Battle Scars

Chapter 15: Tequila Kisses

Jay

The days pass, and I find myself falling into a comfortable rhythm with Leah. I decide early on that the best thing I can do is to treat her the way I always have: like the strong, capable woman she is. If she needs to talk, she knows where to find me, but I'm not about to start treating her like she's fragile. I think she appreciates that—maybe even needs it.

That first morning after our late-night talk, I made her coffee the way she likes it, just as if nothing monumental had happened. Black, with a generous pour of creamer to turn it almost beige. She wandered into the kitchen looking like she'd been up all night, but when she saw her cup sitting there, ready for her, she blinked in surprise. And then she smiled—just a small, brief thing, but it was genuine. The light returned to her eyes for a moment, and I felt a sense of pride for that tiny victory.

We continued with our routine of quiet mornings and watching TV together when she wasn't running errands or keeping herself busy. At first, the conversations were mostly surface level—about what shows we liked or which takeout places sucked. But as time passed, she started to open up more. I learned that Leah loves to cook, and not only that, she's damn good at it. One night, Ki and I walked through the door to find her in the kitchen, a cloud of steam in the air and the smell of garlic and basil wafting through the apartment.

"Lasagna," she said simply, glancing up from her station. "Figured you guys would want something homemade for once."

Ki looked at me with a mix of skepticism and anticipation, but when we finally sat down to eat, it was like tasting heaven. I'd had my fair share of homemade meals, but hers was on another level. Rich, layered, and perfectly seasoned. We practically licked our plates clean.

"Marry me," Ki joked, dramatically placing his hands over his heart. Leah just rolled her eyes and flicked a piece of garlic bread at him.

By the time Friday night rolled around, Leah was in a noticeably better mood. Maybe it was the week of small victories—the laughs, the shared meals, the way the shadows under her eyes seemed to be lifting. When the guys suggested we pregame at the apartment before hitting up the local bar, she didn't shy away. Instead, she agreed, and I could see the spark of determination in her eyes like she was pushing herself to reclaim something that had been taken.

Ki and I were in the living room with a couple of beers when Leah finally emerged from her room. When she walked out, both of us fell silent. Leah had curled her hair, letting it fall in loose waves over her shoulders. She was wearing a white, flowy shirt that tied at the front, showing off a sliver of skin and hinting at the scars on her back. It wasn't revealing, but it was confident—like she wasn't hiding anymore. She paired it with black jeans that hugged her figure in a way that was impossible not to notice.

Ki muttered something under his breath, probably some half-assed prayer to keep himself in line. I couldn't blame him.

Leah noticed our staring and raised an eyebrow. "What?" she asked, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.

"You look... great," I said, trying to find the right words without making it sound like too big of a deal.

Ki nodded vigorously. "Yeah, seriously. Like, wow."

She just laughed, a sound that felt lighter than any I'd heard from her in weeks. "Thanks," she said, adjusting the tie on her shirt. "Figured it was time to stop hiding."

The way she said it, so matter-of-factly, made my chest tighten with something that felt a lot like admiration. Leah's scars were visible, but she wore them like they were just another part of her story—not something to be ashamed of. It was aw-inspiring to see her standing there, confident in a way that took more strength than most people would ever understand.