Beneath the Scars (20 page)

“What?”

His finger ran down my cheek. “I told you—I can’t sleep without you now. I need you beside me.”

I looked at the bed behind me. “But—”

He grimaced. “I was so fucking desperate, I came in here like a damn caveman, took you with barely a word, and your bedding is soaked. I can’t let you stay in there.”

“I can put it in the dryer.”

“It’s three in the morning. Let me take you back home with me and you can do that later today. I want you beside me in my bed. Please, sweetheart.” He rested his forehead on mine. “Please.”

The unexpected endearment brought the tears back to my eyes. He shook his head sadly. “A single word,” he murmured. “One single kind word from me and you cry. You take all the harsh ones and roll with them, but one kind one does this.” He gently wiped away the moisture. “I don’t deserve your tears.”

“I love you.” I needed to say the words that had been burning in my head, out loud, needed him to know how I felt.

His hand stilled on my cheek. His face became lax with shock. The tension in his body increased, his eyes widening with astonishment.

“Nobody loves me. Nobody ever really has.”

“I do.”

“You don’t even know me,” he insisted.

I shifted closer, his arm wrapping around my back, holding me to him. “I do know you. I know you’re alone because you choose to be. I know you’re lonely. I know you have a beautiful soul that needs to be loved.”

“You think my soul is beautiful?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “It hasn’t always been. My past…my past is ugly, Megan.”

“It doesn’t matter. I love you here. Now. Not for your past. Not for what happened to you.”

“It might change your mind.”

“It won’t.”

He searched my gaze. “How can you be so sure?”

“I simply am.”

“But you want to know.”

“I deserve that.”

He held me closer, his lips grazing my forehead with a sigh. “Yes, you do.”

“You’ll tell me?”

He hesitated.

“I want,
I need
, to know all of you,” I implored him. “Good and bad.”

“Later today,” he promised. “Come home with me and let me hold you. Let me make up for earlier. Then later I’ll answer any question you ask.” He paused. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“Okay.” I wanted to stay beside him. I wanted to feel his arms around me.

I didn’t fail to notice he didn’t say I love you back.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I woke up slowly, my hand reaching for Zachary, only to find cold, empty sheets. Hearing muted barks, I padded over to the window, taking in the dull gray of the morning.

The overcast sky was dark, the ocean fast moving and angry, foamy waves of steel swirling with green as they pounded frantically along the shore. Trees and long grass bent in the wind, and farther in the distance, small boats bobbed furiously on the water. The storm was not done with us yet. Elliott and Dixie were running around the beach, barking and playing, wound up by the weather.

In the midst of all the chaos stood Zachary. A tall, solitary figure in his dark overcoat, standing in the shallow surf, staring out in to the unending distance. His hands were shoved in his pockets, hair blowing in the wind, feet deep in the frigid water. His stance screamed tension. The urge to go down and wrap myself around him, to offer him some comfort, was great. My fingers gripped the edge of the window tight in order to not give in to the desire. I knew our argument had upset him and his promise to tell me his story was weighing on his mind. The thought my declaration of love was also upsetting him caused a small ache in my chest.

My fingers plucked nervously at the edge of the long shirt I was wearing. After wrapping me in the damp comforter last night and scooping up Dixie, we had returned to his house. Zachary had carried both of us; his long gait across the wet, cold sand ate up the distance quickly. Once inside, a warm shower and gentle hands sliding a dry shirt over my head replaced the wet blanket and shivers. Slipping under the covers, Zachary’s hard chest molded to my back, holding me close as his breath whispered across my neck. “Sleep, sweetheart.”

It hadn’t come easily—for either of us. His promise loomed too big, his tension so palpable that instead of the relief of quiet, blissful sleep, both of us were restless and trapped in our own dark thoughts. Physically close, the yawning gap between our emotions was vast.

Now looking at him, once again choosing to be alone, I wondered if possibly he was right. Maybe he was too damaged. Maybe I couldn’t save him.

Maybe…he didn’t want to be saved.

The fire was burning low when I went downstairs, and I added another log the way Zachary had shown me, resituating the fire screen. The coffee was cold, so I dumped it down the drain and made a fresh pot, then went back to the window to watch Zachary. He had moved farther down the beach, closer to Karen’s house—his head now lowered, hands still deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched—as he slowly waded through the water. A shiver went through me watching him, trying to imagine how cold his feet must be, but he seemed immune to the icy water. He told me he liked how it felt against his skin.

When the coffee was ready, I poured a cup, unsure what to do next. Stay here and wait? Pour a cup for him and take it to him? The question was answered when I heard the door open and both dogs burst in the room, tails wagging, their coats damp and cold under my hands when I stroked them. After greeting me, they both ran into the other room where I knew they would be warming up by the fire. I hesitated, then poured another cup of coffee as Zachary walked into the room. He paused briefly in the doorway, his eyes meeting mine as he stepped forward, his hand wrapping around my neck and taking me to him. I gasped as his icy fingers grazed my skin, the coldness of the outside permeating his clothes as he held me to him, his mouth covering mine, soft and full. With him, he brought the scent of the ocean. The salty, sharp smell wrapped around me. The chill of his body seeped into mine, as he kissed me with so much adoration, it made my heart sing. My head was spinning when he drew back, dropping a couple more light kisses on my mouth. I opened my eyes to his weary gaze, the fatigue etched on his skin like a map of fine lines.

“Zachary,” I uttered his name, concerned. “You look exhausted.” Cautiously, I laid my hand on his cheek, a sense of relief rippling through me when he relaxed into my touch.

Slowly his head lowered until it rested on my shoulder, the weight heavy. Sliding my hand around his neck, my fingers slipped into his damp hair, caressing the strands.

“I’m tired, Megan. So very tired,” he murmured, his voice rough and drained. I held him a little closer, knowing he didn’t only mean physically. He seemed so vulnerable; my chest tightened with the sound of his pain. I rested my cheek to his head, pressing a kiss to his hair, wanting to offer him comfort.

“What can I do?”

He lifted his head, eyes pleading. “Would you come back to bed with me? Let me hold you while I sleep?” He paused. “I need to sleep. I can’t…I can’t talk right now.”

“It’s okay, Zachary. Yes. Yes, I’ll come back to bed with you.”

His head fell back to my shoulder. “Thank you.”

He slept hard with his head buried in my neck, arms wrapped around me, warm and finally at peace. For the first time since I met him he sought my touch, groaning in satisfaction when I trailed my fingers along his arms and back. I slid my fingers into his hair, keeping my touch light as he relaxed. His body grew heavy as he gave into the weariness that plagued him.

Outside, the wind picked up as the rain started again, drumming heavily on the roof. His warm body, deep breathing, and the soothing beat of the rain overhead relaxed me, and shutting my eyes, I joined him in sleep.

Hours later, my eyes opened as Zachary stirred, his body moving, muscles shifting, his eyes finding mine. “Hi,” he whispered.

I traced a constant circle on his back with my fingers, gently caressing his skin. “Hi.”

“You’re still here.”

“I told you I would be.”

“Sometimes I find that hard to believe.”

“I’ve noticed.”

He swallowed nervously. “I’m not used to people being truthful with me, Megan. The world I lived in, people said what they thought I wanted to hear, even when they didn’t mean it.”

“It doesn’t sound like a very nice world.”

“It wasn’t a nice one, but it was the only one I knew…until now.”

“Until now?” I questioned.

Leaning up, he placed a soft kiss to my lips. “You, Megan. You make it better.”

“I want to,” I admitted, smiling, liking that I could change his life for the better.

“You do.”

He rested his head back on my chest with a quiet sigh; the tenderness flowed through me at his unconsciously needful gesture, making my eyes sting. His scarred cheek was pressed into my skin, the ridges feeling rough against me. I ran my hand through his hair, smiling as he relaxed deeper into my body, his weight feeling so right on me. He was rarely relaxed enough to let me feel him without restraint. I loved him most when he allowed himself to be vulnerable.

“It’s late.”

I glanced at the clock. “It’s just two in the afternoon. You needed to sleep.”

“You want me to talk.”

“I do, but only if you can, Zachary. I want to know you; all of you.”

He didn’t say anything, but I felt his tension start to creep back. He began to pull away, but I wrapped myself around him. “Nothing you tell me is going to change how I feel.”

“You can’t say that for sure.”

“I can. Your past is simply that—your past. I’ve already assumed, from the few things you’ve said, it isn’t pretty or very nice. I know you’re not proud of some things that happened, or some of the things you did, but it made you what and who you are today.”

He looked up; his forehead furrowed. “What do you see me as today, Megan?”

I traced his skin with my finger, trying to smooth out the lines of anxiety. “A gifted artist. Haunted by his past. Alone. Scared to admit what he really needs.”

“What do I really need?”

“To forgive yourself. “ I drew in a deep breath. “To let yourself be loved.”

“You still think you love me?”