“How old were you?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Eight.”
“Eight?” I exclaim. “Are you serious? Did he go to jail?” Surely they threw the entire book of justice at him. Surely he’s rotting away in some jail somewhere.
He shrugs. “Last I knew, no.”
“Are you serious?”
“Baby, it’s okay.”
“I just—” I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. How much more did he suffer at their hands? What else did they do to this sweet boy? “I’m sorry.” I shove the feelings aside. If he’s not focusing on it, then the last thing I want to do is drag that pain out of whatever box he stashed it in. Something I know quite a bit about. So, I clear my throat and force a smile. “So were you trying to do some late-night laundry?”
“I was eating a snack, as one does, and spilled some salsa on my shirt. It wouldn’t have been an issue, except I wasn’t paying attention and moved weird.” He gestures to his half-clothed torso, the salsa stain bright against the light blue fabric. “And, here we are.”
Smiling, despite the ache still in my belly, I grip the fabric and slowly help him guide his injured arm out.
“I promise, I have been undressing and dressing myself successfully for quite some time now,” he says.
I smile and set his shirt aside so I can put some stain remover on it. “Sure you have. I’ll treat this stain and get it ready for the wash. It will be good as new.” After applying the stain remover, I pop it into the wash and delay it for an hour; that way, the remover will have time to set in.
When I turn around, Sawyer is leaning against the counter, watching me. “It really is okay, Anastasia.”
“It’s not,” I reply. “But I understand not wanting to relive it. Still, I wish I could go back and help you. I wish I could protect you from all that pain.”
His gaze never leaves my face. “What did I do to deserve you?”
“You’ve just been you.” Unable to resist, I reach out and touch his chest, right over the scar that nearly stole him from me seven months ago. He’d been shot while trying to protect Katelyn, and they’d taken him right alongside her.
So many scars.
So much pain.
When he looks in the mirror, does he remember? Does he relive those moments? I know that I certainly do whenever I catch sight of my scars in the mirror. Those reminders of the worst night of my life.
I drop my hand and start to pull away, but Sawyer reaches out and grips my wrist. He pulls me in closer and wraps his good arm around me while I lean into him. I rest my cheek against his chest.
The warmth of his body soothes some of the pain of knowing all he went through.
“You struggling to sleep, too?”
“Yeah. Did you ever finish that snack?” I ask.
He shakes his head, but doesn’t verbally respond. Instead, he stands there, staring at me as I pull away and move through the kitchen, prepping a fruit tray from the grocery store run my mom dropped off yesterday. Since I’m practically on house arrest until this guy is caught, she’s been doing all of the shopping.
“Anastasia.”
“I’m fine, Sawyer, honest. You caught me off guard, that’s all. Standing in my kitchen, all shirtless muscle on display.” And those scars.
Sawyer laughs softly and pushes off the counter. “That’s not it, but I’ll let it slide…this time.” He kisses my cheek, then heads into the living room and reaches into his bag. He withdraws an olive-green t-shirt and holds it out. “Take pity on me?”
“What was all that about dressing yourself?”
“I like it better when you do it.” His grin fades just slightly. “Besides, my shoulder kinda feels like someone blew me up a week ago.”
I laugh and cross over to take the shirt from him. The scent of his pine body wash fills my lungs, but I honestly kind of miss the slight motor oil scent he used to carry on him. It was faint, a reminder of how he spent his day.
And now it’s gone.
