Page 36 of The Scars I Bare
He laughed, clinking his glass with mine. “Done.”
It wasn’t until I finished my beer that I realized what I’d just done.
I’d unwittingly reinserted myself into Cora’s life.
So much for minding my own business.
By the time I arrived home, I had a full belly, a bit of a buzz, and a new purpose.
At least for the time being.
Filing.
I guessed it could be worse.
Leaning back in my desk chair, I removed my prosthesis and pulled off my shirt, feeling the crisp, cold air prickle my skin. Tilting my head back, I ran my hand through my hair. That nagging feeling I’d awoken with still hadn’t abated. The image of Cora jerking her hand away from mine kept replaying in my head in a loop.
It made me recall a particularly rough day in the hospital during my recovery. It was early on when the pain had still been raw and real, and the painkillers had barely been enough to take the edge off.
I’d awoken from a nap, sweat dripping off my body, shaking from the pain coursing through my veins.
Cora was the one to respond to my call button.
And it was her touch alone that calmed me.
The soft, calming caress of her fingers against my forehead as I’d breathed through the pain. It was a connection, one I’d felt once again last night at dinner.
But this time, the one in pain had been her.
Scooting up to my computer, I booted up the screen and pulled up the internet browser, intent on finding some answers.
Starting with Cora’s ex-husband.
Who was this man who’d owned her heart, and what scars had he left in his wake? What had he done to tear apart her trust, to make her pull away from human contact, to fear it even?
I had a pretty good guess, and as I pulled up the nameAshcroft, cross-searching it with the termslawyerandVirginia Beach, the man I pulled up did nothing to dissuade that feeling.
Blake Ashcroft was the epitome of wealth. Or at least, what I assumed it to be. Even from the photos and articles I found online regarding his prominent cases and well-known family, I could see an arrogance in him. He carried himself in a way that said he thought he was above everyone else.
Just seeing his face caused a hatred deep in my gut, something I was unused to feeling. I’d never been a revenge-seeking, eye-for-an-eye type person. Hell, I’d handed over my own fiancée to my best friend. But Blake Ashcroft stirred a need to protect like I’d never felt before.
Over an hour later, I was spiraling, falling down a Blake Ashcroft rabbit hole. When I’d gone so far as to pull up Google maps to view his house—or the house where he and Cora had lived—I knew I’d gone too far.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked myself out loud.
Sitting back in the chair, I let out a deep breath and decided it was time for bed. A quick check at the clock in the corner of my laptop confirmed that.
It was late.
But, before I could shut it down, I saw the pesky notification on my email.
Two new emails.
There were two types of people in this world. Those who could let their emails rack up into the tens of thousands without a care in the world. And then there were people like me. Those who saw one new email and had to immediately read or delete it. It was why I’d turned off the notifications on my phone. It’d driven me insane.
Pulling up the email program, I made quick work of deleting the first. Junk mail. I did not need a new duvet cover or whatever the hell the random department store was trying to sell me.
The second email took a bit more time.
