Chapter 16 - The Man Behind the Scar
Cassian never told me how he got the scar through his eyebrow.
For more than a year, I didn't ask.
Then one Sunday afternoon my mother did.
We were eating lunch in her garden.
She pointed her fork at him.
“That scar.”
Cassian touched his eyebrow.
“What about it?”
“How?”
“Maria.”
“What? I'm old. I can ask questions.”
He smiled.
“Car accident.”
I stopped eating.
“When?”
“I was twenty.”
“Was your father driving?” I asked.
“No.”
He looked toward the garden.
“I was.”
Something in his expression changed.
My mother noticed.
“I'm going inside.”
“Mom.”
“I suddenly need tea.”
“There is tea on the table.”
“I need different tea.”
She disappeared.
I looked at Cassian.
“You don't have to tell me.”
“I know.”
He touched the scar again.
“I was drunk.”
That surprised me.
“You?”
“I was twenty.”
“I can't imagine you drunk.”
“I was excellent at it.”
“What happened?”
“I wrapped a car around a barrier.”
“Anyone else inside?”
“My cousin.”
My stomach tightened.
“Was he okay?”
“No.”
Cassian looked down.
“He died.”
The garden became silent.
“I'm sorry.”
“I spent years thinking power meant consequences belonged to other people.”
His voice was quiet.
“My father cleaned up problems. Attorneys handled charges. Newspapers received different stories.”
“You weren't charged?”
“Reckless driving. Reduced.”
“Because of Dominic?”
“Yes.”
Cassian looked at me.
“He loved me. So he protected me.”
“You sound angry.”
“I am.”
“At him?”
“At myself. At him. At the system.”
He took a breath.
“My cousin's mother never forgave me.”
“Should she?”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
“I don't expect forgiveness for everything I've done.”
I took his hand.
“Is that why you keep waiting?”
“For what?”
“To propose.”
His gaze met mine.
Maybe I knew him too well.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You deserve someone without my history.”
I almost became angry.
Then I understood.
Cassian wasn't questioning whether I loved him.
He was deciding what I deserved.
Again.
“You're doing it.”
His brow furrowed.
“What?”
“Choosing for me.”
Realization appeared.
“Damn.”
“Yes.”
He looked genuinely embarrassed.
“I thought I was improving.”
“You are.”
“Apparently slowly.”
“Very.”
I squeezed his hand.
“Your past matters.”
“I know.”
“It matters that you hurt people.”
“Yes.”
“It matters that you took responsibility late.”
“Yes.”
“It also matters that you've spent the last two years changing.”
He looked away.
“I can't undo anything.”
“No.”
“I can't give that family their son back.”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“I've paid them anonymously for years.”
“Do they know?”
“No.”
“Then be careful.”
“Why?”
“Money isn't repentance.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“You might need to apologize without expecting anything.”
“I did.”
“When?”
“After the trials.”
“What happened?”
“His mother shut the door.”
“That was her right.”
“Yes.”
“And you accepted that?”
“Yes.”
I studied him.
“There.”
“What?”
“That's the man I'm deciding about.”
His eyes held mine.
“Not the twenty-year-old?”
“He exists too.”
I moved closer.
“But I don't marry ghosts.”
Cassian became very still.
“You said marry.”
“I did.”
“Lydia.”
“Don't ruin it.”
“I’m trying very hard not to.”
“Good.”
I smiled.
“I’m ready.”
His entire face changed.
Not the intimidating Cassian.
Not the man who could silence a room.
Just Cassian.
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
“I don't have the ring.”
“Where is it?”
“Safe.”
“At the estate?”
“Yes.”
“Then you're definitely not proposing today.”
He laughed.
“No.”
“Good.”
I stood.
“Because when you do, I want you to surprise me.”
“You literally just told me you're ready.”
“Surprise me creatively.”
“That seems contradictory.”
“Figure it out.”
“You're cruel.”
“You'll survive.”
He stood and kissed me.
From the kitchen window, my mother shouted:
“I CAN SEE YOU.”
I pulled away laughing.
Cassian called back:
“WE KNOW.”
“GOOD.”
The scar through his eyebrow caught the afternoon sun.
For years I had thought scars revealed where danger lived.
Cassian taught me something different.
May you like
Sometimes scars revealed where a person had stopped running from the truth.
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