Scarred.
I’d never thought of myself like that, but it was accurate, as least on the inside. I might not show it, but I couldn’t forget my life and didn’t want to. I carried it with me as if it were branded to the underside of my skin. It made me the man I was today. I forced myself to listen to several other people: a man who’d lost his wife and had started dating again, another whose son had died. Hearing him cry and talk about the memorial he and his wife had set up in their son’s honor made me wonder if my mother ever thought about me.
The meeting broke up, and the three of us got a cup of coffee. Press was meeting Nate for dinner, and I was worn out.
“That was rough.” Torre rubbed my back. “You were amazing.”
“I thought so too.” Monroe’s friend stuck out his hand. “Hi. I’m Ezra Green, Monroe’s partner. It was incredibly brave as well.”
“I don’t know.” I crumpled the coffee cup and tossed it into the trash. “I’m not sure.”
“Well, I am.” Presley frowned. “I know you, and for the first time I can see a light in your eyes. That’s everything—everything—to me.”
Maybe it meant everything to Presley, but inside I still felt nothing at all.
