Beneath the Scars

“She’ll try and convince you not to come to me.”

“I won’t listen.”

“She doesn’t like me,” he mumbled, sounding like a petulant child. “She thinks I’m rude.”

I started to giggle. Tilting my head back, I grinned up at him. “You are—at least with her.”

“She is with me, too,” he pointed out, with a small smile tugging on his mouth.

“Well, the two of you need to get over it.”

“Get over it?”

“I love you both. You have to learn to coexist.”

I heard the back door open and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, as Zachary’s gaze shot daggers her way. I could only imagine the looks she was shooting back.

His face softened as he looked back at me. “Only for you.”

I pulled his head down and kissed him. “I’ll be over soon.”

His gaze flickered to her again. His voice was worried. “Promise?”

My hands tightened on his face. “Yes.”

He tucked his cell phone into my hand. “I’ll find yours and charge it. Call me if you need me and when you’re coming over. We’ll meet you on the beach.”

“Okay. “

He climbed into his SUV, still looking worried, and I tapped on the window, leaning in. “Thank you again for the journals. I love them.”

His face relaxed a little and he tugged me to his mouth, kissing me, hard and fast, with so much passion I was breathless.

“I love you,” he murmured against my lips.

With one last glare thrown at Karen, he drove away.

We shared a look before she turned and went inside.

I squared my shoulders, and followed her, preparing for another heavy conversation.20MeganWhen I entered the house, Karen was busy making coffee, our usual beverage when we talked. I grabbed the mugs and cream, then sat down at the table and waited for her. She was quiet as she brought over the coffee; the only sound in the kitchen was the clinking of metal hitting the side of the mugs as we stirred in our cream and sugar.

Taking in a deep breath, I met her eyes over the rim of my mug, preparing myself for her ire. Instead, a deep sadness met my gaze as she spoke. “Were you even going to tell me, Megan?”

I set my mug down and reached for her hand. “Of course I was!”

“How?” she asked quietly. “How on earth did you meet Zachary and become—?” She paused. “I don’t even know what you are. Lovers?”

I sighed. “We’re together, Karen. I love him.”

“You love him?” She gaped at me. “I don’t understand. You’ve only been here a short time. How did you even meet him? Get close to him? I’ve been coming here for three years, and I’ve only seen him a few times.” She shook her head. “And the few unfortunate times we’ve been in each other’s company, hasn’t been pleasant.”

“He mentioned that to me.”

“You talked about that?”

“We talk about a lot of things.”

She took a drink of her coffee, her nails tapping the porcelain impatiently. “Chris likes him. He says he’s a smart man. Lonely. They play chess sometimes.”

“I know.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What else do you know, Megan?”

I rolled my eyes. “We’re still pretty new, Karen. So just like any other couple, we’re still discovering each other. I know about his past, he knows about mine.”

“He knows about Jared?”

I nodded, grimacing. I hated hearing his name. “I told him.”

“How did you meet?”

I filled our cups and stood up, restless. Walking around the room, my gaze automatically went to the beach. “Out there,” I pointed. “He was out with Elliott, who had made friends with Dixie the day before. I introduced myself.”

“I bet he was his usual charming self,” she stated dryly.

I shrugged. “It’s a defense mechanism.”

“It works.”

I turned and faced her, my hand tightening on the handle of my mug. “He uses it to keep people away. You’re as rude to him as he is to you. Stop judging him, Karen, or I’ll stop talking.”

My tone seemed to surprise her. She stared at me and held out her hand. “I’m sorry. He rubs me the wrong way for some reason, and frankly, today has been a bit of a shock to say the least.”

I sat back down, squeezing her hand. “All of this has been a shock to me.”

“Can you tell me?”

For the next hour, I talked. She listened, frowned on occasion, or muttered a profane name about Zachary under her breath, but she didn’t interrupt. I was honest and told her everything, until I got to his past. That was his story and I wasn’t comfortable sharing his history with her. I trusted her, but it still wasn’t my story to tell.

“Chris has a couple of Zachary’s paintings in his office. He says they remind him of this place and help him relax on bad days.”

“They would. He captures the feelings so vividly on canvas.”

“He isn’t very good at expressing feelings to people.”