Beneath the Scars (25 page)

“He was your friend, Zachary.”

He thought about it before nodding. “Yes. Yes, he was.”

“Did he know? What happened, I mean?”

“It took me almost a year to tell him.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me I was right. I was a bastard.”

I gaped up at him, but he didn’t look upset. “He also told me I needed to let it go and move on. I couldn’t change the past, but I could learn from it. He told me I could choose to be different and not be a bastard anymore because I knew better now.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I remember one night, he got angry at me. Told me I needed to stop blaming my parents for everything wrong in my life. He agreed they were terrible parents and lousy human beings, but he pointed out the fact that although they started me on the road, I had been the one driving for a while. I made the decisions. And I could have chosen different.” He exhaled a deep rush of air. “As usual, he was right and I started accepting the blame for my own actions. God, Megan, the man could make me talk about shit I didn’t even realize I was holding in.”

“Do you ever think of contacting them? Your parents, I mean?”

He pulled back, his eyes dark. “No. That part of my past is dead. Doc was right in many ways, but I never want to see them again. Ever. The subject is closed.”

“All right,” I soothed. “I only asked.”

His face softened. “That’s behind me. That whole part of my life is done. Once you’re part of my past, I don’t go back. That will never change for me.”

“No second chances?”

“No. I don’t give second chances.”

A chill went through me at his tone: firm, unyielding, cold.

“Don’t look so upset, Megan. Even Doc agreed with me on that subject—they’d had more than their share of chances to be decent. Like he said, having a baby doesn’t make you a parent. They should never have had children.”

“Don’t say that. You wouldn’t be here. I don’t—” My voice caught on the last word. “Don’t say that.”

He kissed my head. “Sorry.”

“Do you ever talk to, um, Doc?”

His voice was gruff. “No. He moved on.”

He was denying his feelings—I could tell how much he missed the man. “You should call him. I bet he also misses you.”

“No. I’m sure he’s busy with his grandkids. I don’t want to bother him.”

I rolled my eyes at his stubbornness. “He needed to be with his family, Zachary. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t still care. Sometimes we have to leave the ones we love behind, but it doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten them.”

He eyed me warily. “You think he’d, ah, like it if I called?”

“Yes.”

He glanced away, but I saw the shimmer of more moisture in his eyes. “Maybe I’ll try next week,” he mumbled.

I pulled him back to my chest, cradling his head. “I bet he’d like that.”

“He said something I didn’t really understand until now.”

“What?

“He said once I let myself feel something good, it would change me. It would change how I felt about the world.” Zachary tugged me closer. “He was right. How I feel about you makes me want to change. You make me feel something I haven’t felt—ever.”

“Can you tell me?” I whispered.

He lifted his head. “You give me hope, Megan. Hope I can be better. Hope I can be the man you need me to be. Hope I can leave my past behind me and find a happy future—with you.

“I don’t know how to love someone. I’ve never experienced that emotion.” He traced my face with his fingers. “Before you I didn’t experience many good emotions, but I want to try.”

I turned my face, touching my lips into his palm. “I know.”

“I’m going to fuck up.”

My lips curled into a smile. “I know that, too. We both will.”

“Promise me you’ll stick with me.”

“I will.”

He burrowed into my neck, a heavy, weary sigh blowing across my skin.

“Then that’s all that matters.”

Zachary slept...hard. Wrapped around me, his head burrowed in my shoulder, his weary body and soul slumbered deep into the evening. I couldn’t move; when I shifted, he would grimace, moving with me, as if afraid to let me go, even in sleep.

Sleep didn’t come for me, though.

His words, his pain, and his final sweet declaration kept running through my mind.

I had grown up knowing I was loved. Safe in the care of my parents, I had what I always felt was a boring, normal life. There were the usual ups and downs of being a child, but there was always love. Hugs when I needed them for comfort or joy, kisses for scraped knees and good report cards. Conversations over dinner and bedtimes with stories—all of those things I took for granted.

Zachary had never experienced any of them. There was nothing normal about his childhood. He grew up thinking his only use, his only purpose in life, was provided by his face. There was no love given by his parents. They denied him the one thing he wanted more than anything, even if he couldn’t admit it then or now: love.

With slow, gentle motions, I ran my hand through his hair, lifting it away from his face. His face was pale with the emotion of the day, his rough skin and the jagged ridges of his marks standing out in vivid detail. I couldn’t imagine the pain he had endured, or the sense of loss he had felt when he woke after the incident, knowing his entire world had changed.

The guilt, the pain, and the sadness he had carried all these years had made him bitter. He was right; he would never be what would be considered normal. He had experienced too much loss and rejection in his life. He was always poised for flight, ready to walk away and shut off his feelings rather than risk being hurt again. I ached for the loneliness and isolation he had felt his entire life. What most people would consider a gift—his striking good looks—had been nothing but a curse to him. They were, he felt, what defined him. Then when they were taken away he was proven right. His entire world disappeared.

Panic fluttered, building as I studied his face. I wanted to help him. I wanted to prove to him the world wasn’t all bad. If he could accept there were people who actually cared for him, not for what he could do for them, I knew he would find his way, but he had to learn to trust. Somehow I had to teach him to trust.

Could I be enough for him? Could he accept me as a person who made mistakes and not the perfect image he seemed to have of me?

Was there something I could do that he could not forgive? That part of his world was so black and white; could I ever get him to see gray?

I loved him so much already. The image of him walking away caused a low, throbbing pain to lance in my chest. Closing my eyes, I concentrated on my breathing—deep, slow lungfuls of air until my pulse calmed and the pain lessened.

Then I remembered his words. He needed me. He reached out for the first time in his life to another person: to me.

I needed patience. We would take it one step at a time. Together.

Zachary shifted, muttering in his sleep, holding me closer. “Megan…love you—” He relaxed, deep into sleep again, his face peaceful, all the stress and tension he carried erased.

For a brief second, I wondered what he would be like if his childhood had been different. If his parents had shown him love. If he hadn’t been used and become bitter. His handsome face not marred and his smiles easily offered. I wanted to be able to go back in time and find the child he had been; keep him safe from all he had faced and protect him from the pain.

But that was something I couldn’t do; all I could do was show him life was worth living and that he was, now, loved.

I could also protect him—and I would.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Stop that.”

I glanced up, distracted with my thoughts. “What?”

Zachary smiled at me, pulling my hand down. “Tugging at your ear.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t even realized I’d been doing it again.

He reclined back in his chair, sipping his coffee, regarding me with a smile. “You do that when you’re thinking—usually when you’re thinking too hard about something. Want to fill me in on what’s going on in that pretty head of yours this morning? You’ve been rather quiet since we got up.” He paused, frowning. “Was yesterday too much, Megan? Have I given you second thoughts about me?” His voice caught. “About us?”

I shook my head furiously. “No.”

“What is it then? Tell me.”

I looked past him to the window. The storm was gone; the sky blue and the sun glimmering on the water that lapped along the shore in long, lazy waves. The dogs had already been out scampering around the sand, happy the oppressive air had dissipated. Zachary had slept most of the night, exhausted from his emotional outpouring. I had held him, only dozing, ever vigilant to his movements and quiet mutterings when he would stir and tighten his grip, as if needing to know I was still there.

I smiled at him, clasping his hand that was stretched toward me on the table. “I’m a little tired. That’s all.”

“Megan.”

“I’m fine, Zachary.”

I couldn’t tell him why I had been unable to sleep. Images kept flashing though my mind of what happened to him. The thoughts of his skin burning, of the pain he endured, tore at my heart all night. Thinking about how alone he had been his entire life caused tears to soak into the pillow as I cried in silence for his loneliness. The fear I wasn’t what he needed, I couldn’t be strong enough to help him, or that the love I felt for him wouldn’t be enough, made my chest ache in suppressed worry.

“You’re exhausted. Did you sleep at all?”

“Not much,” I admitted.

“Why don’t you go back to bed, while I go into town? Ashley let me know some things I ordered arrived, so I’m going to pick them up.”

“I’m fine. I need to do a few things myself.”

“Like?”

“Check emails, laundry, tidy Karen’s place.” I gave him a knowing look. “The guest room is rather…messy.”

I was surprised to see the tips of his ears turn red as he nodded. “I imagine there are also a few dried up puddles…”

I couldn’t stop the giggle that broke from my lips, as I remembered the path of chaos we left behind. “I imagine so.”

“I feel like I should help you, since I was the cause of all the mess.”

I waved him off. “No. I can do it in between laundry and emails. Bring something for dinner and we’ll call it even.”

He winked. “I’ll even cook it.”

“Done.”

“Okay, so I’ll go into town, you do what you have to and we’ll meet back here later? Anything else you need?”

I shook my head. “Only you.”

His mouth and voice were warm as his lips lingered on mine. “You have me.”

I smiled as I watched him rinse out his mug and disappear to get ready. The last part of our conversation felt so normal. Planning our day, discussing dinner—knowing we’d be back together in a few hours.

I wanted to be normal for him. I wanted him to know what that felt like.

When he reappeared a few minutes later, he looked apprehensive. “What about the dogs?”

“I’ll take them with me.”

“Okay.” He hesitated, his voice a little more anxious, his keys jingling as he played with them. “You’ll be here when I get back?”