The Scars Keeper Read online

  The brush is tall at each side of the path I’m on. The woods are denser than I expected for March, too. They provide shelter to the plant life, leaving it damp with an earthy aroma.

  I pass a long decayed log with moss growing on it, and dead leaves with a touch of yellow color left on them are scattered along the path.

  As I walk, I notice more of my surroundings than I did a couple of days ago, and although it’s distracting, the sight and smell of nature are not enough to give me solace today.

  I reach the circle clearing where Hayden found me. It’s barren, the ground consisting of mostly dirt and pine needles. To my right is the path that he appeared from, and in front of it are two wooden benches.

  I march over to them, and it’s obvious they’re weathered by the thin cracks and the black tint developing in spots from continuous moisture.

  Undoing my jeans, I lower them over my hips, along with my panties. They’re resting about halfway down my butt when I take a seat on one of the benches.

  I open my fist and lift the blade that’s been inside the white tissues. I admire the shininess of it and its sharpness … how perfect it appears. It seems ironic that it will reveal my inner flaws.

  Shifting my weight to my left side, I stretch out my right leg to where I have better access to view my hip. I press the blade below one of my horizontal scars and pierce the skin.

  It sends a sharp sting through me, so I pause until it passes. Timed with a gradual inhale, I cut myself about an inch across.

  The wound is just deep enough for blood to spill from it, and I sigh, savoring the relief. It’s the welcomed interruption to my pent-up desperation.

  I shove the tissues below it, but I’m certain they’ll be saturated in no time. On the second cut, I drag the blade across. It’s a deep and slow draw … a release in RED.

  And all at once, I’m veiled in solacement.

  The stream of blood is comprised of my pain–guilt–shame–weakness–sorrow–mistrust–doubt–inferiority–anger–revenge … the unjustness bestowed on me.

  The scars are evidence of my imperfections and secrets. They are truths for only me to see while the outside world thinks I’m an arrogant princess.

  Dropping my head back, I relish in my reprieve. There’s no guard up, no pretending, and no numbness.

  I’m alive, and I feel in control.

  It also grants me the satisfaction of knowing I’m scarring my skin, something my parents would hate, especially my father.

  There’s movement behind me, so I jump to my feet and attempt to pull up my jeans as I go. I wince from the pain and turn in time to see Hayden stepping inside the clearing.

  Dammit. Spinning back around, I zip and button my pants, dropping the tissues and blade to the ground in the process.

  He comes around the bench and stands a few feet away from me right next to a fire pit. My body is trembling as his eyes roam over my face, down my body, and then to the pile of bloody tissues on the ground.

  When I notice the silver blade shining on top of the pile, I close my eyes and cringe.

  Tell me this isn’t happening.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  I hear him closing the distance between us in his black boots, so I open my eyes. Picking up the blade, he examines it in front of his face before he shakes his head in frustration.

  “Where did you cut yourself?”

  “It’s none of your business. I was just leaving.”

  I reach down and pick up my tissues, and he grabs my arm as I stand.

  “You keep making it my business by coming onto my family’s property. Where did you cut yourself?” His onyx portals are peering back at me, and in this close proximity it’s intimidating as hell.

  “My hip.” Glancing down, I see blood already seeping through my jeans. He glances there, too, before his eyes flit back to mine.

  “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He stomps away toward the trees, but I hear when his footsteps stop. “Don’t leave, Avery.”

  My body shudders from his gruff, commanding voice. Why is it sexy when he orders me around but not when the other men in my life do it?

  I want to flee from here as fast as I can, but if I do, he might corner me tomorrow at school in front of people I know. What if he did it in front of Blake?

  I sit down on the bench and take a few relaxing breaths. My fresh injuries sting from the rough material rubbing against them, so I lean back and shove my butt forward to give the wounds more room to breathe.

  I’m growing impatient as the minutes pass. My hands are in fists, and when I open my right one, I see it’s covered in blood from the wet tissues inside it.

  I set them on the bench and rub my hands on my red shirt. I’ll wash and dry my clothes before my parents get home.

  The sound of him trekking through the trees causes my heart to race. I fight the urge to turn back to ensure he’s alone, but my gut tells me he is.

  In black jeans and a matching t-shirt, he towers above me holding a tackle box. He’s taller than I thought, and his handsome features are striking.

  Setting the box next to me on the bench, he squats down and opens it. After rooting through its belongings, he removes gauze, white paper tape, alcohol pads and anti-bacterial ointment.

  “Show me.”

  Imagining having to pull my pants down for him has me shaking my head no.

  “I said show me.” His words come out slower and fiercer, and a part of me is excited in a way it shouldn’t be.

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I stand and close my eyes. I inch down my jeans, along with my black silk panties, to right above my most sacred place.

  Staring in silence, he inspects my hip. Several seconds pass … “Christ,” he mumbles. Knowing that my pain, scars and shame are finally visible to someone sprouts forth my tears.

  My trembling strengthens as he shifts the tackle box and sits on the bench. He’s to my right, his head and hands perfect height to doctor my wounds.

  “You don’t have to do this. I have stuff at home.” He doesn’t answer me, and the quiet only adds to my nervousness.

  The sun is shining through the clearing, and I can’t help but turn my head to gaze down at him. His pitch-black hair is shiny and wavy with a part on the left side, allowing more hair to hang on the right.

  It’s draped around his cheeks, not allowing me to get a good look at his handsome face.

  He tears open one of the alcohol pads and tosses the paper wrapper to the ground.

  “This will sting.”

  As he glides the pad over one of my wounds, it does sting, so I flinch. “Stay still.”

  “I could’ve done this myself.” He doesn’t reply, and it’s annoying not knowing what he thinks about what I’ve done. “Please, say something.”

  “Don’t ever do this again.” His tone is stern, and it reminds me of my parents.

  “You don’t get to tell me what to do, and it isn’t that simple.”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know shit about it other than it’s dangerous, so you shouldn’t be doing it.”

  “Well, I have enough people dictating my life. I don’t need you lecturing me, too.”

  He pauses and drags his eyes up to meet mine. He stares into them, his gaze a look of warning, and it makes the moment even more unnerving.

  “I’m sorry. I’m nervous and embarrassed, and please don’t tell anyone.”

  Without a word, he goes back to working on my hip, applying ointment to my wounds. I feel the gauze go on next, and as he pulls the tape taut over the bandages, his fingers glide across my skin, getting close to where they’re not invited.

  This ignites a shudder, along with surprise over the fact that he’s stirring something inside me only Blake should. Tears fall to my cheeks from the screwed up day I’ve had and the mess I’ve made of it.

  Maybe I shouldn’t be allowed to make my own decisions. I obviously make poor ones.

  Picking up the packaging from the gr
ound, he shoves everything back inside the tackle box. Carefully, I pull up my pants and button and zip them. He stands and grabs the handle of the box.

  “Look at me.”

  I face him, and his forehead creases when he sees my tears. His eyes follow them as they trail down my cheeks until they’re next to my lips.

  He stares at my mouth, and we’re now sharing a different kind of moment. For the first time today, Hayden seems nervous.

  His gaze shifts to mine as two of his fingers come up and gradually brush along my left cheek and then my right, stealing my tears. Every ounce of his attention is on me, and I feel seen for the first time in my life.

  “You’re the only soul who knows my secrets.”

  Pressing his thumb to my quivering bottom lip, he stills it.

  “I’ve only seen the proof that you have them. They still belong to you.”

  Along with his touch, his wisdom increases my vulnerability, so I turn my head away.

  “I’m sorry I was here and you had to deal with my cuts,” I mumble.

  “I’ve seen worse.”

  “Then I guess you have secrets, too.” I walk away from him and head toward the path I came in on. I’ve intruded enough on a place that seems to hold importance to him.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” he says. I come to a stop and turn in time to watch him tuck hair behind his ear. “And it’s fine if you want to hang out here. It’s a cool place.”

  Nodding, I give a faint smile and disappear into the woods. I now have a new secret. I feel something for Hayden Jamison.

  Chapter Seven

  Hayden

  What the fuck just happened?

  Avery Hollingsworth is suicidal and a cutter. I guess I don’t have people figured out like I thought I did. I’ve been away from Arizona only nine months, and I’m losing my touch.

  Everyone carries secrets, but I can usually gauge how dark the secrets may be. I didn’t see something like this behind Avery’s superficial looks.

  I say that, but the other day she wasn’t in her preppy attire. Instead, she was dressed like a chick I would’ve hit on back home. Her teased out hair, dark makeup and concert shirt made her seem like someone else entirely.

  Back to the cutting … Why does she do it? I wonder if it has to do with that asshole Mr. Bradford. He’s always checking her out, and I sure as fuck interrupted something going on between the two of them this afternoon. But … was it something she asked for or not?

  I start back toward the house. For some reason the plan to come back here and get high has lost its appeal.

  Maybe because it wouldn’t be a good enough distraction. I can smell Avery’s scent of summer flowers and strawberries lingering, and it’s kinda driving me crazy.

  Reaching the backyard, I hear the circular saw running in my uncle’s shop to my left. I glance down at the tackle box. It’s the first aid kit he keeps in there in case there’s an accident while he’s working.

  If I return it now, he’ll ask why I had it out, so I hurry it up to my room instead. I’ll put it back later when he’s not around.

  When I come back down the staircase, I almost run into Jewel.

  “Where are you in a hurry to?”

  “Oh, I was gonna see if Wayne needs help.”

  She smiles. “You might’ve been raised in that rough motorcycle club, but you’re sweet like your mother.”

  “Don’t let the gratitude fool ya,” I say, smiling back before I step around her and head out the back door.

  My uncle’s shop is technically in his oversized garage. It makes up a large section of the back of it. Stacks of lumber separate it from where they park their vehicles.

  I go in through the back door and spot him at his work table to my left. He’s wearing his goggles and running a circular saw.

  He operates a successful construction business as his day job. He started it about twenty years ago and has a crew of thirty guys beneath him.

  I helped him out on the weekends after I moved here last June until his summer rush was over, and I’ve started doing the same again this month. I also put in hours an evening or two a week if he really needs me.

  Wayne’s creative like my aunt, but instead of painting, he builds wooden furniture during his down time and sells it. He’s teaching me how to build things, too, and it’s cool.

  Once I graduate, I’ll work for him full-time until I return to Arizona. He and Jewel want me to attend IU, with their daughter, Cynthia, but I don’t see the point when I’ll only have to drop out to go back to where I came from.

  As soon as I can convince my pop it’s the right move, I’m leaving here. It’s one of the many reasons why I don’t need to be touching a hot chick like Avery and gettin’ attached to the sight of her boobs. But damn … her tits are sensational.

  “Hayden, what’s going on?” Wayne asks after he shuts off the saw and removes his goggles.

  “Nothing really. I thought I’d see if you need help.”

  “We finished up on the job site early today. It’ll be picking up here quite a bit in the next couple of weeks, and then we’ll be slammed through summer.”

  “That’s good.”

  He ruffles his blond hair to get the sawdust out of it. Standing only five foot ten, he’s a stocky guy. I wouldn’t want to fight him. He’s strong from all his years in construction, but like Jewel, he’s a nice guy who I can’t envision punching anyone.

  I didn’t want to come here last year. I was too worried someone evil would follow me and cause my family harm, especially my cousin Cynthia, but my dad left me no choice. I have to do what he tells me whether I like it or not.

  Wayne hands me some goggles, drawing my mind back from the past.

  “Here, put these on. I’ll start teaching you how to make these cornhole platforms. Jewel is gonna paint them in various themes once they’re finished, and she’s sewing up the bean bags that go with them.

  “If you learn how to build them, I’ll let you make 'em and split the profits with her this year. I figure that money along with what you make for helping me out this summer could be your spending money at college next year.”

  Looking to the ground, I stare at the light tan saw dust covering the concrete around our feet. I don’t know how to get him to accept what is. He doesn’t understand the MC life.

  I stare back up at him. “I’m always happy to learn whatever you’ll teach me, but I told you I don’t plan on attending college.

  “As soon as Pop is less skittish about me returning, I’m going to convince him I should, and we’re gonna finish this battle we’ve been in for years with the Marksmen Steel MC.”

  “That’s the last thing your dad wants. He almost lost you, and he said there ain’t nothing worth that.” My uncle grips my shoulder. “You almost died, son. Not many guys who grow up the way you did get a chance at a different life.”

  “The Knights Union MC is my life, and I’m supposed to be the president when Pop retires.”

  I’m beginning to get agitated over this rehashing. We’ve had this talk one too many times.

  “I never said you’re not supposed to do it, but after what went down, your dad wants a different life for you. Although you’re hell bent on not admitting it, I believe you want a different life, too.”

  I huff out a breath. “It doesn’t matter what I want. It’s doing what’s right, and I bet the members of the club think I should do my part in cleaning up the mess I made.”

  He shoots me a stern look.

  “It was self-defense, Hayden. Don’t make this into something it’s not.” He squeezes my shoulder and eases his expression in the process.

  “Look, I’m sorry. You sent in the college applications and applied for scholarships like Jewel and I asked.

  “We agreed to leave you alone after that, but since you were accepted, and are even getting a scholarship for your exceptional grades, it’s hard to back off. Just promise me you’ll agree to your father’s final decision.”

  I s
igh. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a choice. He gets the last word.”

  Chapter Eight

  Avery

  This grounding sucks, especially since I’m missing Madison’s party. At least it’s not next weekend when we’re headed to Florida for our week of spring break.

  My grandparents are coming over for dinner, so I’ve laid out my maroon flowy skirt and black long-sleeve top. They’ll expect me to look nice this evening.

  I take extra care in straightening my hair and applying my makeup. I’ve been lazy on this Saturday, reading and studying in my room, but it’s time I get out of my pajamas and dress the part.

  My mother’s parents are critical, and I blame them for their daughter’s submissiveness. Mom has always allowed my father to control her, and I believe it’s because she thinks that’s normal and all she deserves.

  My father’s parents are critical, too, and it’s why my dad expects her to work with him at his office. This way he knows her every move each and every day.

  Hearing my grandparents voices in the foyer downstairs, I instantly feel the compulsion to cut, so I take a relaxing breath and leave my bedroom to greet them.

  “Avery, sweetheart, how are you?” Grandma Beverly asks before pulling me in for a light hug. God forbid I wrinkle her cream blouse or flatten her short silver hair.

  “Hi, Grandma. How are you?”

  “Great now that I got to see my gorgeous granddaughter.”

  “Make room for me, Bev,” Grandpa Henry says as he stands behind her against the door. She doesn’t bat an eye over his surly tone, and I have to hide a smile. Their bickering may be my entertainment for the evening.

  I lead my grandma through the foyer and to the living room on the right. We have a seat, and Mom enters carrying a filled wine glass. She hands it to her mother and smiles.

  “Hi. How was the drive?” she asks.

  “Good. You know, Avery, while you’re attending UofL, you won’t be as far from Bardstown, so you can drive down and visit us.”

  Lord, she’s been here three minutes and is already talking about college. I can’t break it to my family yet that I have no intention of attending that university.