“Hi,” she said brightly.
“Hi.”
He was watching her with a somber expression she couldn’t quite fathom. Was he regretting asking her here, to the very heart of his private domain?
The drawing next to his computer caught her eye. She’d seen Z’s designs before: he was an incredibly talented illustrator and artist. But this bike design blew her away.
“Z, it’s amazing. You’re growing leaps and bounds as a designer,” she enthused, studying the sleek, minimalist, yet muscular cycle Z had drawn.
“You think so?”
“Oh my God, yes. It’s an absolute piece of art.”
“You’d never guess who I’m building it for.”
“Who?” she asked excitedly.
Her mouth dropped open when he said the name of a mega-superstar hip-hop artist.
“You’re kidding,” she said, her grin widening.
He shook his head, appearing still a bit surprised at the news himself. She laughed and planted a kiss on his mouth. He looked startled, but then he spread his hand at the back of her head and kissed her back.
Hard.
“How did he ever find you?” she asked him breathlessly a few seconds later.
Z shrugged. “The biker community is pretty small and tight-knit, all things considered. Word spreads. He saw one of my bikes—one of his friends from L.A. had bought one, and then he got a recommendation from an editor at American Iron magazine, and…” He shrugged. “I was as floored as you are when he called me few weeks back.”
“He called himself?”
“Yeah. He seems like a nice guy. I got the contract the same day.”
“Congratulations. You deserve it, in spades.” Z noticed her studying the screen where he was “building” the contracted bike, using technology. “I was just rendering the design into Photoshop,” he said.
She asked some questions, and he explained the intensive process that went from the client’s ideas combined with Z’s extensive expertise, to multiple sketches, to Photoshop, and finally to the tangible materials of steel and wire. Ursa studied him as he talked, seeing how focused he was, how his eyes took on that glint of forceful creativity: the spark of an artist at work.
“It’s incredible. I think you’re going to get used to celebrity clients and getting huge contracts really fast. The world is about to find out what we’ve all known for years. You’re brilliant,” she told him honestly. She was a little embarrassed to realize tears burned in her eyes. “I’m so proud of you, Z.”
He looked sheepish at her praise and stood.
“I don’t require celebrities. I’ll settle for any paying buyer, as long as they give me a free rein on the design. You hungry?” he asked as he saved his work on the computer.
“I could eat.”
He turned and put his hand on her hip, stepping closer to her. Once again, Ursa was left trying to decode the enigmatic message in his eyes as he stared down at her. She waited, hoping he’d reveal his inner thoughts.
“Then let’s head up to the café,” he said quietly after a moment, taking her hand.
She thought maybe they were going to have lunch at the café, but quickly realized Z had other plans.
When they walked into the Moto Café, there were quite a few customers sitting in booths and enjoying their lunches. Erica stood behind the bar. When she saw them approach, she paused in talking to one of the patrons and turned to a table at the back of the bar. She grabbed a large white bag and plopped it on the bar in front of them.
“There you go. One full throttle burger and one fish taco, both made with special ingredients from a local farmer,” Erica said with a wink at Z. “Two orders of fries, one Diet Pepsi and a couple bottles of water.”
“Thanks a lot, Erica,” Z said, grabbing the bag.
“Where are we going?” she asked Z as they walked out the front doors onto a sunny, warm spring day.
“I thought we’d go on a picnic. There’s a little lake down the road a bit. It’s not Tahoe, but it’s nice.”
She looked up at him in amazement at his proposal. He did a double take when she noticed.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
She shook her head and laughed, matching his stride as they walked to the parking lot. “It sounds great. I just didn’t expect it, that’s all.”
“You don’t expect much, when it comes to me.”
She stopped abruptly in the parking lot, gravel skipping beneath her feet, stung by his sarcasm. He realized she’d halted, and turned back to her.
“I have huge expectations when it comes to you. I only meant that I didn’t expect you to plan a picnic,” she explained heatedly. “It’s sweet and thoughtful and… ”
“You wouldn’t expect that from me. I get it, Ursa,” he said, deadpan. He put on a pair of dark sunglasses that completely shielded his gaze from her. Convenient, Ursa thought.
“What did I say? Why are you so prickly all of a sudden?”
“I’m not,” he insisted. “Can we take your car? That dress you’re wearing might not work too well on my bike.”
Chapter Eighteen
They didn’t talk on the short car ride to the lake. Emotion and unspoken words seem to swell and swirl between them. Ursa had no idea what had happened, how things had flared up between them all of a sudden.
They still said very little to each other as they made their way to a rocky embankment next to the mountain lake. The water shone a crystalline cobalt blue. The sunshine felt warm and pleasant as she perched on a rock next to Z. But all Ursa could do was replay that brief conversation in the parking lot, and everything that had happened just before it, desperately looking for clues as to what had made things get so abruptly volatile.
Z could be moody at times. Everyone knew that. Ursa had often been the one who smoothed over his rough edges at family functions. But apparently now, she was the source of it. She felt powerless as to how to correct it.
It’s not your responsibility to regulate his mood, the clinical part of her brain told her. The emotional part of her was soothed a little by the rational self-advice. Still, sitting next to Z when he was stewing about something was about as easy as meditating next to a rumbling volcano.
Z opened the bag and passed her the Diet Pepsi. She tried to decode the expression on his face, but it appeared as hard and inscrutable as the rock upon which she sat. Exasperated by his behavior, she cracked open the can and stared out at the peaceful mountain lake, willing herself to calm. She would not draw him out. She would not apologize for anything. If he had a problem, then he could talk about it like a grownup, or suffer in silence.
The ball is in your court, big guy.
Bit by bit, her frustration at the enigma of Z Beckett began to fade. Maybe the idyllic scene and warm sun had the same effect on Z, because suddenly he exhaled. Ursa sensed some of the tension oozing out of his big body.
“Sorry.”
She turned toward him when he uttered the single word. He’d sounded sincere, and maybe a little miserable.
“I wasn’t trying to insult you,” she said. “It surprised me that you planned all this, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a pleasant surprise, Z.”
He cleared this throat and took a swallow of his water. “Yeah. I know. It was just that you were gawking at me like I’d grown another head, all because I said we were going on a picnic. Like you thought it was impossible for me to plan something even remotely… ”
“Romantic?” she asked softly when he ground his teeth together.
He shrugged. “Like it never entered your head that I could give something a thought or two, when it came to a woman.”
For a few seconds, she just gaped at him.
“You’re right,” she finally admitted. “I have no idea, really, what you’re like with women. You could be the most
romantic man on the face of the earth, and I wouldn’t know it. All I saw my while life is your bike passing my house, usually with a girl hanging onto you so tight, it looked like she wanted to be inside you.”
And it seemed like a different girl each time.
He gave her a swift glance, almost as if he’d read her thought.
“You already mentioned you thought I was some kind of player, like I went through women like a lawn mower through grass.”
“Z, I never said that. I was only trying to explain—”
“You may not have actually said those words, Ursa. But if you had, you wouldn’t have been entirely wrong,” he said in a hard voice, cutting her off. “I’ve had some moments with women I’m not proud of. Especially when I was younger. I tried to work through it, when I was in therapy in rehab. When I was drinking, I could be disrespectful. I took what women offered, and I didn’t give much back. I didn’t expend any effort. I wasn’t abusive, or unkind, or anything like that. But I wasn’t thoughtful. I wasn’t invested. That’s why I got so upset when you were surprised, all because I said we were going on a picnic—such a little thing. It struck a nerve, I guess. Seeing that surprise on your face because I’d done something that took about two minutes to arrange.”
“It doesn’t matter how long it took to arrange, Z. It’s the thought that counts. And I was surprised, yes, but I was also happy that you suggested it. Really happy. That was part of the look on my face.”
He loosely screwed the cap back onto his water bottle, appearing deep in thought. She waited. Z hardly ever opened up or communicated about his struggles or his rehab treatment. She was beginning to realize that was because he felt vulnerable about his mistakes. Touchy. Defensive.
Inexplicably, a memory popped up in her head. Knowing how much she loved nature, her mom and dad had taken her for a weekend getaway at Point Reyes National Seashore when she’d been ten years old. It’d been an unusually good day for her, health and energy-wise. At one point on the trail, Ursa had outdistanced her parents by a hundred or so feet. She’d crested a ridge and ran down the decline joyfully. Halfway down she’d skidded to a surprised halt.
A majestic, fully crowned Tule bull elk stood in the clearing below her. For a few seconds, she and the bull had just stared at each, both of them frozen. There hadn’t been time to be afraid. Instead, she’d been hypnotized by the elk’s steady stare, and the soft, silent rarity of the moment.
It was similar to the feeling she had now, sitting there with Z at the edge of that lake, as he wrestled with opening up to her. She waited with a sense of hushed expectation.
“According to the Big Book, I should seek out all those women now,” Z began slowly. “Confess how I’ve wronged them, and ask for forgiveness. I managed to do it with a few of them, but there’s too many, Ursa,” he said bleakly. “I don’t remember all their names, or have any idea where they live now.”
He stared out at the shimmering lake with narrowed eyelids, the sun infusing his blue eyes with gold. His dissatisfaction with himself, his quiet, simmering anger, was palpable. So was his shame at admitting his shortcomings. His mistakes. She put her hand on his forearm. He looked over at her.
“You mentioned the Big Book and forgiveness,” she said, referring to Alcoholics Anonymous central treatise, along with it’s many derivative therapeutic teachings. “If you feel like it’s important to find all those women and apologize, then you should do your best, of course. But the most important person you need to forgive is yourself, Z.”
Despite his dark glasses, she felt his stare on her face.
“I’ll bet you’ve never done anything in your life that you regret,” he said.
“That’s not true. There are plenty of things.”
“Things for which you require forgiveness? Not want. Require.”
“Of course,” she insisted. Mentally, she scurried for an example to give him, some sin she’d committed that caused her so much unrest, she’d absolutely needed to confess and receive forgiveness in order to function. She was desperate to think of something. Anything that would show him she could be compassionate with his struggle.
She came up short, though. And Z must have seen it, she realized with a sinking feeling. He gave a small smile and stared back out at the lake.
“It’s okay, Ursa. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”
“It’s not okay. I’m not a Little Goody Two-Shoes. I’m not,” she blurted out when he cast her a doubtful glance. “Just because I can’t think of anything at the moment doesn’t mean I can’t understand you, Z. I mean…do we have to be exactly the same? Isn’t it okay that we’re different? We all suffer in different ways, don’t we? You weren’t a sickly kid, and you don’t know what it was like to be an outsider, but that doesn’t mean that you haven’t asked me about it and tried to understand where I was coming from. You’ll never get it exactly, but that doesn’t mean your empathy can’t get you a lot closer than you would be if you just ignored everything but what’s on the surface, or what you have in common. You don’t know what it’s like to be a girl who was told she’d never be able to have a baby, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t try to understand where I was coming from this morning. Right?”
He glanced over at her, his mouth falling open. From his expression, she realized how fierce she’d sounded.
“Well? Aren’t I right?” she persisted.
He exhaled and laughed gruffly. “Yeah. You’re absolutely right.”
She sighed, palpable relief coursing through her. Inexplicably, she felt like a major battle had just been waged.
And both Z and she had ended up winners.
“Can we eat now?” she asked him bluntly.
His wide, flashing smile at that moment was one of the best things she’d ever experienced in her life.
He reached for the bag and placed it between them.
Ursa discovered firsthand that the Moto Café made some seriously good food. Her fish taco burst with flavor from tangy spices and fresh cilantro, lime, cabbage and avocado. The tilapia was perfectly prepared, crispy on the outside and tender and flavorful on the inside.
After they’d eaten and thrown away their trash, they returned to the rocks and shared the last bottle of water. Z told her about a few other contracts that he’d gotten and some of his design inspirations. Ursa opened up about her promotion at work, and what it was like to be a supervisor in the Social Work Department of a large hospital. He asked her about her lifelong dream of opening a residential respite center that focused on a healthy natural environment, good food, creativity, exercise, and relaxation as well as other more traditional mental health treatments. Everyone in the Bear Clan knew about Ursa’s plan to open the home some day, including Z. He listened intently as she told him that she was well on her way to achieve her goal before she was thirty—a restriction she’d placed upon herself long ago to improve her motivation.
At one point, Z stretched out on his back on the giant rock and reached for her. Ursa came down next to him, relishing the feeling of the warm sun, his solid body next to her, and his hand moving in her hair.
“How’ve you been doing?” he asked her huskily after a comfortable silence. “With your dad being gone, I mean.”
That increasingly familiar feeling of sadness and emptiness swept through her. She mentally scurried to squash it.
“I’m doing fine.”
“Tell me how you’re doing, Ursa. Really.”
The note of compassion in his deep voice made her throat swell uncomfortably. There was no hiding her grief from Z. He knew how much all the Esterbrooks had adored their father. Clive Esterbrook had meant so much to Ursa. He was a deep resource of wisdom, compassion and humor, Ursa’s ideal example of male strength and protection. Her dad had been the pillar of the Esterbrook family. Focusing on his absence still took her breath away, as if she was experiencing her world crashing d
own around her all over again.
She pressed her face against Z’s chest, breathing in his clean, spicy male scent for a few seconds to steady herself. He cupped the back of her head with one big hand and rubbed her shoulder with the other.
“I still feel sad. I still miss him every day. But it’s like…the feeling is getting walled off inside me. It used to be right there at center stage in my mind, mixing with all the everyday little details of my life at home and at work. Now it’s still there, but separated somehow. As soon as I focus on him, or someone mentions him, or I think of those last days when we were all at the hospital, it’s like that wall gets pierced. And all the sadness just comes roaring back.”
Once again, she turned her nose into Z’s T-shirt, inhaling some of his strength while tears leaked out of her eyes.
“Oh no. I’m getting your shirt wet,” she said shakily after a moment. She tried to lift her head, but Z pressed her back against his chest.
“Leave it,” he murmured.
She sunk back against him. For several minutes, Z just stroked her in silence while Ursa thought of her father, and grieved in the protective circle of his arms.
Finally, when her tears dried out, Z placed both hands on her shoulders. He slid her higher onto his body, until her face hovered over his. With his hand at the back of her head, he drew her toward him, his kiss as melting and golden as the warm spring sun.
Later, Ursa removed her seatbelt and turned to Z when he stopped the car in the Moto Café parking lot.
“You know… a lot of people would have apologized, for bringing up Dad and not letting it go when I said I was fine.”
Z slowly removed the keys from the ignition. “Do you think I should apologize?” he asked, studying her through narrowed eyelids as he handed her the keychain.
“Not at all,” she said quietly. “I think you knew what you were doing. You know because you lost your mom and dad so young. Am I right?”
Wild, Wounded Hearts Page 15
