Besides, why would a younger, pretty woman like Nora see anything in a guy like me?
I accepted a long time ago that I'd live and die alone. Made peace with it. The military took whatever capacity I had for normal relationships and shredded it. Left me with nightmares and tinnitus and a body that doesn't work right. No woman wants to sign up for that. For waking up to me swinging at shadows. For the nights I can't sleep because the buzzing is too loud. For a man who makes his living getting hit in an illegal fighting ring.
I made my peace with solitude.
So why does sitting next to Nora make that peace feel like a lie?
"You're a better man than you give yourself credit for." Her voice is soft. Certain.
I can't help it. I chuckle. "You shouldn't be tricked just because I helped you, Nora. I've done evil things."
I expect her to retreat. To pull back. To realize that the man sitting on her bed isn't some knight in shining armor. Just a broken soldier who's better at violence than anything else.
Instead, she faces me fully. Those hazel eyes lock on mine.
"What things?" she asks.
Fuck.
I fumble. Actually fumble like some teenager caught lying. Because I never expected her to ask. Never expected her to push instead of accepting the warning and backing off.
"You know I was in the military," I manage. The words come out rough. "I killed people. A lot of people. Did things I can't… Things that don't wash off, no matter how much time passes."
There. That should do it. Should make her see that I'm not—
"That doesn't surprise me." She says it simply. Like I just told her I prefer coffee to tea.
I blink. "What?"
"You were fighting for your survival. For your country, your unit, whatever." She shifts closer. Just an inch but I feel it like a shockwave. "Maybe years ago I would have judged you for it. Would have thought killing was always wrong, no matter the circumstances. But now that I'm fighting for my life? I understand that sometimes we have to do things we don't want to just to keep breathing. To stay alive."
Her hand finds mine. Small fingers tracing the scars on my knuckles.
"But I've also learned that the bad things don't define us. We're more than only that."
"I hope I can see myself in that light someday," I confess.
The words slip out before I can stop them. Raw. Honest in a way I haven't been with anyone except my brother. Nora moves closer. Her hands cover mine completely, and she's massaging my bruised knuckles with gentle pressure. Soothing.
"I'm sure you can do it," she says quietly. "You can see that you're a decent man. I see it already."
I'm looking straight at her. At those beautiful hazel eyes that are focused entirely on me. Not looking away. Not flinching from the scars or the damage or the broken pieces.
Just seeing me.
Her gaze drops. To my lips.
I freeze.
Is she—no. I'm imagining it. Want it so badly that my brain is inventing things. She's probably noticing something behind me. Or she's tired and her eyes are just—
She leans forward.
Closer.
Her lips are right there. So close I can feel her breath. Plump and soft and so goddamn kissable it hurts.
I want it. Want her. Want to close the distance and find out if she tastes as good as she looks. But I can't. Shouldn't. This is…
