Page 74 of Beautiful Beast

But maybe his tough love is what I need right now.

“It’s about weakness and disfigurement,” I admit. “This isn’t how I want to face the world. Maybe more of my confidence than I thought came from my appearance.”

We have gone to war together – many times – and I don’t have to front with him. He knows me, all the dark, flawed, secret, and fucked up parts, and accepts me anyway.

“You’re still rich as shit and jacked,” he reminds me. “You’re a monster, dude. We called you the beast since high school, not just since you started being able to kill people like it ain’t no thing. So many men would trade places with you, scar or not.”

“But none of that shit matters when the lights go out at night,” I return. “Yeah, being rich makes a lot of my life easy. And I’m not going to deny that I love being strong and work hard at it. But I still have to live in my fucking head. And it’s a mess in there.”

Briggs lets out a long breath and meets my gaze head-on. “I get it.”

“Look, I know how everyone at Townsend Enterprises feels about me taking over without the experience they think I need,” I continue. “It’s nepotism, but that’s how the world works, and I’m not going to apologize for taking opportunities they’d take in a heartbeat.”

“One hundred percent. I want to be you when I grow up, man.” He piles meat onto the sandwich at least three inches high.

“You can settle for stealing my stuff,” I reply. “I will eventually face everyone. But I want to meet them in person when I’m back to myself and right now… We’ll just say I’m not at my best physically or mentally. I’m pretty fucked up.”

Rather than take a bite of his masterpiece, Briggs sticks his steady, intense gaze on me. “Syria was a bad scene. I don’t blame you for retiring.”

Blinding flashes of light that threw me so off-balance I couldn’t tell where I was running.

The metallic taste of blood and the sickening smell of burning flesh.

The screams. All the fucking screams, somehow still audible despite the bullets whizzing and bombs exploding.

The drumming rain of broken glass and debris, combined with the thud of human bodies thrown against the crumbling walls.

The whooshing like a goddamn air tunnel after the bombs went off was like being trapped inside a vacuum I couldn’t turn off.

Body parts were strewn around like fucking confetti and–

“Hey.” Briggs grips my bicep so hard that I wince, but it’s enough to bring me back into the present. “Are you alright, dude?”

This is the man who carried me out of hell when I couldn’t drag myself to safety.

“Not really,” I whisper. “No. I’m not.”

“What can I do?”

“You’re doing it, man. You’re here despite me being a fucking prick and ignoring you. Thank you.”

“It’ll take a lot more to get rid of me. And I understand. The world is based on appearances,” Briggs says. “We all know it. But you have a lot more to offer this world than just your pretty face. Don’t hide for too long, brother.”

“I won’t,” I return. “Just until I’m fixed.”

“Surgery isn’t going to fix the reason why you’re hiding.”

“Suddenly, you’re a fucking philosopher?” I demand.

“We’ve been to hell – literally. And it’s not just our bodies that took a beating. Just think about it, dude.”

“I do think about it,” I snap. “Constantly. I can’t stop. And that’s exactly why I’m not letting Belle get too close. Some things are just too broken to fix.”

“It still haunts me that we got there too late,” he says softly.

I squeeze my eyes shut as though I can block out his words and make him fucking disappear if I can’t see him.

Syria isn’t something I willingly think about. It comes to me late at night and randomly throughout the day, like glitchy virtual reality I never know when to expect.

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