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“When did you find out?”
“When our mother died.”
“When you were already grieving for your mom? Man. You must have been devastated.”
Alessandra sighed. “Things happen. I know how pointless that sounds, but it’s true.”
Tanner brought her hands to his lips.
“You have to keep moving forward,” he said. “One of the docs told me that when I was feeling sorry for myself because the wound in my calf just wouldn’t heal. I told her she was looking at life through rose-colored glasses, but she was right.”
“The wound in your calf,” she said softly. “The one that’s making you limp.”
“I’m not…” He expelled a long breath. “Yes.”
“What happened?”
He shrugged. “I was in a firefight and I got hit.”
“Why do I think it was more complicated than that?”
He didn’t answer. She sighed. She didn’t know a lot about men, but she knew about her brothers. Sometimes it was best to back off.
“And this?” she asked, lightly touching the scar on his shoulder.
“Souvenir of Afghanistan,” he said, with another lazy shrug.
“There’s a scar on your belly, too.”
“Knife wound.” He drew her close and kissed her. “The guy who gave it to me would have been better off using his knife to butter his bread.”
She knew he wanted her to laugh, but she couldn’t. Thinking of him being hurt was too painful.
“And these,” she said, running her finger lightly over first one small scar on his pectorals and then the other. “What kind of weapon could make scars like these?”
At first, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. He caught her hand. Held it against his chest. A few long seconds of silence passed. When he finally answered, it was in a low voice.
“Not weapons,” he finally said. “A knife.”
“I don’t understand. These are knife wounds?”
“They are what remains of small cuts into my skin, done by a tribal elder, who then threaded strips of rawhide through them and tied them to the sacred pole used in the Sun Dance.”
He felt her body stiffen, and heard her small whisper of… Shock? Horror? Disgust?
Akecheta, he thought grimly, what a monumental fool you are!
Why had he told her this? The dance was not a thing he had ever discussed with anyone outside the tribe. There were far too many who still thought of Native Americans as barbaric. Had he just given credence to that stereotype?
“It’s a sacred ritual. It began two centuries ago, and then the federal government outlawed it. They said it was barbaric.”
“But your people said it was sacred.”
Tanner nodded. “It’s a ceremony of renewal. Of conviction. It reminds the dancers of their connection to the earth, to the circle of life. And, if you are very, very lucky, it renews your sense of self.” A muscle flickered in his jaw. “I needed that renewal of self. I needed to find my way out of the darkness and into the light.”
Slowly, she drew her hand from his. He let it happen. If he had said too much, if she needed to put some space between them, he would not stop her…but when, instead, she moved even closer and spread her hand gently over first one scar and then the other, his heart lifted.
“Is it still outlawed?”
