirm, but doesn't.

"You're a hero, Cole."

The word lands like a blow. I flinch away from it, from the weight of expectation it carries. "I'm not. I'm just a guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"You threw yourself on a grenade." Her voice is gentle but firm. "That's the definition of heroism."

I look away, unable to bear the admiration in her eyes. She doesn't understand. Doesn't know that one act of courage doesn't erase all the darkness inside me. Doesn't negate the monster I've become.

"My fiancée didn't think so," the words slip out before I can stop them, bitter and jagged. "She took one look at what was left of me after the last surgery failed and walked out."

Bella goes very still in my arms. "What?"

Too late to take it back now. "Sarah. We were engaged before my deployment. She said she'd wait for me. Said nothing could change how she felt." My laugh is a harsh, broken sound. "Turns out getting half your face melted off was the exception to that promise."

"Cole." The way she says my name, soft and aching, makes me want to curl into myself. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," I say, my voice coming out rougher than I mean to sound. "She showed her true colors. Better to know before than after."

Bella's quiet for a long moment, her fingers still laced with mine. When she speaks again, her voice is steady. "She was wrong."

Three simple words. They shouldn't mean anything. Shouldn't pierce through years of rage and bitterness. But they do.

"The scars don't define you," she continues. "They're part of you, but they're not all of you. Anyone who can't see that doesn't deserve you."

I want to laugh at the irony. This sweet, perfect omega defending me. Telling me I deserve better, when I'm the one who should be grateful for any scrap of kindness thrown my way.

But the certainty in her voice makes it hard to breathe.

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