Beneath the Scars (15 page)

She gazed over at the painting. “I remember the day I met him. He was sitting on a bench in the park, the entire place deserted. It was overcast and gray, far too miserable for anyone to be out, yet there we were, him sketching and me out driving myself around in my electric wheelchair, like I do when I’m restless.” She smiled up at me. “As you can imagine, he wasn’t very happy to see me, nor was he very friendly.”

I nodded, not speaking. I didn’t want to interrupt her and have her stop talking. I wanted to know as much about Zachary as I could.

“At first, aside from an abrupt hello, he refused to talk to me, or even let me see what he was doing.” She laughed softly as she shared her memory. “But then I leaned over and grabbed his sketchbook out of his hand.” Her voice became quiet. “He saw my scars…and for the first time, met my eyes.”

“And?” I breathed.

“What do you see when you look in his eyes?”

“Pain, anger,” I whispered. “Fear.”

“That is what I saw as well, but I didn’t give up. I kept talking to him until he started talking back.” She smiled as she recalled pushing him. “I think he was torn. He was so used to being angry and alone—”

“But so lonely,” I added. I felt his loneliness. I felt the fear he hid beneath his anger.

“Yes. Our, ah, scars were something we had in common. He felt safe with me, knowing I wasn’t judging him and was able to open up a little. We became friends, or at least what I would call friends—I’m not sure Zachary thinks himself worthy of being called a friend to anyone. Eventually he showed me his paintings and I convinced him to let us sell them.”

“Keeping his identity private.”

“Always.” Her eyes narrowed; her voice firm. “He surprised me today when he told me you were with him.”

“I’m still rather surprised, too. We didn’t exactly start off on the best foot.”

Her laughter rang out again. “One seldom does with Zachary.” She paused, a knowing look on her face. “Today there was something different when he mentioned your name, though, something new in his eyes, something besides pain. His smile actually reached his eyes.”

I beamed at her words. I wanted to replace some of his pain. I wanted to be the reason he smiled. Somehow, he also helped to ease mine.

The door opened and Jonathon walked out, Zachary following him. He glanced around, swallowing hard as he lifted up the collar of his coat in an unconscious effort of hiding himself. His eyes found mine and he frowned a little, seeing Ashley and I together. I smiled reassuringly at him, and he seemed to relax. He shook Jonathon’s hand and came over to where I was standing. “Scaring her away?” he murmured to Ashley, being sure to keep his back to the few people still milling around the gallery.

She laughed up at him. “If you haven’t done that by now, I doubt anything I say can, my dear.”

Our eyes met, his filled with trepidation. Without thinking, I reached for his hand. His grip was tight as he clasped mine. I shook my head a little at his words. “No,” I offered quietly. “Not happening.”

He squeezed my hand, his expression now one of warmth.

“
Tempest
is leaving us, Zachary?” Ashley asked with a frown.

Surprised, I watched Jonathon removing my beloved painting from the wall. I glanced at Zachary, but he only shrugged and nodded.

“Yes. I want it at home now. I left some new ones to sell and another display one for you.”

“Have I seen it?”

“No.”

“Is it good?”

He snickered dryly. “I’ll let you decide that, Ashley.”

I smiled, watching him interact with her. She didn’t try to be anything but herself with him, and that was exactly what he needed. He glanced at me, lifting my hand and kissing it. “Ready to go?”

Ashley smirked at his gesture and wheeled away, chuckling.

I nodded, wondering how he would feel if I told him I was ready to go anywhere with him.

All he had to do was ask.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Zachary surprised me with his humor as he readjusted the driver’s seat and mirrors, muttering about short legs and midgets driving his “SUV.” His sidelong glance and ill-suppressed smile made me giggle at his unexpected actions. When he voluntarily covered my hand with his, on the drive back, my heart fluttered in my chest and I resisted the urge to cover his scarred flesh with my other hand. The unconscious gesture on his part meant too much for me to push things.

We were quiet on the drive, the silence not uncomfortable, as I watched the scenery speed by the window. The flashes of ocean and open spaces were mesmerizing, and I lost myself to the images. As we approached the long private road that led to the houses, though, Zachary lifted his hand, wrapping it around the steering wheel. Tension emitted from his body, and a quick glance showed me the frown that was now marring his face. Unsure why he seemed upset, I remained silent.

I became even more confused when he pulled up behind my car and cut the engine, his posture stiff.

What now? Was he dropping me off and leaving? Should I ask him?

I swallowed, my throat feeling tight. I didn’t understand this need to stay with him, but I knew I didn’t want to walk away from him. The idea alone was painful.

Zachary cleared his throat, his voice low. “I can wait,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“While you get some things… If you want to come back with me,” he stated gruffly. “Or I’ll bring Dixie back to you later when I take Elliott for his walk.” He paused, his hands twisting and gripping the steering wheel. "Whatever you are, um, comfortable with. Whatever you want.” His eyes remained locked straight ahead, and I realized he was waiting for me to make the decision.

He thought I would walk away.

I unclipped the seat belt and edged closer to him, slowly settling my hand over top of his on the steering wheel, making sure my touch was gentle. “I want to stay with you,” I whispered.

Some of the tension left his shoulders as he glanced at me, relief and surprise in his eyes. I smiled at him, wishing I could make him understand how much I wanted to be with him. “I want to come back to your home with you.”

“Okay then.” He nodded, a deep breath leaving his chest. “I’ll wait here.”

“I can get a few things and walk over.”

“With your track record of the stairs leading up to my house, I think I’ll wait,” he deadpanned, then turned his head and winked at me.

Winked.

Zachary winked at me again, while teasing me. That was twice today.

I liked that side of Zachary—very much.

Pushing up on the console separating us, I grazed my lips across his cheek. I was thrilled when he didn’t pull away or tense up but, instead, leaned into my caress.

“Thank you,” I breathed into his skin.

He turned his head, slipping his hand around the nape of my neck, holding me close as he kissed me. His lips were gentle and warm on mine, and he tasted of the peppermints he loved. He slowly deepened the kiss, cradling my head, his fingers caressing my skin as he held me close. I felt his smile against my mouth as I shivered from his warm touch. His eyes were dark when he pulled back, breathing heavy.

I liked this side of Zachary, too.

“Thank
you.
” He smirked, tapping the end of my nose. “Now go get your stuff.”

We were greeted with great enthusiasm when we returned, happy barks and excited chuffs coming from both pets. I picked up Dixie, nuzzling her little head as I stroked Elliott’s much larger one. Zachary carried in some bags, and once I put Dixie down, I helped him unload the groceries including what I bought. Zachary’s good mood seemed to have returned. He teased me about the cream for my coffee; said I was spoiling the flavor by adding anything to the brew that he drank black. He grimaced in mock disgust when I confessed to also adding sugar. He joked about the food I had purchased, since most of it consisted of snacks like popcorn and ice cream. He shook his head at the large bottle of corn syrup, but didn’t ask as he shoved it into the cupboard. When he went out to get the supplies he picked up at the gallery and bring in the painting, I heated up some soup and then we ate in relative silence, both dogs watching our every move.

“I’ll take them for a walk,” I offered. “I’m sure you have things you need to do.”

“Yeah, I do. I want to set up some canvases and shift a few things around up there. Let them run on the beach. I’ll join you soon.”

“All right.”

He disappeared upstairs, as I grabbed my jacket off the sofa, pausing when my eyes landed on the
Tempest
painting he’d brought home with us. Even leaning on the wall it was powerful—the imagery, once again, capturing my attention. I traced the initials in the corner—the
Z D A
so strongly etched into the canvas. Adams, he had told me when I asked. Zachary Dennis Adams. I thought the strong name suited him, and he had grinned shyly when I told him so. Smiling, I shrugged on my coat. There were so many sides of Zachary I hadn’t seen yet, but I found the more I discovered, the more I liked him.

It was bright out on the sand as I strolled along, the dogs running and chasing each other around. My ankle felt much better today, thanks to Zachary’s ministrations. The sound of waves crashing on the rocks was peaceful; the sky was clear above me, the scent of ocean rich and pungent in my nose. With a grin, I toed off my sneakers, yanked off my socks, and rolled up my pant legs. Hesitantly, I walked into the surf, allowing only the smallest ripples of water to cover my feet, gasping at the icy cold. How on earth Zachary strode through the water daily without it affecting him, I had no idea. I backed up away from the surf and kept walking, trying to get used to the temperature of the icy sand. My blue-painted toenails looked pretty beside the wet granules though; they matched the ocean. I breathed in deep, feeling relaxed and content. I didn’t know what was happening later today, or tomorrow even, in regards to Zachary, but at the moment, I was happy and I was strangely okay with that.

All my life I had done what I
should
do, what I was expected to do—always what was right. I went to school, got a job, paid my bills, acted like a responsible adult. My writing was always a dream and I never let it interfere with what I was
supposed
to do. I put everything else first, and what did it get me? No job, no book, just a lot of grief. I trusted someone I thought cared about me and he let me down, hurting me on every imaginable level.

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.”