Beneath the Scars (26 page)

“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.

Stepping into the living area, I smiled at the three of them. Zachary was on his knees, both Dixie and Elliott soaking up the attention as he stroked and talked to them. He glanced up, the warm look in his eyes causing my throat to tighten as we stared. He stood, placing a large bag on the sofa, then slipped his hand around my neck, bringing my face close to his. His breath, sweet and minty washed over my face as he lowered his mouth to mine. “Hello.”

“Hi,” I whispered.

His lips were gentle as they brushed over mine. His fingers tangled in my hair, holding me close as we kissed. It was soft and light; a greeting that said
I missed you—I’m happy you’re here
. Drawing back, his lips grazed my forehead. “Almost done?”

“I still have the last load of laundry to finish. Did you get all your errands accomplished?”

He nodded, his grin actually reaching his eyes, lighting them a bright blue. “Yep. Dinner and everything.” He paused, the grin fading. “I was going to get you some soup—from that café you like.” He swallowed, as his fingers moved faster on my neck. “I tried, Megan. I parked in front of the café and I looked in the window. I even shut off the engine.” His eyes glanced everywhere except at me. “But I couldn’t go in.”

The sadness in his voice pierced my heart. He tried—for me.

“Hey,” I called softly. I waited until his eyes, now serious, met mine. “You tried, Zachary. That’s amazing. Maybe next time we can try again, together, yes? Or maybe start smaller—like a walk in the park.” I cupped his cheek, stroking his scars as tenderly as I could, letting him relax into my touch. “Thank you for doing that.”

“But I failed.”

“You tried. That’s all that matters. You tried for me. You didn’t fail. I love you for doing that.”

He clasped me into his arms, holding me close. “I love you,” he murmured.

I held him tight, pure happiness radiating through me at his words. “I love you, too.”

“Why don’t you take the dogs and head back. I’ll be there in a while.”

“I’d rather wait for you.”

“Okay. It’s so beautiful out—how about we let them run on the beach while this last load is going?”

He nodded and we headed toward the door. I picked up my jacket, lifting the bag Zachary had left on the sofa, surprised at how heavy it was. “What’s this?”

He stopped, staring at the bag. He took it from my hands without a word. Twice he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. I noticed the tips of his ears turn a deep red again—a sure sign of embarrassment for him. What was in the bag that would cause such a reaction?

“Some new books, Zachary?” I asked, trying to get him to explain.

“Sort of,” he mumbled, his ears darkening further.

Now I was really intrigued. If he didn’t want me to see them, why did he bring them in? I poked him in the side, my tone teasing. “Were you just putting on a front with the whole ‘suspense-thriller sort of guy thing’? Did you order some of my romance books online?”

His eyes snapped up as he shook his head furiously side to side. He shoved the bag at my chest. “It’s for you.”

“What?”

“I bought them for you.”

My smile faded. “You bought me a gift?”

His lips thinned, and he started talking so fast, the words were running together. “I saw them. Ashley had them. She just got them in. They were pretty. I mean nice. Well, she said pretty. I thought maybe you could use them. Maybe if the words found you again, you’d want a place to put them. So I bought them. For you. Yeah. A gift.” He paused. “I’ve never bought anyone a gift—ever.” He looked at the bag again, pulling it back a little. “Should I have wrapped them? Ashley offered, but I said no. It wasn’t your birthday so I didn’t think I should. Was that wrong?
Fuck
. Maybe it is your birthday? I don’t even fucking know that.” His eyes widened in panic. “Is it your birthday, Megan?”

I gaped at him a little over his unusual rambling as I began to understand. He bought me a gift—something he’d never done, and now he was nervous about giving it to me—beyond nervous. It was the sweetest, most touching thing I’d ever seen. I blinked at the moisture in my eyes as I pried the bag from his hands. “No it’s not my birthday, Zachary. It’s in June.”

“Okay, then.” He pushed the bag at me. “I hope you like them.”

“I will.”

“You haven’t looked yet.”

“You bought them for me so I’ll love them, whatever they are.” I leaned closer, kissing his cheek. “Thank you.”

His smile was shy and his ears got redder. Reaching up, I ran my finger over the inflamed skin. “I’m not the only one with ear issues,” I teased. “I never saw this until I cut your hair.”

He swatted my hand away, but he was still smiling. “Open your gift,” he commanded.

I sat down and lifted the heavy items out of the bag, gasping in delight.

Journals.

Thick, embossed leather-bound journals, all encased in a heavy black box. Five in total, all different colors: forest green, rich, deep red, a warm, golden yellow, the richest blue and a vivid purple completed the set. The paper was heavy and rich under my fingers, lightly lined, with an intricate border on each page. A lovely, matching satin ribbon bookmark edged in pewter was attached to each of them. I stared, speechless, at the thoughtful, decadent gift. Zachary was trying to give me back the gift of writing. A place to put my words if they came back. He knew the computer wasn’t what I needed. These lovely journals were.

I lifted my eyes to his anxious gaze. My damaged, beautiful, scarred, worried man. A man, who felt he had nothing to offer another person, yet with one caring gesture, proved he had everything to give and more.

Reaching in his shirt pocket, he pulled out a package, his hand shaking with nerves. “Ashley said these pens were very good, and you’d like the way they wrote on that paper.” He nodded to the journals and cleared his throat. “If, ah, you don’t like them you can exchange them for something else.”

I shook my head, letting the tears fall. “They’re perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“They’re the most perfect gift I’ve ever received.”

Zachary shook his head, his fingers wiping away the tears. “Don’t cry, Megan.” He sighed. “I hate it when you cry. It makes me feel…strange.”

“Strange?”

“Your feelings make me feel odd. I’m not used to feeling anything for another person. For caring how they feel about something.”

I wrapped my hand around his. “It’s called love, Zachary. When you love someone you feel their pain and joy. You become part of it—of them.”

“I only want you happy.”

“I am.”

“But you’re crying.”

I sat the heavy books on the table and cupped his face. “Your gift touched me. I love it. I love you.”

He yanked me flush to him, his mouth hard on mine. Winding my hands into his hair I dragged him closer, my passion matching his. He pressed me back, my body falling onto the sofa with him on top, a mass of entwined limbs and pressing lips. I was on fire for him, arching into his warmth, wanting closer. Zachary’s hands slipped under my shirt, caressing my back, moving and stroking, making me moan with want for him. Everything faded away except his nearness. I needed to feel more of him, be closer, taste him more.

Until a voice startled us both.

“Whose truck is that in the driveway, Megan?” The voice turned horrified. “What the hell is going on?”