Beneath the Scars

Zachary was a complete anomaly for me. I felt more for him in the short time I’d known him than I ever felt for another man. He was standoffish and cruel when he chose to be, then at other times, his vulnerability showed through. I knew how much of an act he put forth to cover up his own pain and push people away. He was lost and alone. Maybe that was partially what drew us to each other.

Something had seriously hurt him in the past, and he’d stopped living. I wasn’t sure I had ever truly started to live. We made quite the pair.

Arms wrapping around my waist startled me from my thoughts. A teasing voice was close to my ear. “Testing the water, are we sweetheart?”

My heart jumped at his endearment and the gentle way it was uttered.

“It’s too cold.”

He chuckled, the sound low and deep. “Must be—your toes have turned blue!” Zachary teased as he spun me around, lifting higher, walking toward the water. “You only have to get used to it,” he promised, wading deeper—the water rising up to his calves, my toes curling in protest as the frigid water grazed them.

Squealing, I pulled my legs up, wrapping them around his thighs in protest. “No!” I giggled.

His arms tightened around me, chest heaving as he laughed. “Careful,” he warned, his lips next to my ear. “Squirm too much…and I might drop you.” He snickered, loosening his hold a little; laughing even harder as I gasped, laughing with him, clinging tight. I lifted my legs higher, using his hips as an anchor and holding myself as close to his body as I could. “Don’t!” I pleaded.

His embrace became a vice. His voice became gruffer and deeper as his lips brushed down my throat. “You want me to keep you out of the water?”

“Yes,” I panted into his neck.

“You trust me? You think I’ll keep you safe?”

I tilted my head back, meeting his eyes, which were now filled with passion, swirling blue and green amidst the gray. “I know you’ll keep me safe,” I whispered. “You make me feel safer than I ever have.”

With a groan, he covered my mouth in a rough kiss. Zachary’s arms crushed me to his chest as he devoured me with his mouth. The passion was all-consuming; the gentleness from earlier gone. He came at me over and again, claiming and possessing me. His large hands became restless and seeking; one slipped under my coat, the cold of it seeping into my skin, while the other wound into my hair, cupping and caressing my head. Time stood still as we kissed, and only the impatient barking from the shore broke us apart.

Zachary looked toward the beach, muttering a mild curse at the interruption. His hand now cradled my head to his chest as he strode out of the water and stood me back on the hard, cold sand. He opened his coat, enveloping me in it; surrounding me in his scent and warmth. “You give me too much credit,” he murmured into my ear.

“You don’t give yourself enough,” I countered, leaning back so I could meet his eyes.

“When you look at me like that, I feel…like I can do anything.”

“You can.”

“You make me want…things, Megan. Things I’m not sure I can have.”

My heartbeat was so loud in my chest, I was sure he had to feel it against his own. “Things like what?”

His gaze flittered around the vastness of the water. “Normal things. I want to take you to dinner, or maybe out to a movie. Go for a walk and not worry someone will start pointing or make some remark.” He exhaled a long rush of air. “I want to be able to let you touch me without worrying about the fact I want to pull away and hide.”

“Do you get tired of hiding, Zachary?”

“Yes.”

The pain evident in that one word made my eyes sting, and I had to blink and clear my throat before I could speak again.

“We could try,” I encouraged him. “Work on it together. One step at a time.”

“Why, Megan? Why are you bothering? Why are you so sure I’m worth all this effort?”

Staring into his confused, pain-filled eyes I didn’t know how to answer him. How could I explain this pull I felt toward him? That I had felt it so strong the very moment he passed behind me in the gallery. This need I had to be with him was undeniable and frightening in its intensity. The feeling I was the one to help him heal from his past was firm and unyielding. The want to be part of his future was overwhelming.

“Because you are.”

His finger trailed down my cheek. “You amaze me.”

I cupped his unscarred cheek, loving how he accepted my touch. I brought up my other hand and placed it on his rough, thickened skin, giving him the chance to tell me no. His eyes shut, a long gust of air escaping his lungs, and he relaxed into me. Keeping my touch light, I stroked his face, tracing over the scars and healthy skin at the same time, the contrasts between them so vast. They were much like his personality: the rough, angry side plainly visible to people; the softer side very few ever would experience. Both were a part of him—both equally beautiful and ugly.