His expression tightened. “Why, baby?”

I knew from the way he’d asked, the question was genuine, and for some reason, that created that damn ball in my throat. My arms slid out and I rested my cheek back on the pillow. “It’s ugly,” I whispered.

Jax was quiet as he brushed a few strands of my hair back. “Do you know what I see when I see your back?”

“That it kind of looks like the Appalachian Mountains on a map?” I joked, but it fell flat as an iron.

“No, honey.” He took a deep breath. “I’m going to be honest, okay? I’m not going to sit here and tell you that what I see right now is easy to look at.”

Oh God. My heart dropped and I thought I might hurl.

“But it’s not the reasons you think,” he continued, and then I felt it, his hand over the worst part of my back, and my entire body seemed to have a reflexive curl, but I couldn’t go anywhere, because he was practically lying on me. “When I see your back, what I think about is the pain you had to have experienced. I don’t personally know what it feels like, but I had hot shrapnel rip through my skin, and I’m sure that wasn’t even a ball’s hair worth of what you felt. But when the bomb went off in the desert, I saw soldiers—my friends—catch on fire.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, but his words sparked images I didn’t want to see but needed to.

“And I know that there is no amount of pain meds that really dulls these kinds of burns and you lived through that. That’s what I think about when I see them. And I also think about how these fucking scars shaped your life. How they’ve beaten you down when you still are one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen and these scars don’t even touch that. They aren’t anything compared to your smile or your pretty blue eyes or that sweet ass.”

Oh my God.

He wasn’t done. “You know what else I see? A physical reminder of how fucking strong you are, Calla, how fucking brave you are. That’s what I see when I look at your back. A map of how brave you are, your strength and your courage.”

Oh my God.

Tears pricked at my eyes. That ball of emotion was at my throat again, ready to pour forth and flood the earth.

“And that shit isn’t ugly.” His voice dropped to a whisper.

I twisted, pushing up on my elbows, and looked over my shoulder at him again. His face blurred. “Jax . . .”

“That shit is beautiful in its own way, but still fucking beautiful.”

Some of the tears spilled over, and I knew I was really going to start sobbing, because that was the most perfect thing I’d ever heard, and all I could say was a lame “Thank you.”