A fragrant pine scent emanated from the Christmas tree in the corner of the room. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out the multitude of brightly wrapped presents around the tree’s base. His chest clenched with the sudden realization that he hadn’t bought a single present for his brothers, and Christmas morning was only four days away. It might not matter. None of them seemed to have the heart to celebrate this year.
His eyes had barely closed when a noise made them pop open wide. He froze, listening. The creak of stairs. Soft footsteps. Someone appeared at the end of the couch. He could make out Mariah’s features in the shadows. She stood, like a statue, facing toward him.
“Mariah?”
She jumped when he said her name. “Oh! You scared me. I thought you were asleep.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t sleep. Cora snores.”
He chuckled, sitting up. “I’d offer to let you sleep on this couch, since I’m on the floor, but I don’t think Allie’s parents would approve of us sleeping in the same room.”
“You’re right. Nancy would have a cow,” she said. “Could we talk for a few minutes? I think, if I’m tired enough, I’ll be able to go back down there and fall asleep.”
“Sure. We can talk.” Shirtless, he was glad for the cover of darkness in the room. His tattoos looked more like shadows than discernible images. He moved up to sit on the couch and patted the cushion beside him.
“Do you mind if I turn on the Christmas tree lights? It feels weird to sit in the dark.”
“Okay.” So much for hiding his tats.
She stepped on the switch, and the tree lit up, a thousand tiny white lights sparkling among the needles. He noticed her gaze avoided his torso as she came back to sit beside him.
“I can put a shirt on,” he offered. “At least that will hide most of them.”
Her hands came up to cover her face, and she laughed, peeking between her fingers. “The truth is, I wanted to see them, but now I can’t look. It’s embarrassing to stare at your body.”
“You’ve never seen a tattoo before?”
“Not up close. And not on someone I cared about.”
“You care about me?”
“Sure, I do. You’re like a brother to me.”
Great… just what I wanted to hear.
“You can look. It’s okay.” He braced himself against her reaction.
She spread her fingers apart and tilted her head, her eyes widening. “They’re beautiful. I didn’t expect so many colors.”
He lifted his arm toward her so she could inspect it closer. Her hands came down from her face, her fingers tracing the pattern of tail feathers, the gentle touch making warmth furl in his chest.
“It’s a phoenix, rising from the ashes,” he explained. “I got it to honor two of my men who were killed in battle. It reminds me to pray for their families every day.”
Her expression was sober, and she replied in a hoarse whisper. “I can’t imagine living through something like that.”
“By all rights, I shouldn’t have.” He pointed to a round scar on the right side of his chest in the middle of a colorful tattoo, an ever-present reminder of the bullet that had almost taken his life. “The doctors say it’s a miracle I’m alive.”
She stared, slack-jawed. “So you turned it into an eagle to cover the scar?”
“No, I made it the eye of an eagle because it helped me see clearer. To know what’s important in life. And these three eagles…” He turned, exposing his back to her. “There’s one for each of my brothers. I added them as each brother made it home safe from overseas.”
“Why are they flying around a lightning bolt?”
“The lightning bolt is God. He was protecting them.”
She was quiet for a moment, the Christmas tree lights casting strange shadows on her furrowed brow. “My life has been so sheltered.”
“Risk is a part of life—no one can live without it. We each fight our own wars, Mariah. Everyone has scars. Some of them are more visible than others.”
She sniffed, her eyes glistening. “I hate that yours was so awful.”
A tear rolled down her cheek, and he couldn’t help himself. He reached up to brush it away with the pad of his thumb, her skin soft beneath his calloused hand. His gesture seemed to open a tap, with more tears following in a steady stream. She leaned against his side, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest and stroking her silky red hair as he spoke soothing words. But as she wept for him, his focus shifted from his own hurts to hers, and with every teardrop his wounds felt less raw.
A powerful thing… the knowledge that you aren’t alone in your pain.
Chapter 8
Mack awoke with a start, the morning sun slapping him in his sensitive eyes. Squinting at the bright window, he groaned and lifted an arm to shade his face. In an effort to sit up, he shifted the weight on his chest, hindered by his legs, which were both asleep.
“I like the tats.” Cora’s voice came from near the window. Mack bolted off the couch, immediately dropping to the floor when his numb legs gave way.
“Ouch,” said Mariah, from the spot on the floor where Mack had just dumped her.
“This is really sweet,” said Cora, “but I think Mariah had better hightail it downstairs before Mom wakes up.”
Mariah gasped. “Crickets! We must’ve fallen asleep!”
“And you…” Cora pointed at Mack. “I hate to say this, but you need to put a long-sleeved shirt on and cover up those gorgeous tattoos.”
With needles stinging his legs, Mack crawled across the floor to his duffle bag and rummaged inside for a shirt.
“What time is it?” Mariah asked as she scrambled to her feet.
“Almost eight. Breakfast arrives in twenty minutes. We have to be at the church by eleven, dressed and ready for pictures.”
Mariah captured his gaze and opened her mouth. Then she snapped it closed, like she’d realized she couldn’t talk with Cora in the room. “I’ll grab a quick shower,” she said, heading toward the basement stairs.
Cora crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, grinning as Mack pulled a sweatshirt over his head. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Pity to cover that up.”
“Thanks, I guess,” Mack replied.
“So about these brothers of yours… Are they all like you?”
No. None of his brothers would’ve let a woman distract them to the point that they fell asleep on the job. He was lucky no attacker had shown up at the house last night. He would’ve been worthless defending Mariah, or anyone else.
“Two of them have tattoos, if that’s what you mean,” he answered.
“I am so stalking you on social media.” Cora grinned and wiggled her fingers in a parting wave. “I’m going to start the coffee.”
As Cora predicted, the doorbell rang at eight twenty, and a skinny teenaged boy carted in the food from a service van. After breakfast, every bathroom was full and every available mirror seemed to have a woman standing in front of it, applying makeup. Bucking the popular trend, Allie was wearing her hair down, rather than up in an elaborate do.