Page 81 of The Devil's Scars

Chapter Fifteen

Scars had just switched off the coffeemaker when he heard a knock at his front door. He paused, puzzled. One of the benefits of living way the hell up in the mountains was that he never had anyone just randomly showing up and knocking at his door. He figured it had to be Wolf, because who else could it be? Maybe he’d gotten up crazy-early, and was ready to go, and decided to come out here and pick Scars up? Then again, he had heard a car engine go by, not a bike motor, so maybe it was a lost soul, seeking directions back to the city?

He strode across his living room, opened the door – and goggled down at Zoe, standing there in the morning sun, looking golden and gorgeous, balancing two steaming cups of takeout coffee and a box of pastries.

“Hi,” she began, but that’s as far as she got, because Wolf narrowed his eyes, said, “Oh, hell, no!” and shut the door in her face.

Zoe stared at the door, sighed. OK, fair enough. She totally deserved that, and honestly, she deserved way worse. She bit her lip, wondering just how bad it was going to get, then squared her shoulders. The man was more than entitled to his anger, and she respected that.

She set the coffees and pastries down on the porch table, tapped at the door again. “Scars?”

“What? What the fuck are you doing here, Zoe?”

“I’m standing on your front porch, talking to you through a door. What are you doing?”

She heard him pause, knew that he was remembering the conversation they’d had that night at her house. When he’d been the one on the porch holding food and drink, and she’d been the one inside, refusing to be helpful.

“I’m wondering just how the hell you know where I live,” he snapped. “You been following me?”

“Wolf told me.”

“Bastard. I’ll be having a word with him.”

“Scars?”

“What? What the actual fuck can you possibly want? You said everything on your mind yesterday, and you were crystal clear that I’m an untrustworthy asshole who’s gonna hurt you, hurt your kid, wreck your life, basically end the world as you know it. I’m done, Zoe. If you’re here to get in my pants and then kick me in the balls again, don’t hold your breath. Or, actually, on second thought, do. Hold your breath for a long, long time.”

“It was a bit hard to hear all that through the door, so could you please open it up? Maybe come out here and sit with me? I’d love to talk to you like normal people do, over a coffee and croissant I brought some, and everything’s fresh and hot.”

“I’m cutting back on caffeine, starting right now, so you can just drink the damn coffee yourself,” he said coldly, and she remembered her telling him that on her first day at the parlor, when he’d brought her coffee as a peace-offering and an ice-breaking conversation-starter. He was throwing her words back in her face, and for the first time, she truly heard and understood how childish and churlish she’d been with this man. She thought that he had to be in the running for sainthood by now. “But thanks anyway. You can get going.”

“OK, I’ll go,” she said, making up her mind how to handle this next.

“Bye.”

“I’ll go after I have a coffee with you out here. I’m not leaving until you take what I’ve brought you and we’ve cleared the air properly, so you might as well open the door, Scars. It’s an absolutely perfect morning up in the mountains, and your front porch has an awfully comfy chair to just hang out in and enjoy nature.”

Silence.

“OK, then,” she said brightly, sitting down and opening one of the styrofoam lids. “I’m waiting for you to come out. Or not. Your call.”

“Jesus Christ, Zoe. You’re the most damn impossible female ever born.”

The door opened now, and he stood there in jeans and a tight black t-shirt, looking at her grimly. There wasn’t even the slightest bit of warmth or welcome on his face, or in his body language, and she didn’t blame him at all. She’d been nothing but a bitch to this man, and she’d pushed him beyond what was acceptable, with her push-and-pull, her drama and dramatics, her hot-and-cold.

If she wanted him in her life, then she had to open up. It was time to be honest.

“Thank you for coming out,” she said quietly, picking up his coffee and offering it to him. “Please… would you sit?”

He stared at her, with a bit of confusion now, and she waited. She wasn’t surprised that he was being wary and wondering what was up. After all and despite her nasty accusations, she’d been the one playing games, not him, and he’d been the one waiting for the other shoe was going to drop, not her. She knew he was standing there and wondering what awful, terrible, untrue thing she was going to fling at him next, and again, that was a fair way for him to think about her.

Her past behavior had caused this mess. Her current behavior had to be better, it had to be her best self. Sure, she was still afraid, and God knows, she didn’t want to talk about what happened in that bar back room, but she was going to do it for Scars. He deserved the truth. What he decided to do with it afterwards, if anything at all, well… that was up to him.

It was his turn to call the shots.

He sat now, turned the cup of coffee around and around in his large hands, watching her closely. Said nothing. So Zoe launched in.

“Just over six years ago, I was dating a guy named Bear Ellis.”

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