Deepest Scars: A Being Me Stand-Alone Companion Novel

by Tricia Copeland

  “Josie? This is about something Josie said?”

  “Do you even get how much that hurt? I’ve been the girl who lost her parents and had open heart surgery twice. I didn’t want to be that girl anymore.”

  “But with me?” I lower my head to my hands. “I’m not sure I can understand why you wouldn’t tell me.” I push off the table to a standing position. “I have to get out of here.”

  “No.” She grabs my wrist. “Just stay. Tomorrow we can drive up to the canyon. Go for a hike. Talk more.”

  “I’m feeling like you don’t trust me, and I can’t trust you. I don’t want that kind of relationship.”

  “Please.” She tugs at my arms. “Just stay. I do love you. I’m trying to be different. Get over this. It’s really hard for me.”

  I stand there frozen wondering what to do for a solid minute. My heart feels like it’s been smashed in two. This girl I’ve been sharing everything with has this huge part of her that she hasn’t been willing to open up to me about.

  “Please stay.” Her eyes lock on mine.

  My psyche screams that I want to be alone. But I’ve said I’m in this relationship with her, so I decide to give her this. “Okay.” I twist my wrist out of her grasp. “But it’s late. I’m going to sleep. I’ll take the couch.”

  “Come on, no, please.”

  “Liz.” I take a step back. “I’m staying. I can’t give any more tonight.”

  “Okay.” She raises her palms.

  I cross to the bathroom and brush my teeth. Then, I find a blanket in the closet and snag a pillow from the bed. Liz washes up and gets in bed and turns the light off. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and random noises. My brain won’t shut down. I wonder if the gym is open but dismiss the idea of going for a run. I dig in my bag and find headphones, but the music makes it worse. My heart won’t stop racing, and my brain won’t turn off.

  Sometime after two, I finally fall into a restless sleep. As soon as there’s light in the room, I’m awake. Trying to be as quiet as possible, I dress in workout clothes. I’m not sure why I’m still here, but I told Liz I’d stay, so I am. I click the door open and hear my name.

  “Zack, you aren’t leaving, are you?”

  “No, going for a run.”

  “I’ll order breakfast.”

  “Kay.” I pull the door closed behind me, thinking to call someone. Doug, Carlos, my brother? I wish Amanda and I were still friends. If anything were her department, this is it. In the end, I crank up my music and pound out three miles on the treadmill.

  When I return, Liz is dressed and there is a food cart stacked with plates next to the table. She stands as I approach. “I ordered breakfast.”

  “I’m going to shower.” I point at the bathroom door.

  “Aren’t you even going to look at me? We have to talk about this.”

  “Just let me get cleaned up.” Eyes trained to the floor, I cross the room.

  Liz is sitting at the table when I exit from showering. I don’t want to look at her. Can’t believe she thinks this can be fixed with words, one hour, one day, even a week. I don’t know the person across from me. Still, the thought of not having her in my life seems equally painful.

  “Are you hungry?” She holds up a muffin.

  “I guess.” I take a seat across from her.

  She opens each dish, handing it to me. Nothing looks appealing, but I spread cream cheese on a bagel and lay a slice of lox on it. Pouring two cups of coffee, Liz sets one in front of me. “How did you sleep?”

  “Not good.”

  “Yeah, me either.” Smoothing her pants, she sits down. “I’m really sorry.”

  I abandon the bagel. “Is there anything else you haven’t told me? Because now would be the time.”

  “No, I swear there’s nothing else. You know everything. When Josie said that in August, it put me over the edge. I didn’t want to be your lost puppy.”

  “This shouldn’t have anything to do with Josie. Can I finish my breakfast?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes drop to her plate.

  I feel bad. Sad that I’m being short with her. But she can’t expect me to not be hurt. If I told any of my friends what had happened, first with keeping the information about her parents from me and then this, they’d probably tell me what that I should have huge reservations about the chick. But I want to give her another chance. I want her to be the person I thought she was.

  “Can we drive up to Flagstaff?” she asks as I finish my bagel.

  Really, I want away from her, time to think, but I’m not sure when my next day off will be. “Sure, we should get some warmer clothes. I can run you by your place and then swing back by and pick you up.”

  Water pools in her eyes. “You promise we’ll drive up to Flagstaff?”

  “Yes, I promise.”

  We pack our bags, check out, and head to the truck in silence. I’m not sure what she’s thinking. When I park in front of her place, I look at her. With an ashen-white face, she stares into my eyes. “You’re coming back, right? We’re going up to Flagstaff? Because I know that it wasn’t great of me to keep this from you, but it’s not that worst thing I could’ve done.”

  She has a good point. If what she’s told me is true, her issue wasn’t with me, about her trusting me, it was her insecurity. I shake my head because it seems like it all boils down to her not trusting me, or not willing to be open with me. What type of relationship will we have if she can’t tell me stuff? Still, I heard that she’s been dealing with this for a long time, and imagine her trauma could be deep rooted. “You’re right. I’ll be back in an hour.”

  “Okay.” She shakes her head and pushes the door open.

  I watch her climb the stairs to her apartment. I hate that I can’t be mad at her. Maybe I should, but all I can feel is hurt. Anger I could deal with much easier than this pit I feel in my chest. As soon as I pull in my lot, I open my contacts in my phone. Staring at Amanda’s name, I debate whether I’m being crazy that she feels like the person who can help most. But, she’s the only person I know who can give me insight as to whether I should cut Liz some slack or run away fast. I tap the screen to dial her number.

  “Zack?” Amanda answers the call.

  “Yeah, hi, I was wondering if I could get your opinion on something. Do you have a few minutes to talk?” I push open my door and grab my bag.

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  “You probably thought it was a butt dial, right?” Climbing the stairs, I unlock my apartment. I throw my bag on the floor and look to the ceiling. It hurts to repeat the story, but I start with how good me and Liz’s relationship has been except for the issue with her parents. Summarizing how close we’d become, I ask Amanda whether she would have shared that information or kept it from me.

  “Well, it definitely sounds like she has trauma around the issue. It probably is much deeper than that Chad guy. Think about coming to the US with dead parents when you’re nine and speak with an Irish accent. Plus, you have this scar on your chest. Kids can be cruel.”

  “Maybe that’s what this is all about, it reminds her of the family she lost.”

  “But the bigger question is are you willing to forgive her for not opening up to you? Do you feel like the relationship is worth it?”

  “She’s worth it. I mean, other than these issues, she’s great. I think I’m in love with her. How did you forgive Doug? Do you trust him now?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I forgave him. I mean you really can’t control how you feel. Beyond that, it’s just time. It’s not like we picked up where we left off. I started over with him. He has to earn back everything we had before.”

  “You think you guys will stick?” I cross to my room and find a sweatshirt and jacket.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Seriously, you don’t know?”

  “I’m a different person than I was four years ago. I don’t know what’s going to be important to me two years from now.”

  “But you
love him?” Putting the phone on speaker, I toss it on the bed and switch my shirt out.

  “You sure do ask a lot of questions.”

  “Well?” I pull my sweatshirt on.

  “I’ve always cared for him.”

  “Think I’m a spy or something.” Returning to the living room, I retake my seat on the couch.

  “I don’t know, Zack. I’m not even sure how I feel. I’m taking it one day at a time. I’ve got a lot on my plate.”

  I pull up the weather for Flagstaff and see that it’s cold but sunny. “And Doug is okay with that?”

  “He’s learning to deal. He likes having a plan, and if he thinks about it too much, I think he gets weirded out. But he’s got a good distraction with running this new office.”

  “Talk about maturity. You summed Doug up in one sentence. He’s big on knowing at least five years out.”

  “I’m not sure I helped you any.”

  “Yeah, you did. As much as I hate it right now, I really care for her. I think it’s worth giving her the benefit of the doubt.” Closing my computer, I stand and snatch a backpack out of the closet.

  “Yay for love.”

  “Oh my God, that may be the hokiest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

  “I hope things work out for you guys.”

  “Yeah, me too. Thanks, and say hi to Doug.”

  “Will do, bye.”

  Ending the call, I throw the bag I packed for spring training over my shoulder, as well as the small backpack and a couple of water bottles. I’m back at Liz’s apartment in forty-five minutes, door to door.

  Taking two steps at a time, I knock on the door.

  It takes a few seconds for her to come. “Oh, it’s you. Come in.” She leaves the door open and turns to pick up a bag from the floor.

  “Who else would it be?”

  “I don’t know. It hasn’t been an hour yet. Thought it might be Brad.”

  “You didn’t think I would keep my word?”

  “I don’t know.” She wipes her brow. “You ready?”

  I figure she thinks the truck and our destination are sort of neutral territory. I still don’t know what to say to her. How to start to explain my pain. I realize maybe I don’t need to. It’s obvious I’m hurt, no need to rehash it.

  On the drive, she starts telling me her whole life story from the moment she has memories. Liz recalls her mother, father, brother, grade school, grandparents, friends from Ireland. After the crash, she is in and out of the hospital for six months, living with a foster family and supervised by social workers because her grandparents were too elderly to care for her. She tells about the first time she remembers meeting her aunt and cousin Marie. “They were basically strangers, not any different than the social workers or foster family.”

  “I can’t imagine being tossed around like that at eight.”

  “I dreamed of running away and living on the streets alone because I thought it would be better than living with strangers.”

  We stop for a late lunch in Flagstaff. I kill the engine and turn to face her. “I get why it would be hard to open up when you’ve lost people close to you and others you trusted rejected you.”

  After lunch, we take the road north to the canyon.

  “Here.” She points at a parking lot a couple hundred feet ahead as I inch over the soft snow, grateful for my four-wheel drive.

  I park in front of the trail sign. We bundle up and traipse through the snow and trees, having no idea where the trail is. It’s quiet, and the cool air calms my nerves. With the white ground and trunks of the Aspens, the monotone landscape soothes my senses. After a few hundred feet, we come to a clearing.

  Stopping as we exit the trees, I stuff my hands in my pockets. “This isn’t a lake, is it?”

  “Were you even paying attention? No, it’s Wildflower Meadow.”

  “Oh.” I trudge out into the deeper snow.

  “What are you doing? Your feet are going to be frozen blocks of ice.”

  “They’re fine. I thought we were hiking.”

  “Let me finish my story.”

  “Okay.” I let her take my hand.

  She details her second surgery, and how again, she’s the odd, sick kid. “When I tell people, they treat me differently. I’m defined by having lost my family and the surgery. I didn’t want to be that person here.” She hooks her arm through mine.

  “I get it.” I turn to face her. “I’m hurt that you haven’t felt comfortable enough to tell me. I want you to trust me.”

  “It has nothing to do with you. It’s me and my own insecurities.” She stands on her toes so our faces are inches apart. “You’re so perfect. Maybe I don’t deserve you.” Stuffing her hands in my pockets, she leans into me. “I love you so much. Thank you for giving me today and a chance to make things right.”

  I wrap my arms around her. “I’m not perfect. You know that. I sort of get it. But I can’t handle any more surprises. If there’s something else, I need to know today. Now.”

  “No, that’s it. That’s all of it.” She shakes her head, and her curls bounce around her face. “I love you. I’m ready to be all-in with you. I felt bad yesterday about not telling you yet and planned to tell you today.”

  We stand there for what feels like minutes. Me holding her and praying she has trusted me enough to divulge everything, and I’m brave enough to stick with her. I take a deep breath. “I can’t change how I feel about you anyway. I love you.” I kiss her forehead and wrap my arms around her.

  Spring training is intense, but not as time consuming as I had guessed. It’s late when I get in, but I make it home four of the seven days a week. A certain number of trainers must be on call, but we rotate, so no one gets too burned out.

  After the Valentine’s fiasco, I feel a little gun shy, and it’s two weeks before Liz and I spend a night together again. After that, we’re together every night I’m off, whether for volleyball or bike rides, or hanging out. The physical side of our relationship really heats up as Liz become more comfortable with me, and even with my trepidation, it feels like the pieces are falling in place. I’m beyond glad that that part of our relationship is good. Knowing time is short, I want to be with her as much as possible. At first, I think I’m going nuts. Carlos tells me he felt the same way when he and Eva first fell in love.

  Liz and I don’t get to take as many trips as we’d planned in the moderate temperatures, but I have one day off a week, and we always find a new hike or biking trail if she’s off. If not, I meet her for lunch and make dinner for the two of us.

  She decides to see a counselor, and I’m happy about that. I figure the time apart may be good for us, allowing her to grow some friends and a life apart from me. I’ve never been one to think one person could be my everything for me. I’m content, for the most part, and we get into a good rhythm. In mid-March, we start planning out trips for when I’m in town during the regular season.

  The day I leave for the first away series, she drives me to the stadium to meet the bus. She cuts the engine in the parking lot and turns to face me. Tears are in her eyes. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

  “I’ll be back before you know it. We’ll talk every day. And then it will be like vacation every time I’m home.”

  “Unless I’m working.”

  I kiss her. “We’ll work it out.”

  Tears stream down her face. “I’m excited for you.”

  I kiss her again and push the door open. She meets me at the back of the car. I wrap my arms around her and swing her in a circle. “I’ll be back Wednesday. Don’t worry about picking me up. I can get a ride.”

  “Okay.” She brushes the water from her cheeks.

  I hug her and kiss her on the forehead. “Take care.”

  Being on the road feels like a caffeine high every waking hour. From the moment I step on the team bus to the second my head hits the pillow, I’m working. We’re prepping the guys and equipment for games or restocking and helping with recovery. By t
he last day, I feel like a zombie.

  “Welcome to the road,” Carlos says as I take a seat beside him for the bus ride back to the stadium.

  “Do I look that bad?”

  “You look worse. You should feel lucky you have three days off. I have one day to rest and am back on.”

  Liz is asleep when I arrive at her place that night, and she’s gone when I wake the next morning. I’d set the alarm, so I can work out and meet her for lunch. Showering, I make some sandwiches, pack them in a cooler, and head to the hospital.

  “You’re so sweet.” Liz kisses my cheek as I approach with our lunch.

  “I’m so excited to see you. I can’t wait to spend the next three days with you.” I wrap an arm around her waist and kiss her.

  Being away becomes less draining—and the weekend trips with Liz more amazing—as we travel to California, Utah, and Colorado. April turns to May and the desert heat takes hold again.

  “I forgot how hot it is,” Liz complains when I call that night.

  “It’s nice and cool in Minnesota.”

  “Who wants to go to Minnesota?”

  “Minneapolis is actually pretty; it’s really green here.”

  “I thought you never see anything but the stadium and the hotel.”

  I sigh. Liz is being more negative than usual. May has been hard. When I’m home, she’s been working and vice versa. Plus, it’s hard for me to stay positive when I’m exhausted. “At least I’m home for the weekend again.”

  “Yeah, I think Jeff and Isabelle are putting together a camping trip. I told them you’d probably want in. Where do you go next again?”

  “Boston.”

  “I hate when you go to the east coast. I won’t see you for like five days.”

  “May has been brutal, but June looks better.”

  “Okay, well, I miss you.”

  “Miss you too.”