Hidden Ink (Montgomery Ink #4.5)(29)

“Well? Close the door, Sloane. We have to talk.”

He’d done his talking in front of Montgomery Ink. If he did it again, he wasn’t sure what he’d say.

“I already said what I needed to.”

“Well f*ck you, Sloane Gordon. You need to let me talk, then. And when I’m done, you better be ready to talk or I’m going to kick your ass.”

His eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything. He’d never seen her like this, but damn if he didn’t like it. He’d loved her passion before, but hell, this was something more.

He finally closed the door, and she lifted her chin. Before he could take a step toward her—or away from her since his mind couldn’t figure it out—she stripped off her top so he could see her scars. He froze, unable to speak, to think. Her face was one of fury, but her stance that of strength.

“You see this? This is all of me. I'm not going anywhere. You think I'm less of a woman because of what happened to me? You think I'm less of a person? I sure as hell don't think you're any less of a man because you have PTSD, are scarred, or had to go through hell. You need to talk to me. You got it? You need to tell me what is going on in that head of yours and know I'm going to be there. I was your friend before this and I'm not going away.”

Sloane opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t formulate words.

“I don’t know what happened over there because you won’t tell me. If you don’t want to go into the details, that’s fine. For now. Because you need to talk about it, Sloane. Hiding away from it clearly isn’t helping. I love you, Sloane, and you’re in pain. I hate to see it and yet there’s nothing I can do if you keep hiding. So, yeah, I’m standing here topless so you can see every inch of my pain, of my past. I’m not hiding anymore. Please don’t hide from me.”

Shame covered him and Sloane took a step forward. He didn’t touch her, couldn’t if he wanted to think, but he let out a shuddering breath.

He hadn’t missed that she’d told him she loved him. But could she love him without knowing the truth? He walked past her to the couch and heard the telltale sign of a sob. Fuck. He was messing this up.

When he pulled the throw off the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders, she frowned at him. “I don’t want you to get cold.”

“I don’t feel much of anything, Sloane.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. She was here. Here and waiting. If he didn’t open himself up, she’d leave for good, and he’d always know he’d hurt her, scared her. Yet once he told her everything, she might leave anyway.

But what way would hurt her less?

“I’ve killed, Hailey.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve killed and hurt. I’ve watched the life drain out of someone’s eyes because I was ordered to. Because if I didn’t, they’d kill my men or me. I didn’t want to, never did, but I did it anyway.”

She pressed her lips together. “I figured you had, Sloane. That doesn’t change what I think of you.”

“It should, damn it.” He paced, running a hand over his head. Hair was just starting to scrape his palm and he knew he needed to shave again. That didn’t matter, though. The only thing that mattered was making sure Hailey understood what he was saying, understood why he’d left her standing on the street like he had.

“I’m dirty, Hailey. I have blood on my hands that I’ll never wash off. No matter how many times I told the shrinks after I got out, they didn’t understand. The only ones that do are the ones that were over there with me.” He stopped pacing and met her gaze. “But out of all the men I went over there with, the only one that came back was Jason. And you saw him. He’s what I should be.”

“Don’t say that. You know you’re not supposed to be that shadow.”

He shook his head and let out a shout. “I damn well should. I lost everyone but Jason over there, and f*ck it, I lost Jason there, too. He didn’t come back whole, no one did, but for some reason I came back with more than I should. How could I? That roadside bomb wiped out my unit. Fucking burned them to a crisp and I was forced to listen to it, to watch it. I almost bled out and burned with them, but I didn’t. Instead, I have to walk in this world every damn day knowing I’m not good enough. No matter what I do, I’ll never be worth it. I’ll have never earned my life. Jason didn’t die that day either, yet he left more on the field than I did.”

“Sloane.” Tears slid down her cheeks, but he didn’t wipe them away like he normally would have. If he did, he’d break, and he was already shattered as it was.

“Yes, I have PTSD. That doesn’t go away with the love of a good woman, with the ability to see that I have it. It’s never going to go away, Hailey. I might be able to look like I’m normal on most days, but sometimes I’m going to freak the f*ck out. Sometimes I’m going to have nightmares. Sometimes I’m not going to be okay. How is that good enough for you? How can you stand to be with me knowing I’m not whole? I came home. Others didn’t. My friends had to die for me to be able to stand here in front of you. They were the ones that didn’t make it and yet because they died, I lived. I was able to make it out and yet their families will never know how much they meant to me.”

She choked out a sob. “I’m not normal, Sloane. I’m sure as hell not whole. You said yourself I was more than my scars, and yet you don’t think you are as well? Scars aren’t just the ones on our skin, aren’t just what we can see when we look in the mirror. I know I have them inside, on my heart, on my soul. I know you have them, too. And I’m fine with it. I love the man in front of me, scars and all. Can’t you love him, too?”