Beneath the Scars (40 page)

I fell back heavily against the wall, my legs too shaky to hold me up. I had to leave this place. Go away and start over. It didn’t matter if I emptied the entire house; she would still exist within these walls.

I slipped the board back to the front of the pile. It didn’t matter if I tried to hide it. I could see it, and her, every time I closed my eyes.

Quietly, I shut the door and went back downstairs, calling Elliott to come with me.

I left the bag where it lay.

Later that night, I was startled by three sharp raps at my door. Elliott stood up—a low whimper in his throat, meaning whoever was at the door wasn’t a stranger. Warily, I approached it, the evening light casting a shadow through the covered glass, showing me it was a woman. My heart skipped a beat and my hand tightened on the knob. The person on the other side was small; surely it wasn’t Megan. She couldn’t know I was here. The house down the beach was empty. I hadn’t seen anyone since I arrived back.

I opened the door, surprised to find Karen standing on the other side. Her expression was less than friendly, a scowl on her face as she gazed at me.

“So, it’s true. You’re back,” she snapped as she breezed past me, stopping in the hall.

“Do come in,” I murmured, sarcasm dripping from the words. “Make yourself at home.” I walked past her into the living room. “Can I get you a glass of wine? Or would you prefer my balls on a plate?”

“Since I don’t think you have any, I’ll take the wine.”

I arched my eyebrow at her but fetched a glass and poured her some wine, unclear as to why I wasn’t simply ordering her out of the house.

“How did you know I was here?”

She tossed her hair in defiance at my annoyed tone. “Chris was here last week. He said he heard Mrs. Cooper on the phone with you arranging the house to be cleaned and groceries brought in.”

“Ah. I should have emailed, I suppose—less ears. Shame the place I was staying at had very little internet access.” I sat down in the chair across the table from her, feeling weary. “What do you want, Karen?”

She slammed a large manila envelope on the table in front of me. “I brought you this, Zachary.”

I eyed the thick package with suspicion. “What is it?”

“The truth.”

“According to you, you mean?”

“Listen you egotistical, insufferable man. Take your head out of your ass and read what’s inside.”

“I don’t think I’m interested in more stories, but thanks anyway.”

Her eyes narrowed in anger. “Are you always this pig-headed and stupid?”

“So I’ve been told.” I pushed the envelope back toward her. “Thanks for dropping by.”

“Have you really been that out of touch?” she asked, her voice incredulous. “Have you not been keeping up with the news?”

“Aside from the local paper, which is a weekly publication where I was staying, and is about six pages in total, no. I didn’t need to read more bullshit and gossip, but I can fill you in on the current price of local fish, if you’re interested.” I sighed, growing impatient with the conversation. “Whatever”—I swallowed, having trouble even saying her name—“
Megan
sent you here to tell me, I’m not interested.”

“She has no idea I’m here.”

“Which is why, again?”

“Maybe because I can’t stand to watch her suffer anymore.”

I shrugged, trying to ignore the small pang of pain at the thought of her suffering. “Guilt can do that to a person.”

“She blames herself, but not for the reason you think.”

I was getting aggravated and I wanted her to leave. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Megan blames herself for what Jared did, but not because she was in on it. He used her as much as he used you. That’s what he does—uses people.”

“What?”

“She didn’t lead him to you. He followed her here, Zachary. He watched you together. He decided to use
you
to crush
her
. He found out who you were, then he caused this disaster. Not her—she had no idea.”

“So she says,” I argued, but my eyes looked at the envelope sitting on the table.

Karen stood up, slamming her hand down on the table. “It’s the truth. She blames herself because you were hurt in all of this mess. She wasn’t even surprised how easily you believed his lies. She told me you were so used to being hurt and taken advantage of it would be your first and only reaction.” She paused, her voice becoming softer. “She forgives you, you know.”

I bit back my angry retort. “I will ask again, Karen. Why are you here?”

She pushed the envelope back so my hand was touching it. “Read this.”

“Maybe later; after dinner with my coffee. I like a good story while I digest.”

“You’ll find it very enlightening.”

“Enlightening? Does it give me insight into how to find love? Heal the broken heart you think I have?”

“I’m not sure at this point, you have a heart.”

I laughed, the sound dry and forced, echoing off the rafters above our heads. “Now you’re getting the picture. If there isn’t anything else, I have things to do.”

She stood up, anger emitting from her body like the waves pounding out on the beach.

“Read it.” Her hands were clenched at her side. “If you won’t do it for me, then do it for my husband, who I know you respect. If he hadn’t been so busy right now, it would’ve been him handing this to you, not me. I know you wouldn’t refuse him.”

I frowned at her words. Why would Chris want me to read this so much he would send his wife to deliver it? I had no idea, but I didn’t like how I was feeling right now: trapped, cornered, on edge.

“Is there a pop quiz later?” I snapped.

“I don’t know why I bothered,” she hissed, turning and hurrying out the door, the slam of it behind her shaking the window glass. I watched as she stomped down the steps and crossed the beach. Once she turned around, flinging her arms up as she yelled words carried away by the wind and waves. I highly doubted they were pleasant.

I shook my head as I regarded the innocuous looking envelope, wondering what it could contain.

Why I was bothering to find out, I didn’t know. Chris had been a quiet, but good friend over the years—I knew him far better than I knew Karen. He never asked about my past or scars, accepting me as merely his neighbor. He had my email address and was kind enough to let me know, a couple times, that he was watching the house after I fled last time. He never mentioned Megan, for which I was grateful. But now this envelope—it had to be important to him.

Sitting down, I opened the flap and dumped the contents on the table. News articles, press releases and documents piled up; and as I went through them, I saw they were all clipped together in some sort of fashion, and date order.

With a sigh, I topped up my wine and started to read.

Two hours later, I was banging on Karen’s door. I paced the deck waiting for her to answer, my heart pounding in my chest, my mind racing with the information I had read. Thoughts and words echoed in my head, the envelope clutched in my tight fist.

The door slid open and I pivoted around when she stepped out, her arms crossed over her chest. We stared at each other, my eyes searching hers for answers.

“Do you have something to say, or did you want to borrow a cup of sugar?”

I stepped closer, my fingers jabbing at the envelope. “It’s true? All of it is true?”

She huffed as she straightened up. “Yes. All of it is true. Not only did Jared steal Megan’s manuscript, they’ve proven he stole all the books he published. She didn’t lie to you, Zachary. About her book or anything else.”

“She didn’t use me.”

Karen’s arms flung out, gesturing wildly. “Hallelujah! The man finally gets it!”

I grabbed her arm. “Why, Karen? Why are you here? You hate me—why did you come to give me this information?”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t hate you, Zachary. I don’t understand you, but I don’t hate you.”

“Why?”

She stepped back. “You’d better come inside.”

I followed her in, my knees almost crumbling as I inhaled.

Megan.

She was everywhere.

Her scent soaked the air. Her favorite sweater was draped over the back of the chair. Her sneakers were lying on the floor by the door, looking as if they had been kicked off moments ago. The journals I’d given her were sitting on the table. I looked around in panic, expecting Dixie to come running, barking out a greeting, or to see Megan’s sad face looking at me.

My gaze flew to Karen, who shook her head. “She isn’t here.”

“But she was.”

“Yes.”

Reaching behind me, she shut the door. I stepped forward, only to let out a muffled curse. In three strides, I was across the room, standing in front of
Tempest
. My fingers flew over the canvas, confused. I had left it behind. In one angry stroke of a knife, I had destroyed the image. Severing the completeness of it, the way Megan’s betrayal had severed my heart. I left it to her as a symbol, torn and jagged, yet it was here, mended and complete.

“How?”

Karen stood beside me. “It broke her heart—almost as much as you leaving. She asked Ashley for help to have it restored.” A small humorless laugh left her mouth. “She wouldn’t take money to fight Jared, or accept help for anything, but she asked me to loan her the money to fix your painting.” She moved away and sat down. “It arrived back this week. She was going to give it back to Ashley for you, but she couldn’t bear to part with it yet.”

I sat down across from her, my legs feeling too weak to hold me up anymore. “Where is she?”

“You don’t have the right to know the answer to that question.”

“Please.”

A weary sigh shook her frame. “She’s been staying here.”

I swallowed the thick feeling in my throat. “But she’s gone now?”

“She went back to Boston. She was meeting with some people about her book.”

“She’s being published?”

Karen shrugged. “She hasn’t decided yet. Things are…complicated right now.”

“Is she all right?”

“Do you really care?”

I had no idea how to answer that loaded question. For months I’d been fighting feeling anything besides anger and betrayal. I’d been trying, so hard, not to feel anything except contempt for her. It was a battle I knew earlier today I had lost before I’d even begun to fight it. I missed Megan so much, it made me even angrier, which made my denial stronger, and the whole time I’d been wrong.

So fucking wrong.

“Yes, I care.”

“You have a strange way of showing it.”

“I thought she lied to me. I thought she was using me.”

“Because you chose to believe the lies of someone other than her. You never even gave her the chance to explain!”

I could hear the anger in her voice. “It made more sense,” I offered, knowing it was a feeble excuse.

“It made more sense than her loving you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re more fucked up than I even thought, aren’t you?”

“I don’t understand love.”