Page 53 of Hard to Lose

What the fuck is happening to me?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Chase

Well, that definitely backfired.

It’s my first thought as I wake up in my hotel room and come face to face with Gunner, sound asleep on the pillow beside me.

I went back to the bar to prove to myself that this thing with Gunner was just sex. Just physical. And now I feel more tangled in him than the sheets wrapped around our legs.

But how can I not?

And why should I even try to deny whatever this twisty, turny, fluttery feeling I have is when I wake up to find him still warming the sheets beside me?

That’s not normal for me.

This is not normal.

And yet, I can’t take my eyes off him nor deny the urge and desire to reach out and touch his face or the scars on his chest. To feel the bumps and ridges that mar him as I attempt to fathom the devastation he’s seen, and the unspeakable trauma he’s lived through.

And it just goes to show that you never really know somebody, because all I’ve seen from Gunner is smiles and sweet charm. And up until last night and what Nix told me, I never would’ve known that there was turmoil beneath the surface. That Gunner struggles in silence and private from the things he’s experienced and seen.

But isn’t that like most people? Everyone has things they hide from the world. The darkness that calls to them when it’s quiet and lonely.

Is that why he keeps so busy? To keep the demons at bay?

Is that why I keep so busy? To keep my demons at bay?

I scoot closer and press a kiss to his chest, to his shoulder, and then snuggle into him. He reacts reflexively, pulling me against him with a murmured good morning before stilling when I press another kiss to his scars.

And then another.

His chest hitches as he holds his breath, but I press my hand against him so he knows I feel them—the ugly red ridges marring its surface.

“Chase,” he murmurs.

“These don’t scare me.” Another kiss pressed against his tensed pec. “They are a part of you and they don’t scare me.”

I’m not sure how long we lie there like that, with him holding me close and my hands and cheek resting against the parts of him I can only imagine still remain a source of turmoil, but it’s quite a while. Enough time for me to start overthinking and questioning what the hell I’m doing, lying in a bed with a man cuddling when I don’t cuddle—like ever—and when I have a mile-long list of shit to do.

And it also makes me realize why I never stop, pause, think. Because when I do that, I see that although no one has ever seen my scars, they’re there. Gunner’s physical scars are fresh. And in some respects, his inner scars are too. But the loss of his dad so many years ago is an older scar that has contributed to who he is today.

As do yours. But I won’t let anyone see those.

Because you live as if they don’t exist.

As if they haven’t contributed to who you are today.

As if they will never see the light, find the place to heal.

“You know it’s ridiculous that you’re staying here, right?” he finally says to break the silence bathing us, almost as if he knows I’m silently starting to freak out.

“Not this again.” I laugh, thinking back to when he followed me back “home” last night to find out that my “home” was, in fact, the hotel.

“Yes, this again.” He presses a kiss to the crown of my head and chuckles. “I told you I have a perfectly acceptable extra bedroom at my place that’s yours if you want it.”

“And I believe I told you that there is no way I’m moving in with you.”