“They did,” I admit. “And they’ve gotten away with it.”

“Maybe they haven’t. Or won’t.”

“What do you mean? Your dad would have told me if they found someone, wouldn’t he? From the sounds of it, the case is dead.”

He’s quiet as he hammers a third shoe into the board. “Maybe life will punish them.”

“Yeah. Maybe. But by that logic, life could have been punishing me for something I’d done.”

“No.” Jesse drops the hammer and grabs my shoulders, his eyes penetrating mine. “You didn’t deserve this. Okay?”

I nod. “I’m not hurt anymore. I’m fine now. It’s just a scar.”

His voice softens. “Are you? I mean . . . are you happy here?”

Am I happy?

I am lost and yet somehow found.

I am afraid and yet somehow comforted.

I am drifting and yet somehow . . . home.

A smile stretches over my lips. “Yes, I think I am.”

His hands drop to slip into mine, his fingertips curling around mine, squeezing tight. “Good.”

It’s late by the time we’ve nailed all thirteen shoes to the board and I’ve brought the horses in for the night. Ginny will see this in the morning. I wonder how she’ll react.

Jesse leads me by the hand toward his garage. He didn’t need to ask and I didn’t need to even consider it, although each step closer fills me with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. This is all moving so fast, and yet Meredith’s words resonate with me. Yes, this is a Tuesday. And what if it’s the last Tuesday I ever see? Or the last Tuesday Jesse ever sees?

It’s such a morbid thought to have, and yet thoughts like that will forever linger in my mind. They are a part of who I am now, an invisible scar.

Dakota is right. My soul is scarred.

I step into Jesse’s apartment to find a low fire crackling in the woodstove. It’s mid-June and probably unnecessary now, and yet I’m happy for it. “What is that smell? I know it’s wood, but it’s . . .” My voice drifts as I inhale deeply. It’s so familiar.

“Leaves. I like the smell of them burning.” Jesse pulls me down with him into a pile of pillows.

“Copycat,” I tease. He reaches across me for something behind my head and flutters fill my stomach. As he produces a long metal stick with a fat marshmallow speared onto the end, I stare at him crouching in front of the opened stove, flames dancing in his dark eyes, his strong arms held steady, waiting patiently for the marshmallow to brown.

“I can’t promise you that I’ll like it,” I warn.

He fumbles with some plastic in the corner. When he settles himself beside me, the melted marshmallow is now surrounded by two flat cookies and a chunk of chocolate. “I can promise you that you will.”

I open my mouth for the gooey sandwich and he feeds me between laughs, as crumbs scatter and drips of chocolate and marshmallow cover his fingers, my chin, my shirt.

“You’re right. It’s a bit messy, though,” I admit, watching him lick chocolate off his thumb.

Wishing he’d kiss me again.

His left brow arches. “What?”

I inhale, gathering my courage, and reach for the hand against his mouth. I pull it to mine, stealing the last drops of chocolate from his knuckle with my tongue.

Drawing a long, low hiss from him.

He must finally decipher the silent plea in my gaze, because the next thing I know, his hand is cradling the back of my head, his mouth is closed over mine, and I’m sinking deep into a tailspin of heady emotion.

And fear.

Crippling fear that makes me break free of his lips, because somehow I know with certainty where we’re heading tonight if I let it happen.

Jesse’s intense gaze settles on me. “I get it. We don’t have to go any further.”

“No. That’s not . . .” That’s the thing: I don’t want to stop. I’m ready for this with Jesse. What I’m not ready for are any demons that may choose tonight to resurface.

“What do you want? Right now, from me,” he whispers against my mouth.

My breath catches. Has he asked me that before?

Or have I only wished that he has?

I swallow against my ball of nerves. “I don’t want to be afraid.”

Understanding flickers in his eyes.

He kisses me again.

And again.

And again.

Mercilessly, until my lips are sore and my tongue feels tangled and I’ve memorized the taste of his mouth. And then he whispers, “Afraid?”

A breathless “no” escapes me.

His free hand slowly slides under my shirt, unclasping my bra, to smooth over my br**sts, the touch gentle and caring. Almost reverent. Cool air springs goose bumps as he lifts the material up and over my head. Just like he kissed the scar across my face, he now leans down and skates his lips across the unsightly five-inch scar on my stomach where Meredith had to remove my spleen.

“Afraid?”

I curl my arms around his head as his lips drift up, leaving a wet trail over my skin on their way back to my mouth. “No.”

When his fingers snap open my jeans button, stealing a few of my heartbeats, he pauses to watch my face, a silent question in his eyes. He unfastens the zipper and slips his callused hand down, his thumb rubbing absently across the exact place where my tattoo sits, his hand resting on my pelvis. Where my hand has rested so many times, thinking about the fragile life that resided in there for such a short time.

My body responds to the feel of his hands, welcoming it.

“Afraid?”

I shake my head and tug at his shirt. Reaching back, he yanks it over his head and tosses it aside, giving me a chance to take in his olive skin and lean muscles. I focus on tracing their lines as he slips the rest of his clothes off. And helps me with mine.

I can see how much Jesse wants me—scars and damaged past and all—and it ignites my blood, hot enough to chase all fears and demons away.

There is no pain, tonight, as Jesse pushes into me.

There are no horrid flashes, no menacing whispers.

No demons.

Only a strange, euphoric sense.

As if I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

TWENTY-NINE

Jesse

then

I know something’s wrong the second I step into the apartment and Licks swaggers to the door. For the past five days, the bulldog’s been too attached to Alex’s leg to greet anyone.

The sinking feeling has already settled in my stomach by the time I walk the seven steps to the kitchen, to find a still-warm casserole sitting on the stove. I know before I reach my room that Alex is gone, leaving nothing but a note in her curvy handwriting:

Jesse, I’ve gone home. I need some time and space to think. —A.

“Fuck!” I throw my keys at the wall. This morning, when I kissed her goodbye before leaving for work, I saw the fear in her eyes. I should have expected this.

“It’s probably for the best, man.” Boone leans against my door-frame. Normally we drive in together, but I left in my own car this morning, not waiting for him. I haven’t said two words to the guy, still too pissed.

“The hell it is,” I mutter, scooping up my keys and heading for the door.

My thumb sits on the buzzer for a good twenty seconds before the gate crawls open.

She’s waiting for me at the front door, her arms hugging her chest. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You just took off.”

“Viktor comes back tomorrow. I have a lot to do.” Her wide eyes scan the driveway, the road, the trees, as if someone may be watching. She was never worried about that before, spending hours in the garage with me. “Grocery shopping, laundry, I have to get his dry cleaning . . .” Her voice trails off as I close the distance, stepping well within her personal space; so close, she’s forced to tip her head back to meet my gaze.

“You just took off,” I repeat.

Tears spring to her eyes and she blinks them away. “We can’t do this anymore.”

“You mean just for now, right?” When she doesn’t answer, my gut clenches. “Have you forgotten what he did to you?”

She shakes her head, taking a step back. “That’s the thing—I haven’t forgotten anything that he’s done to me. I wish I could. I wish I could forget every lie, every slap, every insult. I wish I could forget how stupid I was to marry him.”

“You can’t stay with him, Alex. It’s too dangerous!”

“No, Jesse. This”—her hand flies back and forth between us—“this is too dangerous! You even being here right now is too dangerous.” Her bright eyes flare with anger, such a rare sight. “What if someone drives by and sees your car? There’s no good reason for you to be here. You said we aren’t being stupid, but this is us being stupid!”

I trap her against the door with my arms on either side of her, afraid she’s going to run inside. “You’re my reason for being here.”

“And that reason is what’s going to get us both hurt. Or worse,” she whispers. Her hands push against my chest.

Pushing me away.

“Just because that friend of his reacted the way he did doesn’t mean Viktor is capable of the same.” Even I don’t believe those words as they come out of my mouth, but I’ll say anything right now to convince her to come home with me for just one more night. We can talk. We can figure this out, together.

“I met that guy, Jesse,” she says, her voice wobbling with fear. “I sat next to him in a lawn chair and talked to him about buying organic pork instead of regular pork. He seemed like a normal guy. A nice guy. He brought his wife her drinks and had his arm around her most of the night, and I remember wishing my husband was like that with me. I wasn’t afraid of him. I’m afraid of Viktor. I think a part of me always has been.” A bitter laugh escapes her lips. “What did I honestly think I was going to do? Tell Viktor I want a divorce, pack a bag, and move in with you? He isn’t the kind of man who will accept that. And if he even suspects that something has happened between us, he wouldn’t let you off.”

“I’ll deal with it.”

“No, Jesse. It was one thing when I thought it might earn me some bruises. But this . . .” She grits her teeth. “I’m going to leave him. But it may just take a while. And I need to be smart about it. That means you need to go, now. Please.”

“What if he hurts you again?” I can’t keep my voice from cracking.

Her fingertips find my mouth, a soft smile settling on her lips. “I won’t give him a reason to. I’ll be fine, Jesse. Don’t worry.”

She disappears behind the heavy door and the deadbolt clicks.

Deep down, as much as I hate it, I know she’s right. I shouldn’t have shown up here like this.

If I don’t smarten up, my feelings for her are going to get her hurt.

I step out from the can to find a line of greasy mechanics standing at the edge of an open bay door, the cold late-November temperature flooding the garage.

The engine’s purr is unmistakable.

“Nice work,” Tabbs offers as I settle into the open space between him and Zeke, the freshly painted silver Aston Martin sitting like a show car smack-dab in the middle of the parking lot.

I barely glance at it, too busy staring at the woman standing behind it.

She’s hidden, disguised as the rich trophy wife of a Russian mobster again—her cotton-candy pink coat a bright spot in the cold, overcast day—but I see the real girl underneath.

I haven’t heard her voice or touched her body in three weeks. It’s been agonizing.

“Welles!” My head snaps to Miller, standing with a sharply dressed Viktor. “Get over here.”

Shit. I close the distance to them and Miller promptly leaves, as if he’s not privy to the conversation we’re about to have.

“Hello, Jesse.” Viktor’s accent sends prickles down my spine. “What do you think of the car?”

“Looks incredible. They did a good job on the bodywork. Still running well?”

He strolls toward it—and Alex—forcing me to follow. “Yes. I wanted to take it out for one drive before parking it for the winter.” He pauses. “I have another job for you, if you are interested. It is for a friend of mine. A time-sensitive restoration.”

I keep my gaze to the ground, afraid I’ll get caught staring at his wife. “What does that mean?”

“It means that when the car arrives, it must be restored quickly.”

“What kind of car?”

“Those are details for a later date.”

Fuck. Here we go. I’m no idiot, especially now that I have a better understanding of who Viktor really is. We’re not talking about a pet project in his garage anymore and I don’t want to be in this guy’s pocket. “I’ll pass. But thanks.”

“I will give you some time to think about it. The payment will be significant.” He reaches a hand out for Alex. She comes without hesitation, close enough for him to lean in and kiss her right in front of me. I turn my attention to the car, my teeth cracking against each other. And yet I can’t help but inhale, desperate to fill my nostrils with her perfume again. The scent of her has long since disappeared from my sheets. “I should go away more often. I came back from Russia to the woman I first married,” he says. Then, “Think about it, Jesse.” He rounds the car, leaving Alex to climb into the passenger side on her own. She does so without so much as a glance at me.