“Not a bad view, eh?”
“It’s so beautiful,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It’s not nearly as beautiful as you are.”
Sam turned in his arms until she was facing him. She reached up and pulled the sunglasses from his face. “I want to be able to see those gorgeous baby blues.”
Brody tried not to chuckle bitterly at her compliment, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t see anything about himself as attractive. He’d never liked his eyes. They were exactly like his father’s. When he looked in the mirror, all he could see was his father’s dark, angry, blue gaze fixed on him when he did something wrong. And as for the parts of his face he did like, his father had ruined that, as well.
“What’s so funny?” Sam asked, wrinkling her nose with irritation.
“Nothing is funny. I just have no idea what it is about me that you’re attracted to,” he admitted.
“Everyone has flaws. I hate my nose,” Sam complained. “I took a soccer ball to the face when I was nine and it’s bothered me ever since then. It didn’t heal right. I also have troll feet, so I wear cute shoes to disguise them. I won’t even get started on my hips.”
“You have excellent hips.”
“Thank you, but I’ve never been happy with them. I jog constantly, but there they stay. The point is that you are always going to be your own biggest critic. But everyone has at least one attractive feature. The key is to make the most of your best features. At the wrong angle my nose might make me look like I’ve lost a boxing match, but when I’m having a good hair day, I feel great about myself. The more confident you are, the more attractive you appear to others.”
That was a nice idea. And given that Sam was nitpicking her minor imperfections, that might work for her. But if he had to see beauty in himself for others to see it, he was doomed. He shook his head and looked back at the horizon. He was uncomfortable with the way she was studying him. Even knowing that for some unfathomable reason she was attracted to him, he wanted to squirm under her gaze.
“Look at me, Brody.” Her hand rested against his scarred cheek and turned his face back to her. “You don’t see anything but the scars, do you?”
He swallowed hard but couldn’t avoid her question. “I do. Usually the scars are the last thing I notice. Mostly, I see the drunk, angry face of my father. Sometimes I see my mother’s mouth, tight with disapproval and stone-silent when child protective services asked her questions. But the worst is when I see how I used to look before this happened and what I might look like today if I hadn’t startled him that day in the garage.”
His words were harsher than he intended them to be, but he needed Sam to understand. There was nothing beautiful about him in his opinion. He was broken.
“What happened to you, Brody?”
He didn’t want to talk about it. Not here in this magical place where he could escape from his past. He never should’ve said the words to lead them to the conversation he dreaded. He should’ve nodded and accepted her compliment. And yet, he knew he needed to tell her. After sharing something as intimate as they had, she deserved to know why he was the way he was. That didn’t mean he had to like it.
Brody’s hands dropped from Sam’s waist and he turned to walk back into the house. He heard her come in behind him and slide the glass door closed.
“Brody, please.”
He sank onto the edge of the bed and dropped his head to look down at the polished wood floors between his feet. The bed sagged as Sam sat beside him. She placed a reassuring hand on his knee.
“My father was the best-looking guy in Goshen, Connecticut. He also had a raging temper and was an alcoholic by the time he was twenty-three. My mother was an enabler with no self-esteem. She always thought she wasn’t good enough for a man like him. Probably because he told her she was fat and ugly at every opportunity. Why they got married, I’ll never know, but at least they bothered to. My mother thought that having his son would be the best way to win him over.”
Sam’s sharp intake of breath beside him was enough to let him know she knew it was a bad idea. “What she didn’t realize was that any child she had would be just as big a disappointment to him as she was. I could never do anything right. Sometimes I think my father only wore a belt so he would always have something handy to hit me with.”
Her hand tightened on his knee, but she didn’t speak. “I didn’t believe it was possible, but he got meaner as he got older. When the belt didn’t make me scream loud enough anymore, he switched to fists. Or burning cigarettes. My mother looked the other way and would lecture me about angering him while she bandaged my wounds. By the time I reached fifth grade, I was certain it was coming down to a final fight. Him versus me. I was finally getting big enough and strong enough to fight back.