Free Beneath the Scars by Melanie Moreland

Megan’s movements ceased as she felt my reaction.
    “Don’t,” she pleaded. “Don’t make me stop.”
    I drew back slowly, placing her back on her feet, then I began to back away.
    “Zachary—” Her voice was filled with hurt, which I ignored. “Please—”
    I turned away. “I can’t. I just can’t.” Leaning down, I grabbed Elliott’s collar. “Don’t waste your time, Megan. I’m not some pitiful creature you can save.” I laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “I can’t be saved…at all.”
    Then, once again, I walked away from Megan Greene.

CHAPTER EIGHT
     

     
    The sharp, bitter bite of rejection washed through me, filling every crevice of my body as I watched Zachary turn and walk away. I could still taste him in my mouth; my fingers itched to feel his hair under them again. My entire frame wanted to feel him melded into me.
    Never before had I felt such passion for a man. Especially one I hardly knew. Every time he came near me, the air pulsated with electricity and I wanted to touch him.
    Never had the sting of not being wanted, of being rejected, hurt so much.
    I couldn’t explain this need to be close to him; I was sure he felt it as well, but refused to allow us to explore it.
    A harsh sob escaped my lips, as he disappeared around the corner. I turned and made my way blindly down his steps, knowing I would never again climb them.
    He made his feelings crystal clear.
    I almost made it to the bottom, when my feet slipped and I fell down the last few steps to the damp sand below, landing on my already sore hands and knees. For a few moments I lay prone, the tears running down my cheeks at my foolish behavior. Bitterness washed over me as I berated myself for thinking Zachary felt the same intense need I felt for him. I pushed myself up, forcing my feet to start their journey back across the sand to the isolation of the house.
    There, I told myself, I would cry and rage until I didn’t want to cry anymore.
    There I would find my strength and do what I came here to do.
    Find a way to move on with my life.
    Not chase after someone who made it plain they weren’t interested in anything I had to offer.
    Another sob caught in my throat as my sore ankle protested. Still, I limped forward, ignoring the pain and taking slow, measured steps away from Zachary, each one feeling more agonizing.
    I gasped as a pair of strong arms abruptly encircled me and I was lifted like a child into the safety of Zachary’s arms. Shocked, my head fell back to his shoulder and I stared up at him. Stormy, pain-filled eyes met my confused ones. “Do you always fall this much?” He growled at me.
    “Yes.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    He lifted me higher, my head settling in the nape of his neck, as if it was meant to rest there. He turned, called for the dogs, waiting as they ran toward us. I felt the gentle pressure of his lips on my temple, and I tried to ask him why he had come for me. I didn’t understand why he even cared if I fell on the sand after he walked away, but all that came out was a small sob.
    “Hush,” he whispered, his arms tightening. “I’ve got you.”
    “Don’t let go this time,” I pleaded.
    His lips caressed again, never leaving my skin as he carried me up the stairs and into his house.

    I carried Megan through the house, right into the bathroom, setting her gently on the counter. It took me a few minutes to gather the medical supplies I needed, then I cleaned her hands, grateful to see, although they were reddened from her fall, only a couple of the cuts had reopened. Before she could protest, I undid the loose tensor bandage and checked her ankle, frowning at how it was still swollen. I tossed the dirty one aside and swiftly rebandaged it, so it would have the proper support it needed to heal. I was glad I could still remember the technique from my first aid courses years ago. Once it was done, and I was satisfied, I glanced up at her, my movements stilling as our eyes