Beneath the Scars

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?”

“If not, I’m only down the beach. You can come find me.” I met his gaze. “I’ll be waiting.”

His chest heaved as he let out a long rush of air. “Okay.”

“Okay.”* * *I groaned in frustration at the number of emails from Jared. I was sure they were full of staged, empty pleas and more veiled threats about me withdrawing my claim that his work was in any way connected to me. I had changed my cell number a few days prior to leaving Boston, so his emails had become more frequent, and more bothersome. My head sunk to my chest, too heavy to hold up anymore. I had to do something and end this situation…for good. I couldn’t fight him without a huge cost I couldn’t afford, though. Especially, given the fact that through my own inane behavior, I had basically handed him the book on a platter and left myself with nothing to prove it was mine. The only choice, then, was to walk away.

I paced the room, my mind racing. Two years I had spent writing that story. Was I ready to give it up and let him have it? Knowing it would be published under another name and allow that scumbag to take credit for my work? The thought made my hands clench and my stomach churn.

Karen and Chris had offered me the money to fight this battle, but I couldn’t take it knowing the chances of me winning were slim to none. My parents were still off on their trip of a lifetime and had no idea what had happened. They had saved and scrimped all their life for this vacation and there was no way I was asking them to help. I knew, without a doubt, they would head home and help me in any way possible, but I refused to ask them. As much as I missed them, I wanted them to enjoy their well-deserved trip.

Which brought me to Zachary. I could ask him, even for a loan. I had no doubt he would give me the money. Standing at the window, I looked over the water that shone in the sunlight. I thought of what fighting Jared would entail: lawyers, court, investigations. I would have to go back to Boston for an undetermined amount of time and leave Zachary behind. Our relationship might come to light. His privacy would be invaded. The one thing he protected—above all else—the one thing that brought him some comfort in this world.

I couldn’t do that to him.

I could write another book, but I couldn’t replace Zachary. I wouldn’t risk losing him.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window and smiled as I lowered my hand. I was tugging on my ear again. I knew if he was here, he’d shake his head at me.

I sat back down at my computer, my decision made, and sent off an email to Bill. I added all of Jared’s emails into the file I had and quickly went through the others that were waiting. I read my mother’s long and newsy one, telling me all about their adventures in Europe. I answered it, filling the page with silly bits about Dixie and being at the beach, knowing she wouldn’t see it until they were back at some hotel on a break. They thought I was staying here to help Karen and do some more writing. They had no idea the real reason I was hiding out in Cliff’s Edge. Luckily, they were far away enough the story wouldn’t reach them. When they were home, a few months from now, I would tell them, but right now I remained quiet.

Using the house phone, I called Karen, but got her voice mail. I assured her I was fine and we would speak soon. I told her the ever-present storms seemed to have moved from the area, my head was clear and all was well. I hung up, hoping that would set her mind at ease.

I worked around the house, tidying. I mopped up the puddle marks, remade the bed, and pitched out the food that had gone bad since I’d been staying with Zachary. I was changing the laundry over when I heard the excited barks of the dogs and the door opening. I listened to Zachary greeting the dogs, the deep timbre of his voice filling the house. There was so much affection in his tone as he spoke, a gentleness he probably had no idea was even there, that permeated his voice when he spoke to them. It was also present when he spoke to me.