I snort, about to deny it, and she puts her finger against my lips.
“I mean it.” Strength rings through her voice. “Our scars show that wesurvived. That we’re still here, still breathing, still fighting. But if you let your scars define your past, then they’ll stop you from having a future.”
She turns away from me and lifts her shirt.
I’ve never seen her bare back before.
Thin silver lines crisscross all over it, cutting into the smoothly elegant curve of her spine with vicious slashes. Dotted between the lines are thicker puckered areas that look like fucking burns.
My throat closes up in horror. Her skin is so smooth everywhere else, even down past her shoulders, but below that is a map of the horrors she’s been through. There’s so much that it’s clearly happened over years.
Seven years. She was in that place for seven fucking years.
And I’m sat here whining about my face?
“Harper, love,” I breathe out, my voice full of anguish. She drops her shirt, cutting off my line of sight and turns back to me. Her hands are shaking slightly, and I grab hold of them.
“You see?” she says quietly, searching my face. “We can’t let them define who we continue to be, Gabe. That means that the bad guys win.”
The way she looks at me. It’s promises and passion and a possible future all wrapped up into one fiery red and amber package.
“You give me hope, you know,” I whisper to her. The confession falls out of me, broken shards slipping from my lips, but it’s true.
She makes me feel like anything is possible. That maybe, just maybe, Ace and I could fix what’s been shattered. Maybe we could be something again. Something better than before. As long as she’s with us, I feel fucking invincible.
I pull her close to me and we wrap ourselves around each other. The air feels emotionally charged, like we’ve stripped our souls bare and shown them to each other.
Look. This is who I really am.
And she’s still here. She hasn’t run.
I’m tracing my fingers up and down her bare arm as I think about her back. Anger fills me again and I swallow it down. There’s no space in this moment for negativity. Harper is right.
I shift slightly and turn to her. “Can I see them again?”
Harper’s shoulders bunch for a moment, before she nods. I gently position her so she’s sat on the leather seat in front of me, between my legs.
Slowly, I slide my hands up her back, underneath the grey shirt that smells like woodsmoke and leather, lifting it up and off as Harper raises her arms obediently.
My hands gently trace over the ridges, a roadmap of indents and rough patches.
Harper sits quietly, her head bowed. I gently push the rest of her hair off her back and take in the full scale of the damage. It’s fucking horrendous.
“Sweetheart,” I whisper. “Does it hurt?”
She shrugs. “Sometimes. There are parts I can’t feel at all, and a few areas where the skin can be really sensitive.”
My hands move over her back, exploring every area. I soon realise where the sensitivity is highest, Harper’s breathing patterns alerting me to the bigger areas as my hands move carefully along.
Carefully, so carefully, I lean in and press my lips to a particularly nasty scar. Deep purple in nature, it’s undeniably a burn, about the size of two of my fingers.
A shiver ripples up Harper’s spine and she inhales sharply. I move to pull back and her hand reaches back, pulling me closer.
“No, don’t stop,” she murmurs. “It feels… good.”
A trickle of relief flows through me that I’m not hurting her.
“Never want to hurt you.” The words tumble from my lips, low and rough. I continue to move over the map of her back, tracing a delicate line with my tongue. She moans and I scent her sweet cinnamon as she presses her legs together. She shifts restlessly between my legs, and I pull my shirt off before carefully pressing my bare chest against her.
