“Haven House,” Ghost answered, voice flat as ever. “With Bear. Teaching that carpentry class like she planned.”
Relief crashed through him so hard his knees nearly buckled. Haven House. Right. He’d forgotten.
She hadn’t left for good. Just for the afternoon.
“She’s not running away from you,” River said, his voice gentler now that he’d seen Anson’s panic. “Not yet.”
“Though she might, if you keep this up,” Jonah added, moving closer. “What happened between you two?”
Anson straightened, still fighting to get his breathing under control. How could he explain what had happened? That he’d finally let himself have what he wanted most, only to run when it got too real? That he’d panicked when she’d seen his scars, touched them, and still looked at him with desire instead of disgust?
“I fucked up,” he managed finally.
“Well, that’s a start,” River said. “Admitting you have a problem.”
“Not helping,” Jonah muttered.
“She deserves better than—” He gestured at himself, at the scars hidden beneath his shirt.
“Than what? A good man who’d do anything to protect her?” Jax asked.
“A man who can’t even look at himself in the mirror?” he shot back. “A man who killed four people?”
“We comparing body counts now? Because I win.” Ghost pushed off from the beam, his movement drawing everyone’s attention. “We’ve all got blood on our hands. She knows what you are, what you’ve done. She’s always known, even if she didn’t have all the facts. And she’s still here.”
“Maggie chose you, hermano,” X said. “Not some fantasy version. You. The scarred, silent, pain-in-the-ass real you.”
“And you’re throwing it away,” Jonah added, “because you’re scared. We get being scared. What we don’t get is being a coward.”
Coward. He’d have been less surprised if easy-going Jonah had hauled off and punched him.
But he was one, wasn’t he?
A fucking coward.
Too afraid to let himself have what he wanted, what he needed. Too afraid to let himself be seen. Not just his scars, but everything beneath them. The guilt. The shame. The desperate, hungry need for her that terrified him more than anything.
Jesus, he couldn’t do this. He was too raw, like an exposed nerve. He tried to shoulder past them all, but they weren’t moving. “Back the fuck off.”
River snorted. “Or what, you’ll avoid us, too? Add us to the list of people you hide from when shit gets uncomfortable?”
“Listen.” Jax planted a hand on his shoulder and waited until he turned. “I’ve been there. Feeling like you don’t deserve a second chance. Like you’re too damaged, too dangerous, too fucked up for something good.”
“But that’s not your call to make for her. Just like it wasn’t Jax’s call to make for Nessie or mine for Naomi,” Ghost said, and for once, something dangerously close to emotion colored his quiet words. “She knows exactly who you are. Let her decide if you’re worth loving.”
Anson swallowed hard, the rage that had been building collapsing under the truth. These men knew him. Had seen him at rock bottom. Had pulled him back a dozen times when the shadows got too dark. And not one of them was letting him off the hook.
“Shedoesdeserve better,” he managed finally, the words scraping his throat.
“Probably,” X agreed. “But she wants you. And man, there are worse things in life than being loved by a woman like Maggie Rowe.”
The barn door slammed open, and Boone stood there, glowering and unimpressed.
“Jesus fucking Christ. This isn’t a beauty salon, fellas. Get back to work.” His voice carried the snap of command, sending them all scattering with minimal grumbling.
Thank God.
Anson turned back to Troubadour, intending to finish his hoof, but his hands were shaking. He cursed and shook them out, stretching his fingers, feeling the pull of his scars across his knuckles.
