by Jess Dee
Zachary closed his eyes and fought the weakness that claimed his limbs. It took long seconds, long minutes maybe, before his arms finally steadied and his legs solidified. But his shock did not wear off. Pain tore at his stomach, and he wrapped his arm around his waist, uselessly trying to ward it off.
Plagued by what he’d seen, and lacking the lung capacity to express his horror, Zachary rolled his hands into fists and without turning around, slammed them, once, twice, twenty times, into the wall behind him.
Eve did not hang around to watch Zachary beat the walls in disgust. Still dripping from the shower, she tugged the first thing she saw from her suitcase—a sundress that fell down to her knees—threw it on, grabbed her keycard and escaped.
Got the hell out of that hotel room, and ran as far and as fast as she could. She raced down the corridor and didn’t bother with the elevator, finding the stairs instead and tearing down them, taking them two or three at a time.
She charged through the lobby and rammed through the doors of the hotel. Flashes of light blinded her, but Eve paid them no heed. Barefoot and desperate, she sprinted away.
Voices called her name. More lights flashed, but she left them behind quickly. Someone might have followed her. There were footsteps for a while, mimicking hers, but she just ran faster until the rhythmic thud behind her ceased.
Stones and pebbles sliced into the soles of her feet. She didn’t care. A few more scars could hardly hurt her now. She stopped running only when she reached the beach, and then only when she found a protective alcove of rocks to huddle beside.
God knew it wasn’t safe, a woman alone on the beach at this time, but Eve was already damaged. There was nothing that could damage her more.
Twice she’d been rejected after revealing her face to the men she’d thought she might have a future with, and both times the disappointment had crushed her.
But neither of them had taken one look at her scars and been repulsed enough to turn white. Neither of them had clutched their stomachs and pounded the wall in abject horror.
Zachary Pace, with all his vows of love and affection, all his talk of fate and future, had done what no one else before him had done. Been too nauseated by her face to even look at her. He’d closed his eyes and shut her out—completely.
Chapter Fourteen
Bree stood in her kitchen trying to get Eve to eat something. After helping her bathe and bandage her feet, she’d set toast and jam on a plate in front of her, cereal with milk, scrambled eggs and finally, in sheer desperation, leftover birthday cake.
Same with the drinks. There were glasses of water and orange juice, a mug of coffee and a cup of tea, all sitting beside a bottle of red wine.
Eve’s stomach turned at the idea of putting anything in it.
She knew she looked terrible. Frightening even. The early-morning jogger who’d lent her his mobile phone had tried not to gawk but failed miserably.
Bree had pulled up beside her fifteen minutes later, bundled her into the car and taken Eve back to the house. It had taken a while, but finally Eve choked out the full story, telling Bree everything.
Her sister’s face still shone with murderous rage.
“Can you get a message to the hotel, Bree?”
“Of course. I can do anything you need me to.”
“Phone them and ask to speak to Delilah Young. If they put you through, great. If not, just leave a message.” They wouldn’t put her through. The hotels had strict instructions to take messages for the band members, not connect the calls.
“And the message is?”
“Tell her I’ll meet them in Adelaide, at the arena. I’ll be there in time to do makeup.”
Bree stared at her. “You’re not going back, are you?”
“I have to. I signed up for a six-month tour. I have a professional obligation. Can’t back out now.”
“Er, yeah, you can. You can back the hell out, and no one will call you on it. Not a single person.”
“My…problem is with Zachary. Jonah.” Her chest closed at the mention of his name. “Not Delilah and Devine. They’ve been nothing but lovely to me.”
“They’re part of Speed, Evie. Part of Jonah’s band. You don’t have to go back. Not after what that bastard did to you.”
“I spent the first few days of the tour without any contact with him. It won’t be hard to avoid him for the rest of it.”
“You can’t evade a man for six months.”
“I won’t need to.” Eve shrugged, a world of pain in that small movement. “He’ll be dodging me like the plague.”
Bree’s hands curled into fists. She let rip with a few choice expletives that made Eve snort.
“Look, Mum.” Hannah’s excited voice echoed through from the lounge room. “Aunty Evie’s on the telly again.”
“Oh, fuck.” Bree gave voice to Eve’s thoughts.
Limbs heavy, she made her way to the TV.
“Jonah Speed’s latest love interest, Bali bomb survivor, Eve Andrews, was seen tearing out of her hotel late last night, looking none too happy.”
And there she was, racing from the hotel lobby, her mangled, tragic face visible to the whole world.
The reporter kept on speaking as images of Eve flashed across the screen. Pictures of her just after the attacks, her face and chest swathed in bandages. Images of her and Bree leaving the hospital arm in arm, a shot of Lochie’s funeral, the video footage of her and Zachary kissing, then pictures of them talking backstage at the concert last night.
And then back to her fleeing the hotel, cameras closing in on her back as she raced down the street.
She didn’t hear what the reporter said. Didn’t listen. She didn’t want to know. Whether it was the truth or not, Eve’s injuries—both her physical and emotional ones—had just been revealed to the entire world. Again.
Suddenly weary to the bone, Eve collapsed onto the couch. Devastation and lack of sleep overwhelmed her. She couldn’t keep her eyes open. Didn’t want to. Didn’t want to think, not for one more second, about Zachary Pace.
Bree hoisted her up, helped her to the spare room and tucked her into bed. Eve was asleep before Bree had closed the blinds.
When she opened her eyes later that afternoon, she felt no better. Exhaustion still dogged her, and her body ached as though she’d been hit by a truck. She threw the covers off, made her way to the bathroom, and once there, took the time to run a comb through her hair, a toothbrush over her teeth and a facecloth over her face.
She didn’t bother with makeup. No amount of preening would make her feel better. And besides, Eve wasn’t in the mood for covering up her scars. Not today. She didn’t even wince when she looked in the mirror. They were a part of her. It was time to accept that.
Looking and feeling a mess, she went in search of her sister.
She didn’t find her. What she did find, looking almost as bad as she felt, was Zachary. He sat on the couch she’d collapsed into earlier, his face as pale as hers.
His hair was a mess, and a smudge of blood had dried beneath his nose. He looked at her through one eye. The other was an angry red and in the process of swelling shut.
She blinked, looked at him again, just to be sure it really was him sitting there, then turned her back and walked to the kitchen.
Her stomach still wasn’t ready to accept food. If anything, it felt worse now, after seeing Zachary, than it had earlier. But her throat was parched, her mouth dry, and the orange juice she’d refused before now seemed very appealing.
Frankly, anything seemed appealing, as long as it was in another room, far away from him.
Her arms trembled as she poured the juice, and she had to lift the glass with two hands to ensure she didn’t spill any of it. The drink was cool as it slid down her throat, and the tart sweetness washed away the bitter taste in her mouth.
Zachary followed her to the kitchen without a word. He didn’t follow her inside, just leaned against the doorpost, grateful for its support.
She was okay. Unharmed and okay.
For the first time since he’d seen her real face, Zachary felt a measure of peace.
“I thought I’d never see you again.” He suspected anything louder than a whisper would startle her. Or maybe startle him. “You vanished so completely, I couldn’t find you.” He’d searched, frantically. Had every bodyguard and member of hotel security searching for her too. They’d scoured the hotel and marina, checked every road in a five-mile radius and come up empty.
Eve did not acknowledge his comment in any way.
“I-I thought something terrible had happened to you.” Something terrible had happened to her. “And when…when there was no sign of you, anywhere… The fear…” Jesus, it had almost crippled him.
Eve poured herself another glass of juice and drank it down.
“We looked everywhere, Tiny.” Everywhere. And doing it without the paparazzi noticing had been impossible.
“I headed over here at first light.” The phone call in the middle of the night had proved fruitless—and had scared the living shit out of Bree. She’d hung up on him when he’d told her why Eve had run.
Eve placed the bottle back in the fridge, closed it and walked over to the sink. She didn’t turn to look at him, and she didn’t respond to his words.
“Your sister tried to run me over as she left the house to get you.” He almost snorted at the memory. She’d been climbing into her car as he’d approached, and when she saw him, she’d gunned the engine and reversed out of her garage so fast, Zachary had been forced to jump clear of her bumper. “She very nearly succeeded.”
Eve washed her glass and set it on the stand to dry.
“Anthony wasn’t quite as aggressive. He just ordered my ass off his property and told me never to blacken it again.”
She stared out the window, then stepped back, shaking her head in disgust, obviously noticing the crowd that had gathered outside: news vans, photographers and reporters holding mics. They’d followed him here the second time around.
Maybe one day she’d get used to it. He hoped to God she would, because if she stayed with him, she’d be hounded by them continually.
“I left. But only because I knew you’d be in good hands. And only long enough to get back to the hotel and call off the search. Then I came back.” With Brayden and Jake, at Luke’s insistence. “To get you.”
But neither Bree nor Anthony would let him anywhere near the front door, and he’d been forced to sit in the car with the bodyguards, biding his time. Forced to ignore the constant knocking on the window from the story-hungry reporters who’d followed him here. Forced to drive around the block a hundred times over.
A few hours later, after Anthony had gone to work and Bree was playing with Hannah in the yard, pretending the media wasn’t shadowing her house, Zachary had approached her again.
He’d hadn’t see her fist coming. It had slammed into his eye before he’d realized she’d thrown a punch. The second fist had landed on his nose, and the third in his stomach.
Apparently Bree had lied when she’d threatened to kill him slowly if he ever hurt Eve. There was nothing slow about the speed of her car or her punches.
Only he’d never meant to hurt Eve, hadn’t done it intentionally, and it had taken some fast talking to prove as much to Bree. “I had to convince your sister I wasn’t here to hurt you again. Had to swear on my brothers’ lives. She wouldn’t let me near you.” As the press had taken great delight in showing the world, over and over again.
Hannah giggled every time a news report showed Bree giving him a bloody nose.
“Where is my sister?” Eve asked. She sounded so…detached.
“She left. About thirty minutes ago. Took Hannah to a swimming lesson.” Christ, he wished Eve would turn around, acknowledge him.
“And left you alone with me? Interesting. Did she leave a bowl as well?”
“A bowl?”
“In case you throw up at the sight of me. I’d hate for you to dirty Bree’s floor.”
Her barb hurt worse then Bree’s punches. Way worse. “I guess I deserved that.”
Eve shrugged. “Whatever. Could you leave, please? Tell Delilah and Devine I’ll see them in Adelaide tomorrow night.”
“I can’t. They’re already in Adelaide.” Or they were on the plane at any rate.
“Then you’d better hurry up and go join the band. It won’t do for Jonah to be split up from Speed.”
Jesus, he couldn’t stand the iciness in her demeanor. It made him crazy. “Were you ever going to tell me, Eve? Ever going to show me your scars voluntarily? Or were you just going to let me go on believing the only part of you that had been injured was your chest?”
“Go away, Zachary. I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t want to discuss my scars, and let me be perfectly clear, I sure as hell do not want to discuss my scars with you.”
“Ah, so it’s fine for you to put me on the spot. Fine for you to ask the questions I don’t want to answer. But God forbid you should have to tackle the difficult ones.”
“Fuck you, Zachary.”
“No, Eve. Fuck you. For keeping that from me. For holding back such a vital piece of information about yourself. You fucking stripped me bare. Made me come clean with every sordid detail of my past.” His face burned, the anger and the rage erupting to the surface. “Oh, I’m sorry, Zachary,” he mimicked. “It’s none of my business seeing inside your head, Zachary. I shouldn’t have brought that up, Zachary. But damn it, you went there anyway. Wherever it was, you just zoned right in and fucking demanded answers. Demanded the truth.”
He was shouting and had to force himself to modulate his voice. Not for Eve though. There was no way was he sharing this with every fucking news reporter in Australia. “What gives you the right to look into my life, to expose my soul and then refuse to expose yours in return?”
“Oh, so it’s my fault? I’m the one to blame? That’s rich, Pace. Just fucking priceless. You profess to love me, profess to have waited your whole life to meet me, and when you finally do meet me, when you finally get to see the real me, the real Eve Andrews, not the mask I show the world, you can’t fucking handle it.” She grabbed the closest thing to her, a plastic container sitting on the drying rack by the sink and flung it at him, hard.
The Tupperware hurtled through the air, hit him on the head and dropped to the ground.
He winced. Fuck! How could plastic hurt so much?
“Pick it up, Zachary. Hold it in front of you, so the next time the sight of my face makes you want to be sick, you’ll be prepared.” She turned to glare at him, hands on her hips, eyes blazing.
The scars on her face stood out, pink against her red cheeks. He couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t tear his gaze away.
“I’m hideous. I know. Grotesque. Repulsive. A freak, a monster. An abomination.” She counted the words off on her fingers. “I’ve been called them all. Doesn’t matter how many treatments I’ve had to make the scars less obvious, I still can’t hide them. Can’t avoid them. So don’t be shy. Add your descriptions to the list. Believe me, the name-calling hurts a lot less than watching the man I love close his eyes so he won’t have to tolerate the sight of me.”
“You think I reacted like I did because I find you repulsive?” He moved on instinct, hadn’t even realized he’d left the support of the doorframe until his hands were wrapped around her arms. “You think I think you’re…a…monster?” The very description made him want to be sick.
“I don’t think. I know.” She pulled her arms back, tried to yank them from his grip, but he refused to let go. Hell, he was never letting go of her again.
She howled in frustration, yanked harder and then gave up, panting. “When the man who’s just fucked you senseless reels at the sight of you, it’s a dead giveaway.”
Zachary saw red. “Okay, we are going to get one thing straight. You’re going to stop fighting me, stop yelling at me, and you’re going to listen.”
She di
dn’t stop, just kept thrashing her arms, trying to get free.
In sheer desperation, Zachary marched her backward to the fridge, pinned her against it and held her in place with his own body, his flush against hers.
“I don’t think you’re a freak, a monster, an abomination or any of those other…foul words you used to describe yourself. I don’t think it now, and I didn’t think it last night. You are not grotesque and you are not repulsive. But if you think I could have seen your real face for the first time and not reacted, then you badly misjudged me.”
“I did not misj—”
He pushed his body against her harder, squashing her chest. She needed only enough air to breathe, not to talk. Because if she spoke, if she argued, she wouldn’t hear him, and damn it, he needed her to hear him.
“I did not close my eyes because I found you…grotesque. Not even close. I closed them because I was shocked. I had no fucking idea. And no fucking preparation for what I saw. I thought I knew you, Eve. Thought I knew what you looked like—as you and as her.” The redhead. “I had no fucking clue that window had damaged your face. No idea the explosion wounded more of you than the one scar you did reveal.”
Eve gasped as if she couldn’t breathe, and Zachary backed off, took a step away, leaving her standing against the fridge. He shoved a hand through his hair. “When you first told me about…about the bomb, I’d never felt so powerless, never been less able to protect the woman I loved. I wanted to hurt someone. Wanted to injure the people who’d done this to you. But then last night… Last night when I realized just how…how extensive your injuries were, I was gutted. For you, Tiny. I couldn’t comprehend how you’d endured such…violence, such hatred. Such pain. How you’d borne those scars and lived with them.”
His chest heaved, filled with pain and impotence and desperation. “The part that knocked me flat was how fucking much you must have hurt. How fucking long it must have taken you to recover, and how fucking unfair life could be. And I was mad too. Mad that anyone could do that to you. It hurt…me.” And if it had hurt him, he could only imagine what it had done to her. “Felt like someone was poking my stomach with a burning stake. The impotence, the anger, the injustice. All of it. Except you, Eve. You don’t… You could never repulse me.”