Beneath the Scars (22 page)

“So, you were a brat. It was all you knew. Children learn by example.”

He laughed. “You’re still defending me. You still think too highly of me.” He shook his head, a sad expression on his face. “Except it didn’t change, Megan. Even after I grew up, in fact, it got worse. After I got rid of my parents, I got a new agent and PR team. I became my own manager; I refused to let anyone dictate my life anymore. I surrounded myself with people who wanted from me what I wanted from them.”

“Which was?”

“More—of everything. My father played it safe with my career. He kept me acting in the stupid sitcom because of the consistent money—even though I hated it and had for years. Every decision my father ever made was based on the dollar figure. Every stupid movie he put me in, every endorsement was because of the bottom line. I hated it. I hated him. So, I changed direction and branched into films. I wanted bigger roles and my agent, Ryan, was with me on that decision—more money, more power. I became a Hollywood bad boy. Drinking, drugs, women—all of it. Publicity was my friend because no matter what I did, I had something they wanted…” he sneered “…my fucking face. It was always about my face with everyone. Any movie they put me in was a sure fire winner at the box office and it made having to clean up my messes worth it. As long as I had my face, I had everything. I was worth something.”

I was on my feet before I realized it. “You’re worth something now, Zachary! Your face doesn’t change that!”

Zachary stepped back, looking startled by my outburst. He held out his hands in supplication. “I’m only trying to tell you, Megan. Make you understand.”

I sat down, my legs too shaky to hold me up. “I get it. Your entire life was based on your face. Don’t even get me started on how fucking wrong that is.”

He gave me a strange look. “That’s how it was. It was all I knew.”

“Still wrong,” I seethed. “There’s so much more to you than a face.”

Suddenly, he crossed over and cupped my face again, but this time his touch was different; gentler. He dropped a soft kiss to my mouth. “Thank you,” he breathed. Before I could react, he was gone again. My lips tingled from his kiss and the depth behind those two small words.

I shook my head to clear it. “Okay, so you were a bad boy now.”

“I was an adult with the mindset of a spoiled child—a very bad combination. I went from an egotistical teen star, used to getting his way, to an arrogant self-obsessed adult. It was all about me. Just like my mother had taught me. Everything I wanted I got. I used people, Megan. Unless you were of use to me you weren’t in my life, and once I was done with you: that was that. I had no one in my life that was loyal to me, and I was loyal to no one.”

“Weren’t you lonely?”

He shrugged, silent for a moment. “I never thought about it. I didn’t know any different—I’d been doing that all my life. Who I was, the person I had been, never changed. I was conceited—selfish. I was considered a great actor, but an awful person. My reputation preceded me on every project I worked on.” I shrugged. “And I didn’t care. All my life I had been used and now I was using people. It was a vicious cycle.

“I enjoyed being an actor. I liked it, enjoyed the craft, and as I learned more, I got better roles, so I suppose I was happy with that part of my life. Outside of that, I filled my time with empty shit: parties, cars, stuff, women.” He paused, looking uncomfortable. “Lots of women.”

I swallowed nervously at his tone and body language; both were tense. “And none of them meant anything to you?”

“Never.” He inhaled deeply. “I used them and they used me right back. I was a great way to get their name in the paper—a date with Adam Dennis. Being seen on my arm would guarantee publicity.”

“And what would you get out of it?” I asked, sliding my hands under my legs so he couldn’t see how hard they were shaking. I waited for his reply, already knowing and dreading the answer.

“Sex. Publicity as well, but often a blow job in the limo or a fast fuck before I went home.” He stared at me. “I never stayed; ever. And…rarely, very rarely was there ever a second date. Unless it was something I wanted.”

His matter-of-fact tone made my stomach roll, but I fought to keep my expression neutral. I knew if I got upset, he would stop talking and I needed to hear this; I needed to hear everything.

“You didn’t form a…relationship with anyone? Ever?”

“No. I didn’t want one. I saw how my parents used each other. How they used me. I thought that was what love did to a person. I watched people all around me use each other and walk away so easily from someone they claimed to love. I didn’t want any part of it. I refused to let it happen to me.”

“So bitter,” I murmured.

He shook his head. “Realistic.”

“Not always.”

“In my world, yes.”

“I don’t think I like your world.”

He barked out a bitter laugh. “My world didn’t like me either.” His eyes narrowed. “I told you it wasn’t pretty. Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

His voice softened, the cold edge melting a small amount. “It’s my past, Megan. You asked me for honesty. I’m trying to give you that.”

“I know. I’m fine.” I inhaled deeply, willing myself to remain calm. “Was there anything good in your life, Zachary? Anything good at all?”

He turned to the mantle, his fingers drifting over his painting. “I went into rehab for substance abuse when I was twenty-two and part of the therapy was finding an outlet to express myself. I thought it was bullshit. I thought all of it was bullshit—until I picked up a paint brush.” I watched, fascinated, as his hand moved fluidly over the swirls. I could see him recreating them in his mind, the paint being layered on the canvas as he created his work. “I could paint. I mean, I always liked to draw and sketch, but I had no idea I could paint.” Abruptly, he turned. “So I guess that was good. I didn’t share it with anyone, but it was something I could do, that was mine, you know?”

I nodded, my heart tugging in my chest. All he had was painting—and no one to share that with—no one he trusted. A small piece of himself he protected from the world.

“What happened, Zachary?”

He paced up and down in front of the fireplace—his steps measured and heavy as he walked. At one point he stopped and hunched down, running his hands over Elliott’s head, his face awash in deep emotions, but he remained silent.

“I used people, Megan. Badly.”

“So you said.”

He looked up, the darkness in his expression causing my breath to hitch in my throat. “My last film, I was twenty-five. I was jaded and bitter. I didn’t care about anything or anybody. I was rich, arrogant, and I took what I wanted.” He sighed, standing up and dropping into the chair across from me. “I decided I wanted my co-star.”

I started feeling ill at the mere thought of what was to come, but I still had to know. “And?”

“My agent warned me to stay away from her; Marni was married and the rumors were that her marriage was in trouble. He told me she was vulnerable. He even used the word ‘unstable.’” His voice lowered, self-hatred coloring its tone. “I didn’t care. It was perfect for me; a warm body to fuck while on location, then I could walk away when the film was complete. No strings.”

“But that wasn’t what happened?”

“No. The first few days I pursued her, charmed her; that was how I worked. The chase was fun; it always was for me…and we had an affair.”

“Did she know about your thoughts on relationships?”

“I told her I wasn’t interested in anything permanent. I thought she was okay with that.”

“But she wasn’t?”

“No.”

The room was quiet, only the cracking of the fire and the sounds of the ocean in the distance could be heard. I wanted to ask him, to demand he tell me what happened, but he was so lost inside his head, I knew he wouldn’t hear me.

“Ryan was right. It wasn’t a good idea. She projected this bitchy, independent vibe, but she wasn’t. When I look back, I think maybe she was as lost as me. I broke it off with her a few days before we wrapped. She was getting too clingy, and I was done with it all; it was time for me to move on. She was so angry and upset. We argued, and things got rather ugly. She, ah, told me she loved me.”

He looked at me, his expression blank. “I told her I didn’t care. She knew the rules at the start. It was her problem, not mine. I told her to go back to her husband.”

“What happened?”

“We argued some more and I got tired of it, so I decided to leave. She was crying, which didn’t bother me in the slightest and only made her angrier. I told her to use that anger when we filmed the final scene we had together a couple days later; that maybe, for the first time I’d see a decent performance from her.”

“You were cruel.”

He nodded. “She slapped me and told me I would regret my actions.” He paused. “I laughed at her. I told her I already did, and nothing she did could make me regret it more.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

Zachary’s haunted gaze met mine.

“I was wrong.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

My heart pounded in my chest as I waited for Zachary to talk. I felt the damp nervous sweat at the back of my neck, and I struggled to remain calm.

Zachary stared into the fire; silent, motionless. His long fingers were steepled together, his elbows resting on his thighs as he stared, lost to some deep memory in his head.

He stood up again, pacing, ignoring me. Back and forth he went, in constant motion. He was like a caged animal; tense and frantic. I couldn’t speak. I was afraid if I tried, all the emotion I was holding in would burst forth and he would close in on himself again.

Finally, his pacing stopped. He braced himself against the mantle, his back to me, his voice filled with agony. The distance he fought to maintain was gone and his pain was tangible.

“I didn’t see Marni until our final scene. She seemed fine. Distant, cold, but fine, which was okay with me. I wasn’t feeling very responsive toward her, either. Ironically, the scene was me being a big man and letting the woman I loved go, so she could have a better life. Marni’s character pleads with me, begs me to change my mind and in the final moment becomes angry. She was to throw the contents of her glass in my face, slap me and storm away.” He paused. “The final shot would be of me watching her walk away, standing in the room where we’d made love, candles flickering, all very dreamlike. My face would be tormented, knowing I had done the right thing in letting her go. It was supposed to be very climatic and emotional.”

He stopped talking abruptly and I could see his shoulders moving with his rapid breaths. I forced myself to remain where I was and not go to him. My own breaths were coming out fast, and part of me wanted to tell him to stop, that I didn’t want to hear anymore, but I couldn’t. I was the one who begged for him to talk and no matter how much I hated it, I had to listen.

I found my voice. “Tell me.”

“We did a quick run through. We had already rehearsed it all thoroughly. Where we would stand, how much water was in the glass she threw, how she had to toss it, so it hit me properly. All of it. We were ready and I just wanted the scene done and over.

“Something was wrong—off. Marni was too calm and she looked…vacant. I was on edge and jittery. I expected attitude and anger, not a passive attitude. Then—”

“Then?” I prompted gently.

“We got ready to roll and she did something strange. She lifted the glass with the water in it and drank it. The set director started to come toward her and she laughed, waving him off and lifted the bottle she had with her saying sorry, she’d fill it herself. She made a joke that she was thirsty and forgot; everyone sort of laughed—she was known for being a little different, eccentric, that way.” He turned to face me, not moving. I felt like the naked pain on his face was holding me in my seat. “But everything felt wrong, the hair on the back of my neck was standing up and I was jumpy. I felt as though I was on a precipice, waiting, but I didn’t know what I was waiting for.”

“Did you say anything?”

He shook his head. “Everyone was tense on set. They all knew what had happened between Marni and me, so no one was really comfortable that day. I told myself I was being paranoid. It was the final scene and I was anxious for it to be done. That was all.”