Beneath the Scars

by Melanie Moreland

  My heart thumped at his use of his endearment. I always felt so loved when he murmured it to me. His eyes were soft as he shut my door, never leaving mine as he walked around the vehicle and slid inside.

  A yawn escaped me as he settled beside me, inserting the key. “I have to pick up the stuff from Mrs. Cooper, then I’ll take you home.”

  I nodded, still amazed at how something so small, like a trip to the doctor, could tire me so much.

  I beamed when Zachary went inside the store, the picture still gripped in his hand, smiling proudly when he came out. There was no doubt he’d been showing it off to Mr. and Mrs. Cooper. I knew if he wasn’t so worried about taking me home to rest, he’d have gone to the gallery to show it to Ashley, as well. I knew a trip to see her would happen in the next couple days. I loved seeing how proud he was as he tucked the picture into his sun visor, glancing up at it often during the remainder of the drive.

  I frowned nervously when the SUV rolled to a stop by his back door.

  “What are you doing?”

  He stared straight ahead, his hands wrapped around the steering wheel. “Will you come inside with me, Megan?”

  I hesitated. I hadn’t been back to his house yet. There were so many memories there and Karen’s place was neutral ground for us. Zachary spent time in his home studio, while I worked on my book at Karen’s, happy when he would appear at some point. There were always warm kisses and gentle words of hello, and although I knew he hated to leave again, even for a few hours, he understood I needed time.

  However, maybe it was time to expand our world again.

  “Please,” he whispered, turning to me, his face and voice vulnerable. “I have something to show you.”

  I turned around in a circle in the upstairs bedroom, speechless. Zachary had renovated the room closest to his into a nursery. The once mocha-colored walls were now painted the softest blues and yellows. The heavy glass and metal desk and filing cabinet were gone, replaced by a simple maple crib, which was set up in the corner with a matching dresser and change table placed in close proximity. Right by the window, a large, cushioned rocking chair and table were nestled, waiting. I loved every piece in the room. “You can finish it with all the other stuff we need.” He spoke from the doorway, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “If you don’t like anything, we can return it.” He crossed the room and picked up a huge teddy bear from the rocking chair, holding it out to me. “I thought maybe the baby would like this.”

  “How—” I choked, my throat thick with emotion, as I reached for the bear, hugging it to my chest.

  “I wanted to surprise you. I chose these colors thinking they’d be good for a boy or a girl. I thought they were…soothing.”

  “I thought you were painting in your studio.”

  “This was more important.” He stepped forward, his voice wary. “I wanted to get this room done so if you decided—”

  “If I decided?”

  “To come back to me.” He drew in a deep breath. “If you decided to come back to me, I’d be ready; for both of you.” His warm hand cupped my cheek, brushing away the tears with his thumb. “Please come back to me. Give us a chance. ”

  “Zachary—”

  He shook his head interrupting me. “Please, sweetheart, listen to me. You told me Karen and Chris were coming down this weekend.”

  I nodded.

  “Come stay here with me. Please. At least try.”

  He indicated the room around us. “I want this to be our son’s room. Our…home.” He stepped closer. “I want you here with me, so it feels like home again, Megan.

  “I know we have a lot to work out, but I can’t stop thinking about you here. Being able to touch you anytime I want. Knowing you’re downstairs while I’m painting. Falling asleep with you.” His head fell to my shoulder. “I slept so well with you beside me.”

  I curled my fingers into the hair that fell over his collar. I felt a deep rumbling sigh in his chest. He lifted his gaze to mine, his eyes bright with emotion. “I want a life with you, Megan. In this house, or somewhere else, if that’s what you want. Wherever you want to be, I’ll follow—anywhere.”

  I knew what he was saying. If I went back to Boston, he’d give up his private life here, to be with me—to be with us. I blinked away fresh tears.

  “I want to stay here.”

  “With me?”

  The two small words were spoken with so much want. He showed his vulnerability in both his actions and words. He created this room for his child. He wanted me to stay with him.

  He was handing me his heart, unsure how I would receive it, and willing to take the chance of being rejected.

  Despite what happened, and the pain we’d both gone through, I still loved him.

  I would always love him.

  “With you.”

  Zachary’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ll take good care of you and our son. I won’t ever leave you again.” He stroked my cheek. “Nothing will ever take me away from you. I love you, Megan.”

  The feeling I’d been missing so much welled up inside me. It seeped into every molecule and settled deep into my skin, blooming and taking hold. The feeling of being complete.

  With Zachary I was complete.

  “I love you.”

  His smile was brilliant, and I gasped as he swooped me up into his arms.

  “Let’s go get your stuff.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  A light breeze pushed through the curtains, the gauzy fabric billowing in the air as I stepped out of the shower. I heard the sounds of laughter and barking, the noise drawing me to the window. Below, on the beach, was my favorite sight in the world. Zachary, tall and strong, standing ankle deep in the water, holding a small figure in his arms. Our son’s tiny fist clutched the material of Zachary’s shirt while his other hand gestured toward something in the water he wanted. I knew Matthew would be talking a mile a minute in his daddy’s ear, directing him to pick up whatever stone, seashell or piece of wood that had caught his eye.

  Sure enough, Zachary lowered Matthew down to the watery sand and bent low to capture whatever treasure from the sea our son had demanded. He crouched down, the two dark heads touching as Matthew crowed in delight at his find. Both heads were so similar you couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended. When he stood up, I chuckled. Even standing, they were alike. Both clad in jeans and long sleeved, white shirts, their pant legs rolled up, feet bare and submerged in the cool water. Like his father, Matthew loved how the water felt against his skin; I’d given up trying to keep shoes on his little feet and losing them to the surf as they got carried out to sea.

  Behind them, Dixie, Elliott, and Rex, our newly adopted dog, chased each other around on the sand, tails wagging, excited barks filling the air. After a minute, Matthew pushed his new find into Zachary’s hand for safe keeping and joined them in their game of tag. Soon his happy giggles were added as his favorite playmates welcomed him with enthusiasm. Not to be left out, Zachary joined the group and more laughter and shouts rang out from the beach.

  I rested my head to the glass and gazed on in wonderment. It never ceased to amaze me how Zachary had changed. Not even a shadow remained of the angry, bitter man I met on the beach over three years ago. The last of his former self had fallen away the day our son was born. His newfound joy was reflected in every aspect of his life. His paintings were filled with light, exploding with color and brilliance. His eyes only reflected trust and love when they met mine. His hair-trigger temper rarely ever showed and on the odd occasion it did, it burned itself out as fast as it ignited. There was a peace about him now, one that permeated every aspect of our life.

  Watching him with our son was wonderful. His patience and capacity for play was boundless, his desire to teach and encourage, endless. His favorite times were spent with his son beside him in the studio, tiny fingers clutching a brush that dabbed and jerked on the paper as Zachary praised and cheered him on. Many of Matthew’s “masterpieces”
hung on the walls all around the house. My parents and Auntie K were also gifted with many for their homes. The post office in Cliff’s Edge was well used to sending out tubular packages containing rolled up works of art, and greeted Zachary and Matthew with enthusiasm when they walked in.

  His all-encompassing love surrounded both of us. Coming from a man who insisted he never understood what love was, it was a rare gift.

  I ran my hand over my stomach in secret delight, knowing the news I could share with him today would be greeted with nothing but elation.

  The need to feel him close filled me, and I hurried to get ready and make my way downstairs to my boys. The aroma of coffee filled the kitchen, and wrinkling my nose, I hurried past it. The same as when I was pregnant with Matthew, coffee was my nemesis. My first clue I was pregnant again was when the scent had made me nauseous the other day. Zachary hadn’t yet noticed my aversion to coffee—but I didn’t drink anywhere near as much of it as he did.

  I stepped outside, inhaling the crisp air. Dixie spotted me right away, barking and racing toward the steps to greet me. In a synchronized move, two dark heads snapped my way, Matthew’s little hands waving frantically as if afraid I could miss spotting him. Zachary stood up, ruffling his hair, leaning down and speaking to him as he handed Matthew something from his pocket. Little legs pumped fast and I dropped to my knees to scoop up his warm little body. I peppered tiny kisses all over his sweet face and he giggled and squirmed trying to escape. “Look, Mommy!”

  Grinning, I held out my hand for the small rounded stone, admiring it before giving it back for his collection. “Is this a keeper?”

  He nodded with enthusiasm. “It has stwipes!”

  “Ah.” Stripes or multi-colored ones ranked high.

  He pushed off me, heading for the water. “Me get mo’e!”

  I laughed as he passed his father, exchanging a rather glancing high-five. The air caught in my throat as Zachary came closer, dropping beside me on the sand and covering my mouth with his.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” he breathed against my lips. “You look pretty this morning. Well-rested.”

  “You let me sleep.”

  “Hmmm. You were so tired last night, you didn’t even move when I came to bed.”

  “You should have woken me up.”

  “I tried,” he growled as his warm lips ghosted over my cheek, dropping soft kisses on my skin. “Am I losing my touch, woman?”

  I chuckled. “Your touch is as effective as ever.” I grinned up at him, placing his hand on my stomach. “Highly effective, I’d say.”

  For a second he frowned in confusion, then his eyes widened, his excited gaze flying to mine. Both hands spread across my stomach, his long fingers fisting the fabric. “Really?” he murmured. “Another baby?”

  “Well, I hope it’s a baby. Not an alien or anything. ‘Cause that would be hard to explain.”

  In an instant, I was in his arms, held tight to his chest. He buried his face into my neck and held me for a long moment, not saying anything. I felt his tears on my skin, warm and fast, as his emotions welled. I held him close, running my fingers along the back of his neck, giving him the time he needed to calm himself. I watched our son play with the dogs, smiling as I thought about this new little life joining him in a couple years.

  Zachary drew back, eyes damp, but filled with light. “I won’t miss any of it this time.”

  “No.”

  “Another child.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  “Aside from the fact coffee makes my stomach turn and feeling tired, yep.”

  “You went to the doctor?”

  “Yesterday.”

  He chuckled. “That was your errand?”

  “I wanted to make sure.”

  He ran his hands over my tummy, his voice anxious. “Everything is all right?”

  “Everything is perfect. You can come for the first ultrasound next time.”

  He kissed me again. “I like ultrasounds.”

  “I know.”

  “I guess we’d better pull back on the writing.”

  I chuckled as he settled behind me, drawing me into his arms. “I’m still capable of writing, Zachary. We’re almost done.”

  When Matthew was about a year old, Zachary told me he wanted to write his story. I was surprised, but pleased when he asked me if I’d help him. A few days later, I left a pile of heavy, black, leather-covered journals on the shelf in his studio and didn’t say another word. He would let me know when he was ready.

  Slowly, Zachary wrote his story. I never tried to push him, letting him set the pace. Sometimes weeks would pass until he picked up a pen. Other times, he wrote daily. His dark, bold script covered the pages of the journals. Some days he wrote on his own, bent over the kitchen table, his pen embedding the words so deeply onto the page you could feel the indents from the nib. Other days, his memories were lighter and the pages turned faster as the words poured out. The worst days were the ones he would sit, pulling me onto his lap as he spoke in low measured tones, while I recorded the pain and turmoil he allowed to escape. When it became too much, I would lay the book aside and wrap him in my arms, healing him the only way I knew how: with my love. That happened more as of late. He still found talking about what happened with Jared and our separation difficult. I knew, without a doubt, once he got past that part, he would be able to finish it himself. He wrote joy well.

  He settled behind me, drawing me into his arms, and tucking me under his chin. “We’ll take it as it comes.”

  I knew that was as far as we’d discuss it today, so I hummed in agreement. “Okay.”

  “Is it too soon to tell people?”

  “Maybe my parents, and Karen and Chris next time they’re down. Other people can wait a bit.”

  Karen and Zachary were still, to this day, restrained. They both accepted their place in my life and made great efforts to be cordial, but I knew they would never be close. They couldn’t see how similar they were, and still liked to argue over the most inane things, trading insults with each other until Chris or I stepped in. There were times I swore they did it on purpose, secretly enjoying riling each other up.

  Zachary and Chris were closer and spent many evenings bent over the chessboard; often with a curious Matthew disrupting their game. Some very unique forms of chess were played by the three of them.

  My parents supported me, having come to accept Zachary. They knew the whole story and it took them a while to warm to him, but they adored Matthew and visited when they could.

  Our world was still fairly isolated. Zachary was far more comfortable now, but still wary of strangers. We both knew once Matthew was older we would need to move closer to another town for him with school, but we both agreed our life was best in smaller, more remote places. The fallout from Jared’s stunt had been minimal, affecting our lives in the smallest sense. To be safe, Zachary installed a gate at the end of the road, protecting our privacy even further. He was relieved to discover he’d been gone from the spotlight long enough that the odd reporter who did surface, quickly moved on to newer, bigger stories when a lead to Adam Dennis didn’t pan out to much of anything. Slowly, the fears of his past ebbed from our life and we were able to move forward—together.

  My book had finally been published and was successful. My second book was now in the hands of editors and the outline of a third was taking shape in my head. Much like Zachary, I disliked the publicity side of my work and kept a very low profile. My publishers were pleased with the success of the books, and I still enjoyed the process. Although I had learned what made me happiest was the world I had here with Zachary and Matthew. My life with them fulfilled me like nothing else.

  I no longer wrote the stories out by hand—Zachary’s gift of an ultra-light laptop had ended that habit. It was far more productive to type out the words as they came to me, saving the document when a certain little boy would interrupt the process. It also gave me the protection for my work,
which, after all that happened with Jared, was a professional gift I treasured.

  Zachary had converted a small room on the third floor into an office for me. I would sit, tapping away at the computer, finding the same inspiration in the beautiful vista spread out before me as did Zachary. He had tucked my desk underneath a large window and built shelves around it, which held some of the treasures found by Matthew. They also contained countless journals—a never-ending gift from him. I never knew when a fresh one would appear on the shelf, waiting to be filled. Now they contained happy memories I wrote out of our life together. He loved reading through them and reliving those special times we shared as a family.

  Wrapped in Zachary’s arms, we watched our son playing in the low waves, picking up bits and pieces off the beach that the tide had deposited overnight; adding them to the small pile he’d started. We did this most days. Picking, sifting, sorting through his treasures, keeping only what he loved best, and putting it with the larger pile on the deck of the house.

  Zachary’s hands covered mine, resting on my stomach. His fingers continually traced the back of my hands, finally tapping out a steady rhythm on my ring finger. I glanced up at him, caught in the intensity of his stare.

  He lifted my hand, kissing my finger. “It’s time, Megan.”

  “Time?”

  “I want the mother of my children to share my name.” He tapped my finger again. “I want to put a ring on here and marry you.”

  “Oh,” I breathed. We’d never discussed marriage. Neither of us felt the need of a piece of paper to know we were a couple. Until it seemed, this moment.

  “Please. Live your life with me.” He paused and smiled softly. “Let me tell the world you’re mine.”

  His.

  I liked the idea of belonging to Zachary, and him to me.

  I drew his head down, pressing my lips to his. “Yes.”

  His arms tightened, his lips warm on mine. I could feel his wide smile against my mouth.

  A small shout broke us apart, as Matthew pointed to some new curiosity he saw just out of his short reach. “You’re being paged, Daddy.”