Page 75 of Our Secrets and Scars

“I’m not them.” It takes incredible effort not to raise my voice at her, butfuck,it hurts that she’d think for even one moment that I’d ever treat her the way those assholes did. “When have I ever given you a reason to believe that I’d be anything other than in awe of your scars?”

“You haven’t,” she whispers.

“Then show them to me.”

“I can’t.”

“You can, you’re just scared.”

“I’m not scared of anything!” she yells, smacking me on the chest with a little balled up fist.

“Prove it.”

She shakes her head, her lips pursed with rising anger. “That won’t work on me this time, Holden.”

I blow out a long sigh, realizing that she’s right. I won’t get anywhere by goading her. Not when it comes to this. She doesn’t need a challenge, she needs tenderness and understanding.

So, I take her hand and hold it to my heart.

“You feel this?” I ask her, pausing to give her time to feel the steady thump against her palm. “You are the reason it’s still beating. Without your letters, I’d have given in to the hopelessness that infected me from the very first day I arrived in prison. But you gave me a reason to keep going all those years. You shined your light on me so that in the darkness, all I could see was you.”

Her umber eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t break my gaze. She looks up at me, all doe-eyed and vulnerable, as I try to make her understand how much she saved me back then.

“So, please believe me when I tell you that there is nothing so superficial as some scars that would ever make me turn my back on you. You saved my life, little one, and for that, I owe you everything. I’ll be here for as long as you let me.”

She’s silent as she stares at me. I see the conflict in her eyes, her indecision. I see the flicker in her irises every time she sways from one answer to another. It gives me hope. Because even though it isn’t a yes, it’s not a no either.

It amazes me though that she can stand here before me completely naked and not move to cover herself at all, but she panics at the idea of showing me her face.

And I don’t know why it’s so important to me that she shows me what she hides under the layers of makeup she applies every morning, but I just have this burning desperation to prove that I will cherish and worship her no matter what. I need her to know that her scars won’t make me leave. If anything, I’ll treasure her even more because of them.

“You can trust me.”

“Promise?”

I cup her paint-stained cheeks in my hands once more and bring my mouth to hers. I kiss her soft and shallow, longer than a peck, but not long enough to satisfy either one of us. When I pull away, her cheeks are pink and bright. The air around her is lighter, and we both breathe a little easier.

“I promise.”

She doesn’t give me her answer in words, but she takes me by the hand and leads me through to the bathroom. I hold my breath the entire way, worrying that she’ll change her mind at any moment.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she waits patiently for me to take off my clothes since she’s already left hers discarded in my living room. And when I’m done, she turns around and climbs into the shower, glancing at me over her shoulder to make sure I’m following. I am, of course. I’m as close behind her as I can get without pressing myself flush against her body.

Reaching around her, I turn the dial to start the shower. The temperature of the water shocks us both as it streams down on us, causing Kinsley to shriek and launch herself into me in an attempt to protect herself from the freezing droplets falling down on us like a late winter snow.

“Fuck, that’s cold.” She laughs, teeth chattering as she seeks shelter in my arms.

I hold her to me, cherishing the feel of her skin against mine until the water warms and she takes a step back. Her face is a portrait of running makeup and watered-down paint, but still, she looks beautiful.

She reaches for the shampoo, but I grab it before she’s able to.

“Let me?” I ask, squeezing some onto the palm of my hand. “Let me do it for you?”

She nods shyly and turns to face the shower wall, her back to me. I lather the shampoo into her hair, massaging it into her roots and meticulously cleaning the strands coated in paint.

With every press of my fingers, she releases a breathy moan that has my cock hardening against her. But this isn’t about sex. This is about us. And I’m not about to ruin this moment by letting my desire take over too soon.

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