Page 32 of The Shape of my Scar (The Unbroken #1)

F aolan didn’t want the fuss. But life, it seemed, had a flair for the dramatic, even on discharge day.

Cormac was red in the face from a complex cocktail of irritation, protectiveness, and that big brother brand of indignation.

“You could’ve mentioned it earlier,” he muttered, adjusting his grip on the handles of her wheelchair. “That you were going to your place.”

Faolan offered him a smile sweet enough to cause cavities “Didn’t want to ruin your morning sulk.”

He grunted.

“Besides,” she continued, trying to keep her tone light, “you’ve got that new girlfriend now. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your sudden interest in covering up your BO. That aftershave is like nerve gas. When am I going to meet this wonder woman, anyway?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’ll meet her when you stop looking like a mutant, multicoloured zebra.” His softened gaze flicked pointedly to the leftover bruising mottling her skin and the half- hearted attempt her hair had made at returning to its original colour.

She laughed, and it felt good. “Fair enough. Don’t want to scare her off too quickly. You can use all the help you can get. “

But then his expression turned serious. “I still don’t trust him.”

Faolan paused. “Neither do I. But we have…unresolved issues. And he is sorry.”

Cormac didn’t respond, just pushed the wheelchair a little harder than required as they exited the sliding hospital doors.

Outside, Thane’s black Range Rover purred at the curb, the man himself leaning against the passenger side. He straightened the moment he saw them, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie as he walked toward them.

Faolan’s traitorous eyes involuntarily dragged across the breadth of his shoulders, the way the hoodie stretched tight across his chest and biceps, the defined lines that ran down to a lean waist and thick, powerful thighs hugged by jeans that had no right looking that good after three straight days of hospital coffee and sleepless nights.

When she mentioned his round-the-clock guard duty, he muttered something about insomnia before changing the subject.

He was six-foot-three of tension wrapped in muscle and restraint.

Not conventionally handsome, but he was utterly, viscerally compelling.

Like a gut punch, every time she laid eyes on him. She couldn’t look away.

Even the scuffed runners and half-zipped hoodie didn’t diminish him. If anything, they drew her eyes to all the small details.

The edge of a tattoo curled out from his collar, just enough to hint at something sharp and intimate.

There was tension in his jaw, though he worked to keep his posture casual.

His hand clenched once slowly, then loosened.

But his eyes? Behind his aviator glasses, she could sense they were locked on her.

She had felt it over the last few days—that strange sense of synchrony again.

The way he could sense her moods before she spoke.

How he’d brought her warm towels without being asked, and then proceeded to wipe her face despite her protests.

The lip balm he silently applied after she had winced from cracked lips.

He hadn’t said anything about the physio bruises but had left a soft pair of slip-ons by her bedside.

Toast the exact shade of golden she liked.

Always the right kind of tea—milk, no sugar. He just knew.

They hadn’t needed to talk much.

And yet, every word they did speak was like a treat to be savoured after a long wait.

“Wow,” she said now, eyeing the Range Rover as Cormac pushed her wheelchair closer. “Compensating for something, are we?”

Thane’s mouth twitched, just barely. “I thought you’d appreciate the leg room.”

“Chivalrous,” she muttered. “How very 1950s of you."

He stepped forward, reaching for her bag, but Cormac beat him to it, cutting in smoothly to hoist the bag and toss it in the boot.

“Thanks,” Thane said flatly.

“I didn’t do it for you,” Cormac replied with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

The tension cracked between them like static before a storm. Faolan sighed. “Fantastic. My honour guard has arrived.”

Thane turned his attention back to her. “You alright?”

“Peachy,” she muttered. “Just waiting for the next episode of Testosterone Wars: Who Can Pee Farther.”

She sighed and reached for the car door handle. Thane hurried to open it for her, but with her arm still wrapped and sore, getting in was going to be tricky. She hesitated.

“I’ll do it,” Thane said.

“I’ve got it,” Cormac barked at the same time.

They locked eyes like two wolves over a scrap of meat.

“You’re not lifting her,” Thane growled.

“You think I’d let you—”

“Christ, both of you,” Frank’s voice broke in from behind them. The physiotherapist had come down to say goodbye, coffee in hand, expression exasperated. “Move.”

Before either of them could react, Frank scooped Faolan up with effortless ease. In one smooth motion, he set her into the passenger seat.

Both men turned like they’d just been robbed of a trophy.

Faolan leaned out the window with a half-smile and said dryly, “If you two are done with your dick-measuring contest, maybe one of you can fasten my seatbelt?”

Thane quickly shut the door with a soft click. Cormac hovered, muttering something about her calling him once she was settled, but Thane didn’t wait for an answer. He slid behind the wheel and peeled out like he half-expected her to open the door and leap out screaming.

Then, remembering, perhaps a little too late, that her ribs were still healing, that her arm was encased in plaster, he eased off the accelerator.

“The cast comes off next week, right?” he asked, eyes fixed ahead.

“Yeah,” she replied, already feeling the heaviness of pain meds settling over her, pulling her under.

“I’ve arranged for a physio to come see you."

“God, not more torture,” she groaned, shifting in her seat, trying to get comfortable.

“You’ll thank me.”

“No, I won’t.”

He blew a breath out slowly, but then the corners of his mouth curved just barely. The car was quiet after that. The air between them was thick with too many unsaid words.

A game of emotional chicken. Who would speak first?

Faolan’s head lolled slightly. He had placed a pillow against the door, another tucked near her back. Her lids were getting heavier.

Then, haltingly, he asked, “Why…”

A pause. Then again, more carefully. “Why did you let me… I mean, why did you let me treat you like that…touch you like that?”

She didn’t answer or turn to look at him, but her shoulders tensed.

“I mean…you knew who I was. Didn’t you?”

She didn’t meet his eyes. How could she? “I did,” she murmured finally. “But I didn’t know which side you were on.”

That silenced him.

“But why did you let me?” he asked again, voice rough. “If you’d said no… If you’d just… I wish you had said no.”

She could hear it in him—the torment and guilt scratching beneath the surface like it was alive.

“Because I wanted to,” she whispered finally.

The words floated out before she could second-guess them. She had promised herself that she would give him honesty if she ever met him again.

“For the longest time, my life was all about survival. About forgetting what had happened to me…to us. Then, I grew up, and I wondered… I’ve wondered about you for so long,” she added. “About what it would feel like…to be with you. Every man turned into you. Every boyfriend had your eyes.”

He didn’t respond right away. The engine hummed steadily beneath them, and her breath was starting to slow again.

“I have, too. You can’t even imagine…” he said at last. “Only…not like that.”

A bruised silence prevailed.

She was fading now, eyelashes fluttering, when his voice stirred her again.

“Why did you tell me your name was Dorothy?”

She opened one eye.

“I’ve been searching for Dorothy for so long. I couldn’t believe you would leave me like that, without giving me a chance to make things right,” he added, quieter now. “We don’t even know who that body belonged to. We may never know. But I knew it wasn’t you. It couldn’t be…”

She sighed, the sound low and aching. “You know how things were in that hell,” she said. “I didn’t know if I could trust you. I didn’t want to be Faolan anymore. I just…”

“Wanted to be someone else?” he completed.

“Yeah.” A half-smile ghosted across her lips. “Someone who could escape to another place, even for a little while.”

He looked at her then, taking his eyes off the road for a second, long enough for her to feel it—the warmth, the regret, the silent apology.

A tentative hand reached over, resting lightly on her shoulder.

“Sleep,” he said gently.

And she did.