Beneath the Scars

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.15MeganI 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.