Page 128 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

I'm completely ruined for all other women. Londyn is it for me.

Fuck. I love her. That's something I never thought I'd find, yet here's the proof in my arms.

I've spent my life drifting. Moving from base to base as a kid, learning to hold parts of myself back, because getting too attached only meant more pain when the inevitable orders came for my dad. And when we settled for a time in South Korea, Iwas still the kid who was only half of them. Always the outsider. Always the one just passing through.

Then came the Marines. Structure. Brotherhood. But even there, I kept myself at a careful distance. I made buddies, sure, but they all joked I was forever a soldier, even in my personal life. I struggled to let down the persona and let anyone see what was underneath. Wunmi was the first crack in my armor—a sister I never had, but always desperately craved. When I lost her, I rebuilt those walls higher since I'd been stupid to ever let them down. I made them impossible to breach.

Until this woman in my arms found a way over.

I really don't know how this works—two broken people, each carrying trauma that won't ever fully heal, with scars that tell stories we'd rather forget. How do we move forward?

Conventional wisdom says we're a disaster waiting to happen.

But fuck that. The way I see it, she's already my family. She's already more essential than oxygen.

I'd do anything for her, and that makes me feel more human than I have in years.

Yet now that she's here, I have more to lose. And that's terrifying.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I slowly reach over, careful not to disturb Londyn's perfect weight against my chest.

Mike:Our guy's back in Cali. Just saw this online.

I tap the link he sent and the footage loads. Alan Miller is on a red carpet, his smug face plastered with that camera-ready smile. He's answering some entertainment reporter's questions. I wish I could jump into the screen and strangle him, make sure he never smiles again. How dare he even fucking look at Londyn, let alone touch her.

I pause the video because I'm getting too heated. My entire body is tense and Londyn shifts in her sleep like she's sensing it. Taking some careful breaths, I calm myself down enough to finish the video clip.

My sound is off but I read the subtitles. He mentions a new project and how excited he is to start shooting next week in San Diego.

My fantasies run wild, spiraling into a thousand different disasters befalling him—a fiery plane crash that leaves him mangled, nothing but scar tissue and pain for the rest of his life; a prop gun swapped for a real one on set; or, if the universe is feeling extra generous, certain parts of him getting cut off.

He's lucky he escaped me that day.

If Londyn hadn't been at risk in that SUV, I would've taken the shot.

Me:Thanks. Keep an eye out for anything else.

I set my phone on the nightstand. Londyn shifts slightly against me, her lips parting to release a soft sigh. I adjust my arm to cradle her more comfortably. At least we know where Miller is. Since he's not in town, I don't think Josh is either. This means it's probably safe to return to Londyn's apartment and get some of her things.

But something still isn’t sitting right. It never has.

The Navy Caps. The timing. The pieces have never fit together, and that's making my gut so unsettled it hasn't stopped churning since the attempted kidnapping.

If Miller had Josh planted at Londyn's work for five months, waiting for the right moment, why the Navy Caps too? What the hell was their purpose? Josh could've gotten access to employee records and easily found Londyn's address. Why the extra surveillance?

It doesn't add up.

All I know right now is that the Navy Caps have been dark for weeks and Miller is temporarily occupied. But he'll return. Men like that don't just give up after one failed attempt. Londyn gotaway from him six years ago, and he's spent all this time tracking her down. That's pure, insane obsession.

Maybe his work is keeping him in California for now, giving us this small window. But he'll be back. I'm certain of that.

Londyn can't stay in Manhattan. She's a sitting duck at a known location. We need to go somewhere he can't find her. Somewhere overseas where we can regroup and she can decide what she wants to do next.

Would she want to press charges? Take him to court? Maybe if she steps forward, others will follow. Maybe with the help of a lawyer, all the women he's hurt can put him in jail for life.

But going public would put her in the spotlight again, and I'm not sure she's ready for that. It has to be her choice and her timeline.

Whatever she decides, I'll be right there. For the first time in my life, I understand what it means to be anchored to another person. Not just by duty or obligation, but by something deeper. Something that feels like finally finding where I belong after a lifetime of wandering.

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