"Most people don't bother looking." His voice was gruff, matter-of-fact, his scarred hands flexing on his forearms, his amber eyes still fixed straight ahead like he couldn't bring himself to look at me.
"I'm not most people." I turned my head to look at him, studying the sharp lines of his profile, the scar that bisected hiseyebrow, the tension in his shoulders, my voice soft but certain. "And you're worth looking for."
His breath caught, almost imperceptibly, his amber eyes finally sliding to meet mine, something raw in his gaze, something vulnerable that he usually kept buried under all that stoic silence.
"Why are you here, Aster?" His voice was low, rough, his eyes searching my face like he was looking for some hidden motive, his body still and tense beside me, his scent sharp with something that might have been fear.
"Because I wanted to be." I held his gaze, refusing to look away, my voice soft but certain, my heart pounding against my ribs. "Because out of all the places on this ranch, this is where I wanted to be. With you."
He stared at me for a long moment, something working behind his eyes, his jaw tight with emotion he couldn't quite hide, his hands curling into fists on his forearms.
"You shouldn't." His voice came out harsh, almost angry, but I could hear the fear underneath it, the self-loathing he carried like a second skin, his amber eyes going dark with old pain. "I'm not... I'm not like them. Reid and Nolan and Kol. I'm not good."
"Says who?" I shifted to face him more fully, my knee pressing against his thigh, my voice fierce despite its softness, my eyes blazing into his.
"Says everyone who's ever known me." His laugh was bitter, sharp-edged, his amber eyes dropping to his hands where they were clenched into fists on his forearms, his voice hollow with old wounds. "Says every person I've ever hurt. Every fight I've started. Every bone I've broken."
"Sawyer—" I reached for him, my voice soft with concern, my fingers brushing his arm.
"I grew up in violence, Aster." His voice was flat now, empty, like he was reciting facts rather than confessing secrets, his eyesstill fixed on his scarred knuckles, his whole body rigid beside me. "My father was a mean drunk with fists like hammers and a temper that could turn on a dime. I learned to fight before I could read. Learned to hit before I learned to hug." His hands flexed, tendons standing out stark beneath his skin, his jaw working like he was fighting to get the words out. "By the time I was sixteen, I was bigger than him. Meaner. And I... I did things. To survive. To get out. Things I can't take back."
I didn't say anything. Just sat there, letting him talk, my knee a steady pressure against his thigh, my presence an anchor in the darkness of his memories.
"I've been a monster, Aster." His voice cracked on the word, his amber eyes finally lifting to meet mine, and the pain in them made my chest ache, tears glistening that he refused to let fall. "A real one. The kind that makes people cross the street. The kind that mothers warn their children about." His jaw worked, muscles jumping beneath the skin, his whole body trembling with the effort of confession. "So don't sit there and tell me I'm worth looking for. You don't know what I am."
I was quiet for a moment, letting his words settle, letting him see that I'd heard them, really heard them. Then I reached out and took one of his clenched fists in both my hands, feeling the tension in his fingers, the roughness of his scars against my palms.
"You want to know what I see?" My voice was soft, steady, my thumbs tracing over his knuckles, my eyes never leaving his face, my touch gentle but firm. "I see a man who works harder than anyone on this ranch. Who talks to horses like they're people and treats them better than most people treat each other. Who carries coffee to Nolan when he's been up all night with a sick animal, even though he pretends he just happened to be walking by."
His breath stuttered, his fist slowly unclenching beneath my touch, his amber eyes going wide with something like shock, his lips parting slightly.
"I see a man who growls at strangers but purrs when he thinks no one's listening." I continued, my voice gaining strength, my hands tightening on his, my gaze fierce and unwavering. "Who stood between me and Easton without hesitation. Who holds my hand like I'm something precious even though his hands have done terrible things."
"Aster—" His voice was strangled, broken, his eyes bright with emotion he couldn't hide, his free hand reaching toward me like he couldn't help himself.
"I see a survivor." I lifted his hand and pressed a kiss to his scarred knuckles, feeling him shudder at the contact, my lips lingering on his skin, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Just like me." The silence stretched between us, heavy with everything we'd said and everything we hadn't. His hand trembled in mine, his breath coming rough and uneven, his whole body taut like a bowstring about to snap.
"You don't know what I've done." His voice was a whisper, desperate, like he needed me to understand, needed me to run before he let himself hope, his amber eyes wild with fear.
"Then tell me." I shifted closer, our knees fully pressed together now, my hands still wrapped around his, my voice soft but steady. "Tell me the worst thing. The thing you think will make me leave."
He stared at me, his amber eyes wild with fear and longing, his chest heaving with each breath, his scarred face twisted with anguish.
"I almost killed my father." The words came out raw, torn from somewhere deep inside him, his voice cracking on every syllable, his whole body shaking with the force of the confession. "He came at me one night, drunk as usual, fists swinging. Andsomething in me just... broke. I beat him until he stopped moving. Until his face was unrecognizable. Until my hands were so broken I couldn't make a fist for weeks." His eyes squeezed shut, his whole body shaking, tears finally escaping down his scarred cheeks. "I was eighteen. I left that night and never went back. Never even checked to see if he survived."
I didn't flinch. Didn't pull away. Just held his hand tighter, my thumbs still tracing those soothing circles on his skin, my expression steady and accepting.
"Good." My voice came out fierce, certain, my jaw tight with an anger that wasn't directed at him, my eyes blazing with protective fury. His eyes flew open, shock replacing the shame, his brow furrowing in confusion, his lips parting around a soundless question.
"What?" His voice cracked on the word, disbelief flooding his features, his amber eyes searching my face like he couldn't understand what he was seeing.
"Good." I repeated, my voice hard, my eyes blazing as I met his stunned gaze, my hands tightening on his. "He deserved it. He deserved worse. And you survived. You got out. That's not something to be ashamed of — that's something to be proud of."
"I could have killed him." His voice was broken, confused, like he couldn't understand why I wasn't running, his amber eyes wide and lost, his hand trembling in mine. "I wanted to kill him."
"So?" I reached up with one hand and cupped his scarred face, forcing him to look at me, my palm warm against his rough cheek, my voice fierce and unwavering. "I would have wanted to kill him too. Hell, I want to kill him now, and I never even met the bastard."
Something cracked in his expression — the wall he'd built, the armor he wore, the distance he kept between himself and everyone else. His eyes went bright with tears he refused to letfall, his breath coming in harsh gasps, his whole face crumpling with overwhelming emotion.
