Rescued by the Major (Winter Rescue)

7. Anders

7

ANDERS

Her words echo through me. “I have scars too.”

God, it’s enough to make me want to wreck the world. The idea that this amazing woman has ever been hurt enough to carry the scars afterward makes pain tear through my chest.

But it’s her arms slipping around me that nearly finishes it. Makes me want to surrender to the feelings she’s sparked in me. A hug. A simple hug. After what we did on the couch, the way she shuddered in my arms and how I licked the proof of her pleasure from my fingers, it’s a hug that undoes me. That makes me truly weak.

“When I was younger, I got sick. It was really sudden, unexpected, and when the doctors checked me, they found I had a mass in my abdomen. They had to do surgery, and I remember thinking that this couldn't be happening. I was just a kid, twelve years old, but they had to cut me open and pull out pieces of me. Split me open from hip bone to hip bone. It wasn’t pretty.”

The very idea of her being that sick at such a young age has my stomach roiling. There’s still the hint of pain in her voice. Like reliving the experience hurts but she’s doing it because she wants to help me.

“It happened over the summer, and when I went back to school, one of the girls in my class saw the scars in the locker room after gym. She told everyone I must’ve been pregnant. It spread through the whole school, soon the gossip was that I had an abortion or given the baby up for adoption.”

The pain in my chest triples, the shell around my heart cracking under the weight of fury at the pain the words of stupid kids can cause. “It didn't matter that none of it was true. I was new, had no friends there, no one knew me well enough to defend me. So, that was that. A reputation ruined before I even had a chance.”

I twist in her grip and now I’m the one hugging her. Desperate to give her whatever comfort I can, to return the favor she’s offered me.

“I'm so sorry, Eva. I’d kill all of them for you if I could.”

The statement should frighten her away, but she laughs against my shirt and her arms go tight around me. “Thank you. They were kids. I know that, but it didn't make it hurt any less. I made some friends over the years, but there were still a lot of looks, whispers when people thought I couldn’t hear them. And any of the guys that asked me out had a certain expectation of how the dates would end. I learned that pretty quickly.”

Fury is like an icy fire in my blood at the sadness I can hear. It’s hidden in her matter-of-fact tone, but it’s still obvious to me. Judged because of her scars. Just like me.

“People are scared of me,” I rasp out, holding her close. I can tell her this and need to tell her this, so she'll see I understand what it’s like to be categorized as something you’re not before you have a chance to prove otherwise. “They see this side of my face, and they’re instantly afraid. Like this happened to me because I’m a bad person. Like it might be contagious.”

“They’re dumb,” she says, and the simple purity of the statement pulls a surprised laugh from me. “Anyone around you for more than five seconds would know you’re full of goodness. Honor.”

That last word makes me flush with pride. Honor and commitment. Those were ideals that drove me. That put me in the position to walk away with the scars I bear.

“How can you tell?” I ask, a rough question that forces me to acknowledge the way my throat has gone tight.

“It radiates out of you. It’s in the way you stand, and the way you walk. Each step you take even though I’m sure every single one causes you pain. It’s in everything you do.”

I snort and try to shift away, but her grip ratchets down and I give up, secretly pleased that she didn't let me pull back.

She continues, “You walked away from safety to hunt for a lost woman in the middle of a blizzard. That’s bravery and honor. Commitment to do the right thing no matter what. If they can’t see that, then they’re not worth an ounce of your energy.”

Silence stretches out as we stand there, holding onto each other, and her words soak into me, absorbing beneath my skin. And not just the words. But the feeling infused into each one. The care and sincerity. They’re like a balm on a wound I refused to admit was still open.

Eva tips her head up, and I see tears shining in her eyes. If I any part of me doubted she meant what she said, it’s burned away by that sight. My hands drift up, until my fingers are in her hair, and I tangle them in the silky strands. A hint of a blush creeps into her cheeks, and her eyelids droop closed as I tug on her hair just a tiny bit.

“How did you know what I needed to hear?” I breathe out the question, her mouth parting with a pleasured little gasp as I lean down. “Just like that, a few hours in my life, and you’ve already got me figured out?”

Her eyes meet mine, pretty blue with dark gray flecks in the center, and I feel like I’m falling.

“Because I see you,” she answers, and my head spins at the feelings ricocheting through me at the idea.

Then she presses up onto her toes and kisses me.

Eva

The pain in his voice as he asked how I knew what to say makes me want to cry, but not because I’m sad. No, those are angry tears threatening, furious tears at how cruel people can be without even realizing it. The fact that this kind man is hiding from the world makes me want to scream. I want to wash everything away for him, distract him with something good, and that’s why I do something I would never have been brave enough to do before. I kiss him.

I meant it to be a quick touch of lips, but he doesn’t let it end there. As soon as our mouths meet, he growls and I’m pulled flush against him as he takes control. His tongue sweeps over my lips, seeking entry and I give in with a hungry moan of my own. It’s like he’s tasting me, learning every inch, and I want to do the same. It’s a dance between us.

Our mouths flush.

Hands dancing across each other.

And I don't care if he sees the other scars I have.

The ones that tell a story I've been too afraid to share with anyone.

His arms encircle me, and instead of feeling trapped within a cage, it’s safety that washes over me. Protection. A certainty that he won’t let anything, or anyone, hurt me. Here with him, the world can't touch either one of us.

This thought makes me brave, and I slip my hands under the flannel shirt he’s wearing, gliding my fingertips over corded muscles, pulling a husky groan from him.

“I want to,” he chokes out as we break apart for a moment, eyes searching each other. “Take you to bed. Can I do that? Can I make love to you?”

The logical part of my brain wants me to see this as madness, that this is all moving too fast. But the storm rages on outside, wrapping us inside a warm cocoon where anything feels possible. It’s a gift. A reward for the grief I’ve suffered through, all the loss, and I'm not going to discard it.

“Yes, please,” I whisper. “I want you so much.”

His smile hitches up, and something lights up his deep brown eyes. Reminding me of the fire burning in our hearth. Warm, hopeful, a promise.

He scoops me up into the cradle of his arms and carries me into his bedroom.