Page 34 of Her Broken Biker
I give it to her by not moving away.
Her palm drifts over a scar low on my ribs.
She pauses.
I feel the question before she asks it.
“Old Navy scar,” I murmur against her mouth.
Her eyes lift to mine. “Does it hurt?”
“No.”
Her fingers stay there, soft over old damage. “You have a lot of them.”
“Yeah.”
“Do they all have stories?”
“Most.”
“Bad ones?”
I look at her face. Damp lashes. Freckles. Mouth still parted from my kiss.
“Most,” I say again.
She doesn’t push.
That might be worse.
She just touches the scar once, gently, like there’s still something there worth being careful with.
My chest tightens.
“I’m no one’s soft place, Reina.”
The words come out before I can stop them.
Her eyes search mine. “Maybe you don’t get to decide that for everyone.”
I stare at her.
Soft little nurse.
Steel where it counts.
“Careful,” I warn.
“With what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
“How am I looking at you?”
Like you see something under the wreckage.
Like you might reach for it.
