Battle Scars

Chapter One: The Roommate

Jay

I lean against the kitchen counter, watching Nate buzz around the apartment like a bear trying to tidy up after hibernation—lots of energy, not a lot of coordination. He's gathering up stray pizza boxes, empty cans, and crumpled receipts, muttering half to himself and half to me.

"Look, man, I know it's not exactly the Ritz, but it needs to look less like a... bachelor pad, y'know?" he says, shoving a pile of mismatched socks into the laundry basket with one hand and sweeping crumbs off the coffee table with the other.

I just raise an eyebrow, staying quiet. Nate's been on edge for days now, ever since he told me his sister was moving in for a while. I'm not thrilled about some random chick invading my space, but I keep that to myself. Nate's one of my best friends, and there aren't many people on that list.

Nate keeps rambling, his voice gaining this excited edge. "Leah's just... she's incredible, y'know? Strong as hell. I'm telling you, she's been through some hard things, but she's made of steel. I was surprised when she asked if she could stay here until she figured out her move to Florida. Especially since it's been years since she's even lived in the States."

His voice softens, like he's talking more to himself now. "She's tough, but she's been through stuff no one should have to go through. It's not my story to tell, but if she wants to share, she will. She's pretty open about what she's survived."

I feel my jaw tighten at that. I don't like the idea of some unhinged girl with a ton of baggage disrupting my space. When Nate first mentioned his sister, I pictured some rough, butch-looking chick with a bad attitude and a chip on her shoulder. But Nate's excitement doesn't quite fit with that mental picture.

"Look," Nate says, stopping to lean against the back of the couch, wiping his brow like he's been in a marathon, "I just want you to know she's been through more than most. So if she seems intense or guarded... well, it's just who she is."

I grunt, feeling a flicker of guilt. It's not that I don't care; I just don't like the idea of someone new in my space, screwing with my routine. I respect Nate—hell, I owe him for letting me crash here when I had nowhere else to go. But playing house with some unpredictable stranger isn't exactly on my list of favorite things.

Nate, though, is anything but unpredictable. The dude's a nice, chubby tech nerd who spends most of his time glued to his computer or gaming. He works nights and usually keeps to himself, except when his girlfriend Rachel is around. Rachel's been pulling him out of his shell—she's the reason he's trying to make this place less of a man cave.

On the other hand, I'm the complete opposite. Tall, covered in tattoos crawling up my arms, hands, and neck, with a dark disposition to match. Most people get uneasy around me, but Nate never seemed fazed. Our friendship's been a lifeline for both of us, though I'd never admit it out loud.

Before I can dwell on that, the doorbell rings. Nate's face lights up like it's Christmas, and he practically trips over his feet rushing to the door. "She's here!" he yells over his shoulder.

I roll my eyes but push off the counter, stuffing my hands in my pockets. I hear Nate's muffled voice greeting his sister downstairs, followed by the shuffle of luggage being dragged inside. Great. Here we go.

When the door swings open, I glance up, ready for the worst. But what I see isn't what I expected.

Nate's sister isn't some rough-around-the-edges chick with a shaved head and a scowl. No, Leah is... stunning. She steps into the apartment like she's been here a million times, her long blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail, framing a face that looks like it belongs on a movie screen. Her skin is tan, lips full, and her eyes are a soft, unusual shade of gray. She's wearing a light gray sweatsuit that looks effortless, not sloppy, and she walks with this confidence that throws me off.

I blink, trying to adjust to the reality in front of me. This is Leah? The girl Nate described sounds nothing like the woman standing in our living room—hell, their living room, I correct myself.

"Leah, this is my roommate, Jayson," Nate says, practically beaming like he's introducing royalty. "Jay, meet my little sister, Leah."

I realize I'm staring and quickly look away, feeling oddly uncomfortable. People don't usually make direct eye contact with me—my height, tattoos, and piercings seem to put them off. But Leah just looks at me, unflinching, a curious smile tugging at her lips.

"Hey," she says simply, her voice steady and warm.

"Hey," I reply, my voice coming out rougher than I intended. I force myself to meet her gaze again, but this time, I'm the one who looks away first. Her eyes are too intense, too observant, and there's something in them that makes me feel... unsettled.

"Thanks for letting me crash here," she adds, her smile widening just a fraction.

"Yeah, no problem," I mutter, shifting on my feet. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't this. It wasn't her. Leah was supposed to be some unhinged wildcard, but instead, she looks like a damn angel who's somehow landed in our very un-angelic apartment.

Nate claps a hand on my shoulder. "Told you she was tough," he says proudly. "And I know she's going to fit right in."

I'm not so sure about that. But for once, I don't argue. Because for the first time since Nate told me Leah was moving in, I'm at a loss for words.

As Nate and Leah start hauling in her stuff, I stay where I am, leaning against the counter and watching in silence. The girl standing in front of me doesn't fit any of the assumptions I made. And that, more than anything, leaves me completely out of my depth.