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Rhys’s eyebrows shot up, and my cheeks flamed before I quickly amended, “You seem more relaxed that way. Less intimidating.”
“Princess, it’s my job to be intimidating.”
If I never heard the words it’s my job again, it would be too soon.
“You know what I mean,” I grumbled. “You’re always so on edge in the city.”
He shrugged. “That’s what happens when you have C-PTSD.”
Complex PTSD. I’d looked it up after he told me he had it. Symptoms included hyper-vigilance, or being constantly on guard for threats. Unlike regular PTSD, which was caused by a singular traumatic event, complex PTSD resulted from long-lasting trauma that continued for months or even years.
My heart squeezed at the thought of what he must’ve gone through to be diagnosed with the condition. “Does the art help?”
“Kind of.” Rhys’s face was unreadable. “But I haven’t been able to draw anything in months.” He jerked his chin toward the table. “I was just messing around. Seeing what I came up with.”
“When you do, I want to see it. I love a good security alarm sketch,” I joked before I remembered we only had one week left together.
My smile faded.
Rhys watched me closely. “If that’s what you want.”
I wanted a lot of things, but none of them had to do with art. “Can I tell you something, Mr. Larsen?”
He dipped his head.
“I’m going to miss you.”
He went still, so still I thought he didn’t hear me. Then, in an uncharacteristically, achingly soft voice, he said, “I’m going to miss you too, princess.”
So don’t go. There had to be a way he could stay. He wasn’t part of the Royal Guard, but he’d been with me for two years. I didn’t see why I had to change guards just because I was moving back to Eldorra.
Except for, of course, the fact Rhys would have to move to Eldorra with me. He may have lived with me all this time, but there was a difference between live-in protection in the U.S. and moving to a different country for an indeterminate length of time. Plus, he’d resigned first.
Even if I convinced the palace to extend his contract, would he be willing to accept the offer?
I’d been too afraid to ask in case he said no, but the clock was ticking.
A loud pop went off in the distance before I could broach the subject, and Rhys turned sharply to see fireworks explode in the sky.
He relaxed. I didn’t, because I finally understood why he’d never taken his shirt off around me before.
His back—his strong, beautiful back—was covered with scars. They crisscrossed his skin in angry, near-white slashes, peppered with a few round marks I was positive were cigarette burn scars.
Judging by the way Rhys’s shoulders tensed, he must’ve realized his mistake, but he didn’t hide them again. There was no point. I’d already seen them, and we both knew it.
“What happened?” I whispered.
There was a long silence before he responded. “My mother liked her belt,” he said flatly.
I sucked in a breath, and my stomach lurched with nausea. His mother did that to him?
“No one said or did anything? Teachers, neighbors?” I couldn’t imagine abuse of that level going unnoticed.
Rhys shrugged. “There were plenty of kids in bad home situations where I came from. Some of them had it a lot worse than me. One kid getting ‘disciplined’ wasn’t going to raise any eyebrows.”
I wanted to cry at the thought of young Rhys so alone he was nothing more than a statistic to those who should’ve looked out for him.
I didn’t hate a lot of people, but I suddenly hated everyone who knew or suspected what he’d been going through and didn’t do a damn thing about it.
“Why would she do this?” I brushed my fingers over his back, my touch so light it was barely a touch. His muscles bunched beneath my fingers, but he didn’t pull away.
“Let me tell you a story,” he said. “It’s about a beautiful young girl who grew up in a small, shitty town she’d always dreamed of escaping. One day, she met a man who was in town for a few months for business. He was handsome. Charming. He promised he’d take her with him when he left, and she believed him. She fell in love, and they had a passionate affair. But then, she got pregnant. And when she told this man who’d claimed to love her, he grew angry and accused her of trying to trap him. The next day, he was gone. Just like that. No trace of where he went, and it turned out even the name he gave her was fake. She was alone, pregnant, and broke. No friends and parents to help her out. She kept the baby, perhaps out of hope the man would return for them one day, but he never did. She turned to drugs and alcohol for comfort, and she became a different person. Meaner. Harder. She blamed the kid for ruining her chance at happiness, and she took out her anger and frustration on him. Usually with a belt.”
As he spoke, his voice so low I could barely hear him, the pieces fell into place one by one. Why Rhys refused to drink, why he rarely talked about his family and childhood, his C-PTSD…perhaps it was the result of his childhood as much as it had been his military service.
A small part of me empathized with his mother and the pain she must’ve gone through, but no amount of pain justified taking it out on an innocent child.
“It wasn’t the boy’s fault,” I said. A tear slid down my cheek before I could stop it. “I hope he knows that.”