Page 1 of Scar Tissue

Prologue

Six Months Earlier

The sterile hum of fluorescent lights buzz overhead, blending with the distant murmur of monitors and the muted shuffle of nurses’ footsteps. My knuckles are white; fingers curled tightly around the armrest of a hospital chair. Dylan is lying motionless beneath a thin hospital blanket, her face pale, and her breaths shallow but steady. She had only been gone for a week, stolen into a darkness I can hardly fathom. Now she’s here—fragile and broken, but alive. When I couldn’t reach her over the past two weeks, my mind immediately went to the worst of places, but never could I imagine that something this bad could have actually happened to her. I thought that maybe she was just busy, getting into the routine of things on campus, so I gave her the benefit of the doubt. That was until I received a phone call from her number, only it wasn’t her that greeted me on the other end. Instead, I was welcomed by a gruff male voice, one that I didn’t recognize.

When he told me what happened, and that he was Dylan’s fiancé, I couldn’t believe either of those two things. I actually scoffed—until I came face to face with the both of them here. I immediately recognized him as the guy from the coffee shop Dylan and I were at before her father’s funeral. And seeing her laying here in this bed…sedated, bruised, abused…I have to blink back the sting of tears. I reach for her hand, hesitant, because I don’t want to startle her any further. She’s sedated because she freaked out when they tried performing her exam, to check for trauma and internal damage. I breathe deeply through my nose. All that matters is that she’s here now. “You’re safe,” I whisper, but my voice cracks. “You’re going to be okay.”

Dylan’s fingers twitch, and I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. It wasn’t a full movement, just a faint response, but it’s enough to ignite a flicker of hope in me. “Hey,” I whisper again. “I’m right here.” But she doesn’t respond, the drugs in her system heavy in her bloodstream. Fletcher—I learned the name of coffee shop guy, who was also apparently her dad’s best friend—thought it would be best if she had a familiar face that wasn’t tied to everything she went through, here to greet her when she wakes up. I guess it took a lot of convincing her to be seen when they returned, and he knew pushing her to do this could do as much harm as good. He leans against the wall, watching both of us, as if he’s afraid she’s going to disappear any moment and go back to whatever hell he saved her from. We haven’t spoken much since I’ve arrived—the same wariness in his eyes has settled into my bones. The same helplessness. But I have to try to be strong; I don’t want the stress of this situation affecting the bump I’m lugging around. And just as important, I need to be here for Dylan to lean on.

“Fletcher,” I whisper, not taking my eyes off of her. “I…I need to know what happened. I need to know what she went through.”

He tenses, but doesn’t immediately answer. I glance up at him, the question hanging in the air between us. He looks conflicted, torn. “She’s not ready to relive it, not yet. At least not outside of therapy. And I’m not sure I’m ready to tell you, either. It’s…” He trails off, and I can feel the weight of his words, unspoken and suffocating. He didn’tgive me all of the details when he called, but even the darkest parts of my mind can’t imagine.

I close my eyes for a moment, steadying myself. “I just want to help her.”

He nods, his jaw tight. “I know. We all do.”

But he’s right. She’s not ready, not even close. And maybe, in a way, neither am I. I want to wrap her in my arms and protect her from the world, but I also want to know how this happened. I need to understand, because the not knowing…it’s eating at me. She’s my best friend, an extension of myself, and what happens to her happens to me, too. As I look down at I look down at Dylan again, her face softening in her sleep. Her fingers twitch once more, and this time, she lets out a quiet, fragile sound—a soft, barely audible moan. I don’t know how long it will take for her to heal, but I know one thing for sure: whatever it takes, I’ll be here.

Chapter

One

THEA

Now

I need you. It’s important.

Isend the text through to Dylan, my hands shaking as my whole body goes numb in disbelief. Never in a million years did I think Lucas was capable of this. Never did I think he was the kind of person who could do this after everything we’ve already been through. My phone chimes and I immediately open it:

What’s going on? Are you okay?

I don’t know how to answer her, tears pooling in my eyes as I try to figure out what to say. Because the truth is so much harder than a lie. But this is something I can’t get through on my own. I barely survived by myself last time, and I know it wasn’t her fault. She had her own stuff going on, her own trauma to heal. But now…

I’m not okay. I need you. Can you come home?

She replies back instantly.

We’re on our way.

Collapsing backward against the cushions of our couch, I breathe out a sigh of relief. The house is quiet aside from my breathing as I rest my hand on my flattened belly. Nothing will ever be as painful as losing her, but this betrayal comes in a close second. I close my eyes, just hoping to gather a few moments of rest, to drown out the chaos bouncing back and forth inside of my skull, but instead I drift off into an exhausted kind of sleep.

“Lucas, I think something’s wrong.” Ever since I was diagnosed with fetal growth restriction, everything has worried me. I’ve tried not to, but WebMD has been both my best friend and my worst enemy.

He walks into the bedroom, peeking his head around the door jamb. I have no idea how he managed to get leave, but I’m grateful he will be here for the birth of our daughter. “What is it?”

“I haven’t felt her move in several hours and she’s usually so active. I also noticed blood when I went to the bathroom. I think we should go to the hospital.” I was really trying not to let my anxiety get the best of me, in case nothing was wrong and I did end up putting myself into labor due to pure stress.

He smiles at me, before coming to sit on the bed beside me. “This has happened before. We’ve been getting ultrasounds every week, I’m sure everything is just fine. It’s probably

pre-labor nerves. Maybe your body is preparing itself sooner than anticipated. But if you feel like we need to go, we can.” A part of me didn’t want to overthink it, but I also knew that I wouldn’t be able to rest peacefully until I had an answer. “I want to go…”

And thirty minutes later we were sitting in a room in my provider’s office waiting to get an ultrasound done. It always feels like it takes foreverto be seen when you’re holding your breath, wondering if something is wrong or not. But in reality, it had only been fifteen minutes before they called us back. I released a shaky breath, taking Lucas’s hand in mine as we walked down to the radiology room. The cold air hits me like a wave as I climb onto the examination table, feeling the uncomfortable coolness of the paper sheet beneath me. Lucas stands next to me, a hand on my shoulder, trying to offer comfort even though I can feel his own tension radiating off of him. His usual confidence is replaced with quiet concern as the ultrasound tech places the wand on my belly.

The technician, a woman with short, dark hair and kind eyes, maneuvers the wand across my belly as I strain to listen to the rhythmicwhooshof it as it spans the surface of my stomach. But when the technician’s eyes flicker to the screen, I notice a shift in her expression. It’s subtle, but I see it. She pauses, then quickly moves the wand, adjusting the view. My heart starts pounding and I try to steady my breathing, but I can’t. Lucas leans closer, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand. “Is everything okay? he asks, his voice quiet but steady.

The technician doesn’t immediately answer him, and continues to maneuver the wand. But finally she looks up, her expression neutral, but I can see the caution that lingers there. “I need to get the doctor,” she says quietly, stepping out of the room before either of us can say a word. I squeeze his hand tighter as our eyes search each other.