Seeing him this morning, it took all I had not to throw myself into his arms. The way he looked at me almost broke my resolve. His insistence he hadn’t read the last journal to the end, that he was still in love with me, made it all that much harder to believe he was even standing in front of me. He didn’t give second chances. He told me that multiple times—why would he change his mind for me?
The sudden fury I’d felt when he was standing in front of me was shocking. The anger I denied, the names I refused to allow anyone to call him, fell from my lips…and he took it. He took it all and let me rage until the moment passed, his gaze never wavering. He stood tall and firm, admitting it was his own doubts that he listened to, his own fears he allowed Jared’s words to penetrate. He apologized continually, asking for only one thing.
For me to give him a second chance. To believe in him and us enough to allow him back in my life. My aching heart and weary soul wanted to give him what he desired. I still loved him, but it was no longer only about me. He had to know the whole story. One of the hardest things I ever did was to turn from him and walk away. The next step was his and his alone to make.
I burrowed deeper, once again feeling exhausted. It hit me at the oddest times and nothing could stop my eyes from closing. My body demanded rest, and with a sigh, I gave in.
Sun streamed in the window, warming my face as I slowly woke up. When my eyes opened, they found Zachary, sitting, a silent sentinel, watching over me. In his hand was the last journal. His face was inscrutable, but his posture was rigid, his fingers clenching the journal so tight his knuckles were white. I shook my head, clearing my throat. “I guess I forgot to lock the sliding door.”
I sat up, swinging my legs off the sofa. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly tender. “Do you need anything?”
I blinked, my brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”
“A drink, something to eat. Can I do anything for you?”
“No.”
He laid the book down between us on the small coffee table. “Your work is brilliant. Honest to a fault.”
“It’s our story. It deserved honesty.”
“Why, Megan? Why did you write it?”
I cleared my throat. “I thought if I wrote it out, the pain would lessen. Maybe if I got it out of my head, I wouldn’t ache so much.”
“Did it work?”
“No.”
He nodded in silent understanding. “I thought if I ran away and didn’t see you, I could hate you the way I wanted. I thought I could stop the rage I felt.”
“Did it work?”
“No.” He paused. “I had one huge flaw in my logic, though.”
“Oh?”
He leaned forward, his hands splayed across his thighs. “My rage was directed at myself because I knew, somewhere inside, I knew, I could never hate you. No matter what I thought you did, I would only ever love you.”
His honest words caused an ache in my chest. My hands tightened around the edge of the blanket as I fought the tears that were never far beneath the surface.
He picked up the journal. “I hurt you so much. I also left you alone to face so much more than some reporters.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Tell me.”
“You didn’t read it?”
“I read your words. I want to hear you tell me.” He paused, swallowing as his voice shook. “Tell me about the day you found out, Megan.”
“Karen made me go to the doctor—she wouldn’t let me leave until I did.”
He nodded.
“They took blood and checked me out, ran some tests. Karen stayed with me because I was so nervous, even though I was sure he would tell me it was stress.”
“It was more. So much more.” He came closer, edging forward, his gaze never faltering.
A tear rolled down my cheek as I recalled the moment. “He told me I was pregnant.”
The smallest smile ghosted over his face, his eyes bright. “How did you feel?”
I thought back to that day and the myriad of emotions I went through.
“Surprised—scared—upset—angry.”
“With me?”
“No.” I leaned toward him, wanting to explain. “I forgot my shot, Zachary. I missed it. I was angry at myself.” I drew in a deep breath. “But then, I wasn’t. All I felt was joy. So much joy, I thought my heart would burst.”
“Even though I left you alone?”
I closed my eyes as I nodded. “It was as if I had a new sense of purpose. I was determined to move forward and give this child all my love—create a life for the two of us. I had a small piece of you left I could love.”
His voice became thicker. “You loved our child even though I deserted you?”
I met his gaze, shocked to see tears in his eyes. “Or course I did. We created this life together.” I lowered my voice. “You didn’t know. Neither of us did at that point.”
“And I never would have, if I hadn’t come back. You would have been alone with our child.” His voice grew angrier. “Raising our child on your own, because I’m a coward.”
Hot tears splashed on my shaking fists. “You’re here now,” I offered, almost afraid to say it. I had no idea if he would stay.
“By the grace of God, yes.” He got up and began pacing. “How can you forgive all this? How can you forgive me? If it’s not bad enough I didn’t have the same faith in us you did to stay and find out the truth, now I find out I left you alone and pregnant?” He stopped, dropping to his knees in front of me. “Why would you even keep the child? How can you forgive me all that, Megan?” His eyes searched mine, looking for answers. “I don’t understand.”
The depth of emotion in his gaze was overwhelming. Pain, regret, and torment churned in his wide stare. The edges of his eyes were so red-rimmed I knew he’d been crying before this conversation happened. He gasped as I reached up and cupped his face, his hands moving to cover mine right away, pressing them into his skin. “When you truly love, you forgive,” I whispered.
Hope colored his words. “And do you?”
I knew we had so much to work out—so much to talk about and deal with. His leaving, the pain he caused, the fears I’d been dealing with alone. The months I spent trying to rebuild my life. I didn’t even know where he’d been, or what he’d been doing all this time. There were fears I would have to face about him staying as well, but I also knew I still loved him.
“Yes.”
“The baby?”
“—is a part of us; it was all I had to hold on to of you.”
His hand lifted, shaking, and began to lower again, but then he drew back, his face uncertain. I lifted the blanket aside and clasped his wrist, guiding it to my stomach. The warmth of his skin felt good against the cold of my own. Slowly his fingers opened, moving and caressing the small swell beneath his touch. “I never planned to have a child,” he whispered. “I didn’t know if I’d be a good father.” He looked up, a worried frown on his face. “You know I didn’t have a very good example growing up.”
I studied his face, seeing the wonder in his expression.
“How did you feel when you read about the baby?”
“How did I feel?”
“Yes. You wanted my words, Zachary. Now I want yours. I need them. What made you cry?”
He stared, his brow furrowed. “I was ashamed that I’d deserted you. Worried I was too late and you may not forgive me.” He paused, his gaze dropping to my stomach. “Then the happiness of knowing you're carrying my child. That you were here, safe, and maybe I had a chance—I’ve never felt happiness like that before, Megan. I’ve never wanted something so much, either.”
He swallowed and looked back up at me. “You didn’t finish the story. Why didn’t you finish?”
“I didn’t know how it was going to end.”
“Let it end with me—with us. Give me the chance, Megan. Please.”
“Do you want this child?”
Both his hands were on my stoma
ch now. Skimming, touching, spreading out in a protective gesture covering the entire surface. “Yes. God, yes. ”
“Do you think you can love our child?”
“I already do.”
I lifted his chin. “Then you’ll be fine.”
“What about”—he hesitated—“us?”
“We need to work on us. I need time.”
“You’ll stay on here?”
“Yes.”
“Will you let me be a part of this, of our child’s life?”
I sighed. “Yes, of course.”
“Do you—”
“Do I what?”
He leaned closer. “Do you think you can love me again, Megan?”
“I do love you, Zachary. I need to be able to trust you again—to know you won’t run the next time something happens that upsets you. I can’t do that to our child. I won’t allow that to happen.”
“You won’t have to. I’m never leaving again. I can’t,” he declared as his voice trembled. “I’ve been so lost without you.”
My voice caught. “I’ve missed you so much.”
He moved even closer, his breath washing over my face. “Forgive me. Please forgive me.”
“I have.”
His eyes dropped to my mouth in a silent question. My head dipped with permission as his lips, so soft and familiar, molded to mine, the pressure gentle. His hand wove into my hair as his fingers stroked the back of my head in light caresses. His scent surrounded me, the taste of him in my mouth easing the dull ache I carried for months. A long shiver ran through his body as he whispered my name, the sound so pleading, I whimpered as he brushed his lips over mine once more. Zachary’s kiss was languid and indulgent; long sweeping passes of his tongue, sweet pecks of his lips, gentle nips of his teeth as he pulled my bottom lip into his mouth. He wrapped his arm around me, holding me close, while his other hand stroked my stomach in never ending circles.
There was nothing rushed or hurried. No long, deep moans of raging passion. It was a kiss of welcome, one of sweet reunion, of letting go of the hurt and starting again.
It was a kiss that promised a future.
Our future.
He drew back, his breathing deep. Touching his forehead to mine, his voice shook. “Never, Megan—I’m not leaving again. I will fight and struggle to stay with you—for you, for our child.” His fingers curved over my rounded stomach. “If you let me?” He paused, and I felt a shudder run through his long frame. “Please let me.”
“This is your only chance,” I whispered. “I have to protect our child.”
He shook his head. “You’ll never have to protect our child from me, or guard your heart again. I promise you with everything I am.”
“I love you.”
He gathered me to him, lifting me onto his lap and wrapping himself around me. His warmth soaked into my skin, as his fingers stroked through my hair in long, gentle passes.
“That’s all I need.” He pressed a kiss to my hair. “That’s all I’ll ever need.”
I rested my face onto his chest, doubt still lingering.
“I hope so,” I whispered.
“With all that I am, Megan, I swear.”
For now, it was enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Warm lips lingered on my temple. “Morning.”
I snuggled deeper into the comfort of the blankets with a little groan. “Too early.”
“Your doctor appointment is in an hour, Megan. I let you sleep as long as I could.” Zachary’s voice was tender as he spoke, his fingers stroking through my hair in long passes.
Opening my eyes, I smiled up at him, the feeling of wonder still fresh. Even after three weeks, I found it hard to believe he was back and home with me. We had been taking things slow. I was still staying at Karen’s in the guest room. Zachary slept on the sofa, refusing to leave me alone at night, but knowing I wasn’t ready for anything else quite yet. We’d spent endless hours talking, sharing, crying, and at times, even yelling. But the past week there had been less of those dark conversations and more of the lighter moments. We were both letting go of the past sadness and moving on. Zachary’s smiles were easier these days; quick to appear, often followed by the low laughter I liked so much.
Today, I had an ultrasound scheduled and he was coming with me. He’d been hesitant when he asked permission; I’d been overjoyed he wanted to be there. He spent a lot of time reading pregnancy books, asking me questions, and when I was lying down, talking to my tummy. Last week, I’d woken up to find him beside me murmuring in a gentle tone, his lips close to my skin.
“You’ll love it here, little one. There’s sand and water and all sort of things to discover.” He chuckled suddenly. “You don’t know what Daddy is talking about do you? You don’t know what sand and water is!” His lips moved on my tummy, as his hand ran gentle circles over it. “I’ll teach you everything. Daddy loves you so much and I can hardly wait to meet you. Mommy, too. She’s taking such good care of you.” He glanced up, meeting my tear-filled eyes.
“Ah, the book says to talk to them so they get used to my voice,” he mumbled, the tips of his ears turning red. I nodded, unable to speak as I took in the look in his eyes. They were soft, peaceful, and filled with love. There was none of the wariness, no distrust in the depth of his gaze. His lips lingered against the swell of my tummy again as his large hand wrapped around mine. “Thank you,” he breathed.
Today he would get to hear the heartbeat of our child, and if possible, we would find out the sex. Zachary was beyond excited for both things to occur. It was also special for me, since, for the first time, I wouldn’t be alone in the waiting room. Zachary would be beside me.
“Megan?”
“Hmm?”
His hand rubbed the back of his neck as he hesitated. “I’m nervous.”
I ran my fingers through his hair—it always seemed to relax him. “About the ultrasound, or going to the hospital?”
“Both.”
“The ultrasound is easy. All you have to do is hold my hand.”
“I can do that.”
I wrapped both of my hands around his, which was resting beside me. “As for the hospital, how about I hold your hand? Would that help?”
His lips curled into a shy smile, his entire face relaxing as he nodded. “Yes, that would help a lot.”
He helped me to stand, then wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. I could feel his love surround me. Every day I accepted it a little more, believed him a little more.
Believed in us a little more.
The drive was quiet, Zachary’s tension evident. I reached over and rubbed the back of his neck as I sang along with the radio, ad-libbing the words I didn’t know, making him chuckle. I was pleased when his shoulders loosened a little, giggling when he winked and turned up the radio, putting an end to my impromptu concert.
When we arrived at the hospital, his nerves returned. He kept his head lowered and his hand wrapped around mine so tight I needed to ask him to loosen his grip. “Sorry,” he muttered.
In the elevator, I turned to him, ducking low so he was forced to meet my eyes. “No one is going to judge here, Zachary. This is about our child. Not you.” I drew in a deep breath. “Stop expecting rejection—give people a chance before you assume the worst.”
His eyes widened and his expression changed from wary to open. “You’re right.” He nodded and nestled me to his chest, nuzzling my temple. “Our child.”
The elevator doors opened and we stepped out. I offered him my hand again and with a tight smile he took it. “You can do this,” I encouraged.
His grip tightened. “With you, I think I can do anything.”
We were both smiling when we entered the doctor’s office.
Dr. Booker didn’t even blink when I introduced Zachary to him. He smiled warmly and clapped him on the shoulder, telling him he was pleased to meet him, then ushered us both to the ultrasound room. Zachary relaxed more in the dimly lit room and gazed arou
nd, his nerves still showing with the drumming of his fingers on his thigh. Dr. Booker explained the procedure to us both and answered a few questions Zachary had for him as he watched the doctor set things up. He was patient and made sure we both understood everything before starting the ultrasound. I gasped a little as the cool gel hit my tummy, grinning when Zachary mouthed “amateur” at me. Compared to the temperature of the water he stuck his feet into every day, the gel was nothing. His smile was wide when I stuck my tongue out at him, thrilled that he’d relaxed enough to tease me. Bringing him closer to the examination table, I watched his face, transfixed at his expression as the rapid sounds of our child’s heartbeat filled the room—the wonder and awe of the moment erasing everything else. His hand tightened on my arm, his gaze fixated on the screen in front of him. He leaned closer, peering at the image, his eyes wide and filling with tears. He turned his head, his voice filled with emotion. “Our baby.”
Dr. Booker chuckled. “Your baby is cooperating today. You want to know the sex?”
“Yes.” Both Zachary and I spoke at the same time.
“It’s a boy.”
My own eyes filled with tears. A son. We were having a son.
Zachary pressed his lips to my temple, his damp cheek rubbing on mine.
“I love you,” he whispered.
It was a different man who escorted me out of the hospital. Zachary’s shoulders were straighter, his head held high. He ignored the few, more open, curious glances; his entire focus on me. I nestled into his side, amazed at the change, proud of his courage. Even his hold felt different; more possessive and sure. Once at the car, he insisted on fastening my seat belt, then laying his hands over my tummy and stroking the swell.
His eyes were shining when he looked up. “My boy.”
I stroked his cheek. “Your son.”
He held up the sonogram picture, his voice filled with wonder. “Our son.” Leaning forward, his lips grazed mine; soft, gentle touches of adoration. “My sweetheart.”
Beneath the Scars Page 27
