27. Chapter 27
LONDYN
MY KNUCKLES HOVER JUST INCHES from Sean's door, suspended in that terrible in-between where decisions become real. One gentle tap will bridge the distance between us. One tap, and I'll have to face him.
I'll have to face myself.
Before I can retreat back to my safe, lonely apartment, the door opens suddenly.
Duh! He can see me on the video feed!
But it's not Sean standing in the doorway, it's Mike.
"Morning, Londyn." His usual grin is plastered on his face, but his eyes betray worry. It's the same look my old high school drama teacher gave me when I forgot my lines during the senior showcase. Worry mixed with not knowing how to help.
"Morning," I say in a reedy voice. "Could I speak with Sean?"
Mike shifts, opening the door wider. "He's in the shower. Should be out in a few. Want to come in and wait?"
I nod, stepping past him into the apartment. The security equipment sits quietly in the corner, and seeing my life sectioned into small squares is such an odd thing. It's almost like I'm on a sitcom again, only it's not very funny.
"Everything okay?" Mike asks, studying me with that careful attention I've come to associate with both men.
"Yes," I lie. Then immediately, "No. I mean… I need to talk to Sean. Would you be able to give us a few minutes alone?"
Mike's fatherly instincts visibly sharpen, suspicion narrowing his eyes for a fraction of a second before he shrugs. "Anything I can help with?"
"No, but thank you."
He hesitates, then nods. "I'll grab us some coffee. Give you two some privacy."
"Thank you. That would be perfect."
"Any preference?"
"Espresso would be amazing." I attempt a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. "Double shot, please."
"You got it." He grabs his wallet off the kitchen counter, slipping it into his jeans pocket. Then he checks his holster. It's a little warm outside, but he shrugs on a light jacket to conceal the gun. "Tell Sean I'll be back in thirty."
"I will. Thank you so much."
He leaves with one last concerned, fatherly glance.
Now alone and waiting for Sean to appear, I drift toward the window. Morning light filters through the blinds and casts long shadows across the floor.
My attention shifts to the painting Sean hung. The contrast between the colors outside the painted window and the muted grays inside feels different today. The brilliant outside colors aren't just visible, they're accessible. One step is all it would take.
One step toward Sean. Toward reclaiming pieces of myself.
It starts with sharing part of my story, which is not easy.
The gray I've lived in has felt safe, but it's also been suffocating me slowly. I've been clinging to it because the alternative—stepping back into color and visibility—is terrifying.
But what kind of life is this? This half-existence where I don't enjoy living?
"Londyn."
My name in his voice feels like a touch. It's low and gentle, wrapping around me with a warmth that makes my pulse flutter. I turn slowly, my body suddenly, acutely aware.
There he is.
Sean stands in his bedroom doorway, freshly showered. His blue hair is darkened to indigo and clinging to his forehead in damp sections. He's shirtless, with only jeans riding low on his trim hips. Strong, lean muscles flow beneath tanned skin.
Words hitch in my throat as my eyes trace the defined ridges of those abs, the sculpted planes of his chest, the strong curve of his shoulders. Drops of water cling to his collarbone, tracing paths downward that my fingers beg to follow.
A molten ache spreads low in my belly, flowing outward in waves that contradict everything I thought I knew about myself. After The Director, I never imagined I could look at a man's body again and feel this rush of pure, unfiltered need.
But this isn't just any man. It's Sean.
I notice his hands are shoved deep in his pockets, his stance deliberately open and non-threatening. He's keeping his distance and making himself smaller somehow despite his imposing frame. He's reading me like an open book and accommodating me without me asking.
My heart aches at his thoughtfulness, at how easily he seems to understand what I need.
"Um, Mike went out for coffee," I say. "I thought we could have some time alone to talk?"
"Yeah," he nods, those dark, earthy eyes never leaving mine.
Now, where to begin?
Before I can figure it out, my eyes are drawn to Sean's bare, strong chest again. Then I'm the one who moves closer, pulled toward him like the ocean to the shore. My fingers reach out to trace a raised scar that cuts across his left pectoral muscle.
"From the Marines," he says, remaining perfectly still. "Enemy fire."
I gasp softly, the reality of what he's saying hitting me. "You were shot?"
"A few times. Here and once in the thigh. No permanent damage, but they hurt like hell."
I nod, unable to resist touching him again as my eyes slip to another long scar along his side. The raised surface is warm under my fingertip. "This one?"
He's still keeping his hands in his pockets, maintaining distance even as I'm taking liberties.
He flashes that lopsided smirk that reveals a tooth.
"I want to sound tough and say it was a knife fight," he says, "but I caught myself on a rusty fence.
I was working security and in pursuit of someone.
Hopped over a fence. Shredded myself on the way down. "
"That still makes you tough. I bet you kept chasing the person, didn't you?"
"Yeah."
My thoughts drift to my own scars—the seventeen red lines across my stomach, the whip marks on my back.
Ugly, violent reminders of a man I just want to forget.
If I ever found the courage to show Sean, what would he say?
His scars are badges of honor, proof of his courage and dedication.
Mine are just… damage. Proof of my vulnerability as a woman.
I step back, hugging my waist, the enormity of what I came here to say suddenly overwhelming.
"How are you?" he asks, his voice impossibly gentle.
Such a simple question with such a complicated answer.
The truth is, I'm not okay. I'm feeling exposed, sensitive, emotionally raw.
And I'm angry. At myself, at The Director, at a world that lets predators get away with their horrors.
I'm irritated that I can't just enjoy intimacy with a man I choose.
"I know I… surprised you yesterday," I say, skipping his question entirely.
As if the mention of yesterday makes Sean suddenly aware of how much skin he's exposing, he steps back. "Yeah, but I understand. Just a sec."
He retreats to his bedroom, returning moments later wearing a black t-shirt that clings to the damp parts of his torso. His hands slide back into his pockets.
"It's okay that you wanted me to stop," he says. "I can only guess at why. If I had known, I wouldn't have been…" His eyes drop to the floor, searching for words that won't cause damage. "Aggressive. I feel like complete shit for upsetting you."
I shake my head quickly, his suggestion making me queasy.
"No, I wouldn't say you were aggressive.
What you did was perfectly normal. I mean, I asked you to…
" The words stick in my throat, forcing me to clear it.
"I thought I was ready to handle that level of…
desire. I wasn't. So I'm sorry for freaking out. "
"Don't apologize for that." The heaviness in his sigh fills the room as his hands shift in his pockets.
I can see the outline of his fists forming.
"Ever since we met, I've been startling you or scaring you in one way or another.
I fucking hate doing that. I hate seeing you upset.
And I feel like the world's biggest asshole. "
The raw pain in his eyes propels me forward to close the distance.
"Oh my god, no, please don't think that.
You're not anywhere near being an asshole.
I feel safe around you , Sean. I mean that.
You're the first man to make me feel this way in so long.
It's just my body. And my head. They get confused and slip into the past, and I have trouble stopping them.
But that's not what I actually want. I want… you."
Tears begin forming, blurring the edges of my vision as I touch on something I've desperately tried to keep hidden. "Please, it's not you. It's always me. I didn't tell you about my past, so how would you have known?"
He needs to know, I keep reminding myself.
Just say it and face his reaction.
"I, um, I think you already understand, but… a man… I was… a man raped me." I choke on a sob right after the words are out, like it was just waiting to punctuate my truth. "The Director. He did… really disgusting things to me."
Sean's composure cracks like glass, his controlled stillness crumbling as a tremor runs through his shoulders.
His eyes darken with a fury and pain so profound that the purple-blue of veins beneath his skin add shadows to the edges of his features, transforming them into something savage.
His jaw tightens, a muscle pulsing like a heartbeat.
There's so much primal, naked emotion on his face that I have to look away.
While I can't yet determine if he'll see me as a broken woman with too many scars, I can see that it's upsetting him to know I was violated.
The floodgates are wide open now. I might as well be completely honest, now that I've come this far. I also wonder what it will feel like to finally tell someone. To get the darkness out.