“Don’t.” I smile, leaning up and capturing her hand in my own. I press my lips against it, tasting the slightly salty tang of her tears on her fingers. “Why are you crying?”

“Look at what they did to you,” she whispers through her tears. “Keets told me you were captured, but he never told me this.”

Keets told her? I should be angry, but I guess a part of me is glad she knew. It would explain why she didn’t run the second she saw the scars.

“Will you tell me?” she asks, but I shake my head. I can’t do it. She’s opened a part of my heart tonight that I thought would lie dormant forever. But this, this past that I come from, this weight that I carry . . . it’s mine. I can’t burden her with it. She understands. I don’t even have to say anything. I swallow past another lump in my throat as she kisses the long, jagged scar on my ribs. I have a tattoo there, covering the worst of it. I’m covered in tattoos, actually, most of them on my chest and arms. All designed to hide the imperfect body that lies beneath them. But she makes it bearable. Her kiss is soft, fleeting. Not enough, though. Never enough.

This time, when she tries to take my shirt off, I let her. This time, we make love, it’s gentle, slower. I want to show her the same kindness she’s shown me. She takes me to heights far beyond my fear and insecurities.

This time, I make love to her as Ethan, the man . . . not Stone, the injured soldier.

 

Ican’t believe I slept with him last night! And without protection! Am I crazy? What the hell am I doing? I’m a good girl; I don’t sleep with random men just for the hell of it.

But Stone isn’t some random man, and last night definitely wasn’t just for the hell of it.

He’d been quiet this morning when he dropped me at the bar. Did he regret his actions last night, or was he just hung over? So many questions, but I didn’t have the balls to ask them, so I’d kept silent when he’d pulled the truck up outside Saddles and let me out with nothing more than a brief kiss on my forehead. Stone needed someone. Someone who could look past the alcohol, the anger, the scars and see the tortured man that lay beneath.

No … not someone. Me. Last night, Stone needed me, and the thought rocks me to my core. Am I ready for this? When I left Troy, I swore I’d never get involved with a damaged man again. But it’s not his fault, right? I mean, it’s not as though Stone meant to be captured and tortured. I can help him. I can make him forget about the past. But does he even want that? I’ve heard some people are so used to being messed up that they don’t want to change. But that’s normally for people who have been dealing with their problems for years. As far as I know, Stone’s only been back a few months. But I have no idea how long he was in the hospital before coming home. Maybe he really is beyond my help.

I’m roused from my thoughts as I hear the front door of the bar open.

It’s Grace, accompanied by a young boy I assume is her son.

“Grace,” I greet with a smile, beckoning her over to the bar as I adjust my skirt self-consciously. I should have asked Stone to stop by my house so I could change clothes.

As she walks over, I see she looks even paler today than she did last night. She’s supported at her elbow by her son, who looks as pale as she is. What the hell is going on?

“Hi, Shannon,” she says in a voice so quiet I have to strain to hear her. We are the only people in the bar, so I walk out and sit with them at one of the small round tables. “This is my son, Zeke,” she introduces.

“Hi, Zeke,” I give him my warmest smile. He gives me a quick, tight-lipped one in return, but says nothing. He has blond hair and blue eyes like his mother, but where she is small and delicate, he is tall and stocky. That must be from his father.

“I thought maybe we could take you up on your lunch offer,” Grace states with a smile of her own, lovingly brushing the hair off Zeke’s forehead. “We have a big day today.”

“Of course,” I agree. “What can I get you?”

Grace pulls out her purse and starts counting change. I can see they’re both about to cry, and I gently lay my hand on top of hers. “It’s on the house,” I say quietly.

Relief floods her face as she puts her purse away. “Thank you so much, Shannon,” she says. “Money is just so tight at the moment. Could we get two burgers, fries, and I’ll take a strawberry shake. Zeke? You want chocolate?” He nods, not looking up.

“You got it,” I reply brightly, heading back to the kitchen to prepare their meals. I can’t help but think Zeke is a bit rude. Money is tight for everyone these days, but he could at least speak. It must be a teen thing. I take their food out and as I approach the table, I see them speaking in hushed tones.

Huh, so he can talk. I put the plates down and return a moment later with their shakes. Grace gives me a small smile as Zeke digs into his fries. It’s almost like he’s trying to keep his mouth full, so he doesn’t have to talk to me. I remember the blood I saw Grace cough up last night, and I wonder when they last had a decent meal. “Grace?” I start quietly, glancing at Zeke as he gulps his shake. “Can I speak to you for a minute? Alone?”

“Of course,” she says, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin before standing and slowly following me over to the corner of the bar. I help her into a seat and sit opposite her. Her hands are clasped on the table between us, her knuckles white.

“What’s going on?” I ask gently. I’m not ready for the flood of silent tears that pours down her face. “Hey,” I say, laying my hand softly on hers. “You can tell me.”

“I can’t,” she gasps, tears pouring down her face. I glance over at Zeke; he’s watching us, trying to be inconspicuous as he eats.

“Is it money?” I ask, desperate to try and find a way to help them. I hate the idea of Grace and her son being without food. “Do you need a job?”

Grace shakes her head. “I wouldn’t be able to keep it for long.” she sighs. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“Back home,” she explains, her eyes connecting with mine. She looks exhausted. “To finish my palliative care.”

“Your what?” Surely she didn’t say what I think she did.

Grace nods. “I’m dying,” she says simply. There are no tears, no fear. Just a resounding sadness. It’s as though she’s accepted her fate.

I sit back in shock, shaking my head in disbelief. “How?” My voice sounds hollow.

“Brain tumor.”

“Does Zeke know?”

Grace nods. “Yeah, he knows. I’m taking him to his father tonight. I have no one else to look after him, and I don’t know what else to do.”

“Of course,” I say, my mind still reeling. “Fuck, Grace, I’m so sorry.” I watch helplessly as she starts to cry again. I feel terrible. What the hell do you say to someone in this situation? I feel for Zeke, since I know what it’s like to lose a parent. “Where’s his father?” I ask, thinking the man must be a jerk to not be in his own son’s life, especially at a time like this.

“Actually,” Grace begins slowly. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Me?” I ask, my eyes widening. How the hell should I know where his deadbeat father is? I’d like to, though; I’d have no trouble kicking him in the balls so hard he’d never be able to conceive another kid.

The door of the bar opens and I turn to see Stone walking in. He stops for a moment at Zeke’s table to say hello. Zeke looks over at us, pointing to our table.

Stone glances up . . . and freezes. It’s like all the blood has drained from his face. He slowly walks toward us, seeming like it’s an effort for him to put one foot in front of the other. “Stone,” I say with a smile, standing up as he finally stops at the table. “I want you to meet my friend, Grace.”