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“You know what?” I threw my head back and laughed. So loud and long that my stomach hurt. Until I had tears streaming down my face like I had just heard the funniest joke of my life. When I finally stopped, they were both staring at me like I had lost my mind.
“No one ever asks me. They stare at me like I’m a freak. Most people in town know what happened, or at least part of the story. I took a skate to the face during a game. It ended my career because every single time I think about getting on the ice again, I have a panic attack, afraid it might happen again. I nearly lost an eye.”
I pointed to the jagged scar that started on the right side of face by my hairline, went below my eye, under my nose, over my lips and down my jawline.
“It hurt like a son of a bitch. I thought I was going to die. I wanted to. You want to see pictures, Killian? I’ll show them to you sometime.”
“I didn’t mean—”
I held up a hand to stop him. “I’m not mad. This is good. Kids ask, adults stare or shun me or act like they don’t see it. No one looks me in the eye except my family. I don’t date, I have no friends, and I’m fucking lonely. So, yes, it hurt. In more ways than one.”
“Tom, are you sure you’re not mad? Because you might want to tell your face,” Matthias whispered.
He looked like he might want to hug me, and I probably would have let him if I didn’t think Killian might hit me. Matty and I had been friends once, but that seemed like a lifetime ago.
I shook my head. “Not at you or Killian. More like myself.” I started toward the house. “You can stay out here and enjoy the pool as long as you—” I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw Blake standing on the other side of the sliding door.
He stared at me like I wasn’t real. Like maybe I was a dream or some sort of mirage. He blinked a few times, then his hand came up to pull the door back, and he stepped out onto the patio. I saw the moment he noticed my scar. His green eyes widened as he took it in, and his brows furrowed like he wasn’t sure what to say. His eyes softened with worry.
“It’s real,” I blurted. “You can stare all you want or pretend you don’t see it.”
Blake’s forehead wrinkled. “What happened?”
“I’m not explaining that again.” I took a step back. “I need... Can you move so I can go inside?”
I could feel his gaze as his eyes burned into me. Did no one tell him? Not even my brother, now that he and Mav were back together. Christ, they were getting married this week. That’s why everyone was here in the first place.
“Can’t you even talk to me? We were friends, Tommy. Why didn’t you at least call me? I would have—”
I met Blake’s gaze again. “You would have what? Saved me? No one could have saved me, Blake, not even you. It was a skating accident.”
Killian and Matthias were probably watching us. Did they wonder why I never went to a Mulligan Downtown show? Did they wonder what happened between Blake and me, or did they not care? Did he even tell them about us?
Blake continued to watch me, and I let my eyes move over his face. His blond hair was a little longer than I remembered, styled the same. My fingers itched to touch it like I used to. He had a few days’ worth of stubble on his face, but it was the softness of his eyes that was eating me up inside.
“Please, Bug, just let me by. I can’t do this with you right now.”
When he moved, I shot through the door so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet to get inside, then rushed up to my room. I ignored my brother calling out to me, and when I slammed the door behind me, I sank down onto the floor to try to gather myself together.
I was a mess. There was no other way to describe me or my life. A disaster, fuck up, lost cause, and I couldn’t seem to get my shit together. When the accident happened—the accident...Christ it was funny to even call it that—I spent weeks in the hospital. Skin grafts, plastic surgery, all the shit they did to try to make me look like myself again. But I didn’t. I had an ugly, red scar across my face that you couldn’t ignore, and I had to live with that. Me, no one else.
Once I realized I couldn’t get back on the ice, I came back here, to Canfield, to the house I grew up in, and for a while, I did nothing. I stayed in my room, slept, felt sorry for myself, and cried. Depression grew heavy in my bones until my mother dragged me to therapy. I probably wouldn’t have gone if she hadn’t threatened to bring Jackson home. I didn’t need my brother’s life interrupted. He was busy with his own career, hockey, and getting over Maverick. Though he never told me what had happened, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. I knew they had been together.
A knock at the door caused me to jump.
“Tom, can I come in?” Jackson’s voice was a whisper.
“Not now.” I leaned my head against the door.
“Yes, now.” He grunted. “Unlock it or I’m breaking it down. I’ll buy Mom and Dad another one.”
Jesus, was he kidding right now? I stood up, unlocked the door, and moved to sit on my bed as my brother stepped inside my room.
“What?” I folded my arms over my chest.
“Is this going to be a bad week for you?” Jackson closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall.
A memory hit me then from when we were younger. I think I was around ten, and he was fourteen. Some lady at the supermarket thought we were twins, and Mom had thought it was the funniest thing. I suppose, to a stranger, it might look that way. We both had brown eyes, auburn hair, but where Jackson’s was curly, mine was pin straight. He was taller, had more weight and broader shoulders, but even now someone might see it. Even if I had the ugly scar on my face. I wished at times that we were twins because I had always wanted to be exactly like my big brother. He was perfect in my eyes.
