Defiant Heir (The Heirs #3) - Michelle Heard Page 0,20

of laughter bursts from Jase. “So you’re going to hide from it? Seriously?” His grip on my shoulder tightens, and I feel him lean closer. “I fucking manned up and stood by Mila. I was the one who took her nightmares, her fucking broken body, her agony, and fear. I’m the one who heard her cries, and they will haunt me forever,” he bites out. “But not once did I hide from it. Grow a fucking pair and do the same for Fallon.”

His words knock the breath from my lungs.

Fuck. Jase is right.

He didn’t back down once. He stood by Mila like an indestructible force.

Fuck, I was taking the easy way out, not wanting to face what I did to Fallon. I’m such a fucking coward.

But I still won’t saddle her with my being blind.

“I still can’t be with Fallon,” I admit.

“Why?” Jase demands.

“Even if I go through with the transplant, there’s a chance it won’t work.”

“Ten percent,” Noah argues. “The odds are good you’ll see again. Let’s focus on the positive.”

“Still,” I take a deep breath, trying to breathe through the hell raging inside me, “Too much can go wrong. I won’t tie Fallon down with a disabled man.”

“Let’s deal with that when it happens,” Jase says. “Just be a friend to her until you know for sure. No one’s forcing you to date her.”

Easier said than done. Will I be able to just be a friend to her?

Jase must see something on my face because he continues, “Are you done being an idiot now? Will you have the transplant?”

Knowing I don’t stand a chance against Jase, Noah, and Dad, I nod.

“Thank fuck,” Noah mumbles.

I feel Dad rise to his feet. “So I can tell Dr. Davis to go ahead and schedule the surgery?”

“Yeah,” I mutter.

If the surgery is successful, I’ll just have to face what I’ve done.

Chapter 8

FALLON

Anxiety claws it’s way up my spine as Mom begins to peel back the dressing from my cheek.

My eyes keep darting between the mirror and the counter, not sure whether I can handle seeing the cuts. When I see the first glimpse of red, I shut my eyes tightly.

Mom pauses for a moment. “It’s going to be okay. Dr. Menard will remove all the scarring. I’ve seen his work, and he’s really the best.”

I nod and swallow hard as Mom continues to remove the bandage. When she’s done, she wraps her arm around my shoulder and says, “It’s looking so much better already.”

I take a deep breath, and fisting my hands at my sides, I push through the anxiety and open my eyes.

Oh, God.

The ground rips open beneath my feet as my gaze settles on the haphazard red cuts and stitches. I look like something from a horror movie. Random gashes mar my skin all the way from my cheek down to my neck.

Absolute revulsion shudders through me, and I gasp, “Mommy.”

Mom’s hold on me tightens, and she moves between the mirror and me. Her eyes lock on mine, and I see the heartache she feels for me shimmering in them. “Dr. Menard is the best. He’ll make it all go away,” she tries to reassure me.

“I look like a monster,” I cry.

I can’t deal with this.

“Let’s get it cleaned and covered again. Okay?” Mom says, and she hurries through the routine.

My eyes are glued to the mirror. It feels like the woman in me has been cut out of me.

I’m disfigured.

All I can manage are shallow breaths. Mom carefully puts on fresh bandages, and once she’s done, her arms wrap tightly around me. “I promise I’ll make sure every last scar is gone. Okay?”

Stuck in a haze of disgust and shock, I nod.

Even though the cuts are covered, I can still see them clearly. They’re hideous.

I’m ugly.

Bile pushes up my throat, and pulling free from Mom, I rush to the toilet. My body heaves as I vomit from the sight of my face.

Mom’s hand settles on my back as I empty my stomach. Once I sit back, sobs begin to wrack through me.

I’ll never be able to show my face in public.

Mourning the loss of my perfect life, I have no idea how I’ll ever be able to accept living as a disfigured woman.

Woman?

No.

No longer.

I’m nothing more than a monster.

KAO

I get to go home for three days before I have to return for the surgery.

Dad argued that I should give school a break. I know it doesn’t make sense that I return to Trinity because I can’t attend classes. Still,