Page 114 of The Devil's Scars

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Zoe sat on the porch of her cute little rental house, breathing in the tangy salt air. It was a cold and drizzly October night, but she didn’t care much: compared to Denver and Fargo, autumn in Los Angeles felt pretty damn balmy to her, and she’d sit on this porch and look at and listen to the Pacific crashing away until she froze to the porch swing seat.

It had been this very porch that had decided her on this house, actually. She’d been stunned at the luxurious rental selection offered when she’d started looking around four months earlier, and she was still grateful that Wolf and the club had given her and Scars an incredibly generous budget for rent.

Oh, she’d been stubborn at first, quite naturally. Insisted to Wolf that she was going to pay her own way, find a place on her budget and using her savings, and she’d left Keira with Willa, Jimmy, Maria, and Wolf, and flown on over to L.A. to house-hunt. She’d given herself a week, and she’d been so confident.

Wolf had placidly agreed to let her foot the bill, without protest or argument, which should have made her suspicious, but didn’t. What she knew now that she hadn’t then was that Wolf had been to L.A. a few times, and had a much better sense of rental prices than she did – he knew that she wasn’t going to get far in terms of finding a place to live, but as with everything to do with Zoe, it was better to let her figure it out for herself. Telling her anything was a waste of time and breath; she’d since decided that this was something that she needed to start to work on.

So she’d rolled on into town, all sassy and la-la-la, looked at some lower-rent places, and almost run screaming from the cockroaches, the smell, the shady neighborhoods, or the sketchy landlords. In quite a few cases, all four of those non-starter issues had been firmly in place. She’d been horrified beyond belief at what she was seriously being expected to pay for dumps, and had snapped pretty quickly to the fact that if she wanted Keira someplace safe to play, Scars someplace quiet to recover between treatments and skin grafts, and herself someplace with an ocean view that didn’t include the smell of raw sewage floating on that water, then she needed more cash. Pronto.

So she’d taken her reality check with good grace – well, good for her, which meant that she’d downed a glass of cheap rosé – and called Wolf. He’d been expecting her call, of course, and told her that he’d already sent her a transfer. She’d stared down at her cell phone when she’d heard that.

“You what?” she’d said in astonishment. “A transfer? When?”

“Check your bank account, baby girl,” he’d growled at her. “It arrived this mornin’. Twenty thousand. Use it however you have to, and there’s plenty more comin’ when you say the word.”

“But – how’d you know that I’d be in over my head? I mean – you knew it before I did…”

“‘Cause there ain’t no way you’re gettin’ anythin’ better than a one-bedroom, roach-infested hell-hole of a dive for what you’re payin’ over here to Silver. I knew you wouldn’t ask Scars for help, I knew you’d wouldn’t want to worry his mind with everythin’ he’s got goin’ on right now. I knew you’d come to me, and he knew it too.”

“You guys talked about me?” she’d asked.

“Relax,” he’d said, amused. “Me and Scars know you better than anyone else on the damn planet – you think we don’t know how your pretty little head works?”

“Argh,” Zoe had muttered, sucking back more wine. “You got me. Thanks, Wolf.”

“You got it, baby girl. Now, go find a nice place for you and your sweet angel and your man. Clear?”

So back to the drawing board she’d gone, with a huge chunk of ready cash on hand this time around, and suddenly, she had a property agent eager to help her. Drove her around to look at properties, and they weren’t even apartments to rent, if you please. The agent took Zoe to houses. Little houses, naturally, but damn – they were cute houses.

Zoe had a list of ‘wishes’ for the house: on the beach, with a guest room for Willa, Jimmy, Wolf, whoever might have wanted to come and visit, or for nights when Scars needed some space. A big kitchen. Large windows. Flowers surrounding it would be nice, because Keira liked them.

Oh – and a porch with a view.

The second that she’d laid eyes on this place, with its sunny yellow paint trim, and a white fence with flowers growing up on and over it all wild and fiercely vibrant in the summer sun, and a wooden porch swing, and a bright turquoise front door, she’d been charmed. Plunked down the cash on the spot, made it temporarily hers within ten minutes of walking in the door.

She and Keira had been happy here, happy every single day, even the bad days. And God knows, there had been bad days. Too many to count.

When she’d left Denver, she hadn’t had any illusions that it was going to be hard. She’d known that Scars was going to struggle with pain and anger and having to ask for help. She’d known that she’d struggle with her own anger, and having to balance things with Keira, and patience to do things on Scars’ timeline, not her own.

She’d known that he’d be gone for days on end, either physically as he recovered in the hospital from a skin graft, or emotionally as he occupied the same space as her, but was sunk deep in thought. She’d worked harder than she ever thought she would at being cheery and positive and supportive – and even when it was damn near impossible to take his brooding or testiness, she’d done it. She really had.

And she’d thought that the worst was over. Scars body hadn’t rejected a single donor skin graft, and he’d fought his way through physiotherapy, building his mobility and strength steadily and daily. He’d opened up to her so much when he was flailing, and he’d let her be there for him. Sure, it took him some time to really be vulnerable, really talk to her, but she’d waited, and he’d eventually opened his mouth and told her what was on his mind. She’d learned to read his expressions, hear words in his silences, and she’d responded by loving him as hard as she knew how – but all without touching him. He’d permitted some kisses, quick, light ones, and very gentle hugs, so gentle that she barely made contact.

Thiswas the last really big issue between them, and it was the one that was now weighing on her mind, thanks to what had happened that morning. That morning was why she was so damn grateful for her porch right at this moment, as she sat here, wondering and worried.

The porch was her little reprieve, her tiny bit of sanity and calm, her oasis of breath and heartbeat… she had spent hours and hours sitting right here in this swing every single evening, Keira’s baby monitor on the cushion next to her. Pushing back and forth with a bare foot, watching the sun set over the ocean, letting the endless crashing and murmuring waves soothe her troubled spirit and mind. It always worked, though some nights it took a bit longer for her center to hold.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, she wondered –truly wondered, for the first time – if she and Scars were going to make it through this latest upheaval.

As if she’d summoned him with her thoughts, a taxi pulled up a few doors down. She watched as he climbed out carefully, and even though she couldn’t see his face, she winced automatically, sure that his skin grafts were sensitive. He was always a bit sore after physio, but he was improving at a rate and speed that stunned the doctors.

Seeing him arrive in a taxi was still a shock, in a way. She was so used to seeing Scars on his motorcycle, driving the club van, walking under his own power. Knowing that he was dependent on someone to drop him off home was weird, and it reminded her yet again that the man was healing. He wasn’t at full strength, and he needed help, and despite her own inner turmoil, she softened.

As her chest loosened, opened up a bit, Zoe took a breath, and tried to push down on her hurt and humiliation about what had happened that morning. They needed to talk about it, not fight.

Scars walked up the sidewalk to the house, happy to be home, even though he was dreading the conversation that he knew was sitting between them. He didn’t look up; he knew Zoe would be on the porch. She was there every night clearing her head, and he was positive that after the scene that morning, she’d need to hold a safe space tightly.

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