Page 145 of Under Your Scars

CHAPTER 44

THE ANGEL

“Hi, Edwin.” I say cautiously to the man sitting in front of me. He’s tucked into his hospital bed, covers up to his chest, with a wet rag on his forehead. He slowly turns his head to look at me, and when our eyes meet, he gives me a warm smile.

I pull up a chair next to his bedside and take his hand in mine. It’s so cold, and it’s worrying. I give him a warm smile back as I use friction to heat up his hand. “The nurses said you aren’t feeling well.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about me. It’s nothing.”

I suck in a sharp breath.Hold it together, Elena.“Edwin?” He hums back in response. “Do you know who I am?”

He lifts his head slightly to look at me, and that’s how I know he can hear the break in my voice and see the welling tears in my eyes. He simply nods.

I let out the breath I was holding. “Do you think you could…pretend not to for a few minutes?”

He blinks at me twice, and then rests his head back on his pillow and gives my hand a squeeze. “I hate it when you’re sad, my dear Helen.”

My shoulders slump, and the dam breaks. My head falls to the bed and I let the sheets soak up my tears as I weep for myself. Weeks and weeks of emotion that I’ve let build up hit me all at once and Edwin is the only one who could possibly understand the sacrifice it takes to love Christian.

And after the wedding, I feel like that sacrifice is my family, and I don’t know if I can live with that.

Edwin removes his hand from mine and uses his boney fingers to rub along my scalp in a comforting gesture.

“Do you remember the day we met?” Edwin asks. I lift my head and wipe my cheek. “It was the most beautiful sunny day. You were painting the lovely coastline of Spanish Point, and that gust of wind sent your brushes into the sand. Do you remember?”

My lip quivers, because I know that he’s not really asking me. He’s telling me the story of how he met his wife.

“I helped you clean off your brushes, but I was a clumsy lout and knocked over your paints. Your precious blue paint spilled all over the sand. You smiled and said it was okay, but I could see the heartbreak in your face. I spent the next week trekking all over County Clare looking for your special blue paint. Do you remember? The one made of lapis lazuli. It was so bright and beautiful.”

I sniffle and nod. Edwin smiles wistfully.

“Cost me a month’s salary, it did, but I bought it and found you a week later in the same spot, still trying to paint the water, even without blue paint. Your face lit up brighter than the sun. I had never seen something so beautiful. Your emerald eyes were the most flawless gemstones on God’s green earth. You were insecure about the gap between your two front teeth, so you’d hide your smile with your hand, but all I could see was that beautiful smile and those flawless eyes behind a white veil. I begged for your name, but you told me to come back in a week. So I did. You were still in the same spot. You gave me your finished painting. Do you remember what I promised that day, sweet Helen?”

I shake my head.

“I promised I’d buy you all the paint in the world if you told me your name.”

I sniffle again. “And then what happened?”

“You’re telling me you don’t remember!?” Edwin boasts, and then he laughs. “You said a man never made you feel like that before!”

I squeal and cover my ears as my face heats up and Edwin bursts into louder laughter, which sets off a chain reaction in me.

I can’t even remember why I was crying.

CHAPTER 45

THE SILENCER

There is something very peaceful about opening the hood of a car and changing all the fluids yourself. It’s always calmed me down, given me something to do. Nothing like the feeling of grease all over your arms while music bumps through the speakers.If anyone needs an escape right now, it’s me. My life has suddenly become one big pile of shit, and the few days that have passed since the wedding have been absolute hell.

I’ve been taking it out on my cars. I smashed the Bugatti’s windshield in with a crowbar just to feel something. Then I spent three hours changing the oil on several of my vehicles. Even the ones that didn’t need it.

I’m elbows-deep in a Corvette’s engine when tiny, freezing toes gently nudge my bare back. I glance over my shoulder with a raised eyebrow to find Elena standing behind me, eying the Bugatti suspiciously.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Changing oil,” I murmur.