Christmas Home (The Coming Home #6)

52. Clyde

fifty-two

Clyde

T hat night, after touring his childhood home, Ruther showed me his scarred body. He stripped down to his underwear, telling me he wanted me to see it all. “It’s as good as it can ever get. No more surgeries,” he’d said, and I could tell he was nervous.

I ran my fingers over the scarred skin, including across his chest. “You’re beautiful to me, Ruther. These represent a battle you’ve had to fight since you were a kid.”

I brought his hand up to the middle of my own bare chest and pressed it there. “My wounds are on the inside, but you’ve seen them just as I’ve seen yours, and you’ve loved me in spite of them. Can’t you see that’s the same? Internal or external, our scars make us who we are, show what we’ve survived. They’re a part of you, but they don’t define you.”

That night, as we made love for the first time, the stars in my life collided and made the world tilt on its axis. My life felt right for probably the first time ever, and it was only because I’d finally and fully opened myself up to the love of another man.

“I love you,” I whispered as Ruther lay with his head resting comfortably on my chest.

“I love you too,” he murmured before we both fell into a blissful, happy sleep.