Page 37 of Finding Haven (Haven #2)

Quinn

“I get it now.” Zack’s chest rumbles with a deep chuckle, lightly shaking my head where it rests against his warm skin. “You just like this show for the sex.”

Playfully smacking his chest, I laugh. “Shut up, I do not. The story is amazing. Each season is somehow better than the next, and I like watching how the couples come together and overcome all the obstacles standing in their way. Plus, the outfits and music? It’s perfect.

” Lifting my head from his bare chest, I meet his gaze to find a smirk tugging at his lips. “What?”

“You’re cute when you ramble,” he says, his fingers grazing over my lower back as he keeps my body pressed to his. I have one leg thrown over his hip, resting between his legs like I’m desperate to be closer to him. He doesn’t seem to mind.

A comfortable silence stretches between us as a new episode of the regency era TV show begins. His steady heart beats beneath the palm of my hand where it rests on his chest, my own beating in sync as my mind slowly begins to wander.

I still have so many unanswered questions—things I want to ask—but I don’t know how.

I’ve never been the type to have trouble talking to someone.

But I also don’t think I’ve ever felt this ache to know all that I can about another person.

I want to peel back the layers of his soul and know who he truly is at his core.

Zack had a life before he moved here. What was so bad that he felt the need to run away and start over? Was it just the job that made him move, or was it something else?

As much as I love meeting new people and visiting new places, I couldn’t imagine ever packing up my life and starting over somewhere.

Moving out of my parents’ house and in with Becca was a huge change on its own, but I needed to know that I could be independent.

I was barely getting by for months before turning to making adult content online.

Now that things are financially getting better, my dream of opening a boudoir studio has started to shift back to the forefront of my mind.

“I can feel you thinking.” His low, deep voice breaks the silence.

My thumb taps against his chest. “My mind never really shuts off.”

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

I give myself another moment to revel in his comforting warmth before I say, “I was thinking about what kind of life you had before Haven Beach. . . before me.”

He lets out a deep hum. “Is that all?”

I hesitate. My mind is a carousel of thoughts, endlessly spinning around and around.

“I was also thinking now that I’m not struggling as much with money, I should try and focus more on building my boudoir photography business.

Seeing myself in the photos and videos I’ve taken makes me feel confident and powerful.

Sexy. I want to help others see themselves the same way. ”

A heavy breath releases from his lungs as his fingers comb strands of my hair in a calming, repetitive motion. “Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to keep watching your show?”

He’s giving me the freedom to voice my thoughts without the pressure of having to talk about them. The way he so easily sees me has butterflies taking flight in my stomach.

“I know you lost someone you cared about. Is that why you moved?”

The silence that builds is thick and heavy, settling over us like a weighted haze. I have to remind myself to keep breathing and not let my mind concoct ridiculous scenarios as I wait for him to respond.

A deep sigh escapes his lungs. “For the most part, yes. Ryan was my best friend. We went through the academy together and were partners until the accident. My life back then was… complicated. I wasn’t happy, but I didn’t realize how unhappy I was until he died.

Losing him ripped away what little shred of happiness I was hanging on to.

” His heart rate has slowly increased with each word spoken and is an erratic thrum beneath my palm.

I lift my head from his chest, propping myself up on one arm and meeting his gaze.

The pain shining behind his warm brown irises steals the breath from my lungs.

It stirs an ache deep inside of me, sick and slithering with no escape.

There’s nothing I can do to take away the pain he feels.

No visible entity that I can fight or rescue him from.

It’s a pain that only the passing of time will heal, and even then, it’ll likely never fully disappear.

“Why weren’t you happy?” The night we met, he told me life is too short to waste time doing something you don’t love. Waiting for him to speak, I graze my fingernails over his scalp, sliding my fingers through the soft, black curls I’ve come to love .

“I was engaged,” he rasps, his voice laced with ice. There’s no remorse in his words. No hint of a love lost.

Engaged.

I’ve never even felt true desire until I met Zack, and he’s been so in love with someone that he planned on spending his life with them.

“What happened?” The question is a whisper that somehow feels louder than anything else I’ve ever asked him.

I don’t think I want to hear his answer.

But I need to. I need to know why the relationship ended.

Was he the one to break things off? Or was she?

Maybe it was the final straw that sent him packing up his life and moving states away to start over.

I have no right to be jealous of a woman from his past. I would’ve only been eighteen at that point in his life.

Even if we had known each other back then, we wouldn’t have had the relationship that we do now.

His muscles tighten, his body turning stiff.

“She wasn’t the person I thought she was.

When we first met, she accepted that I planned on following in my father’s footsteps to go through the police academy.

As time went on, she began to hate it. She couldn’t handle that there were days when I wasn’t able to talk about the things I’d seen.

I didn’t have the emotional or mental capacity to process any of it.

When I did want to talk, she refused to hear any of it.

She’d say it was my fault for choosing that career path. That it was what I signed up for.”

He inhales deeply as his fingers halt their gentle graze against my skin. When he continues, his voice is strained as though it’s causing him physical pain to bring all of this to the surface.

“The night Ryan died…” His hand wraps around me, his grip on me tightening.

“She was pissed that I got home late. After the accident, it was hours before I made it home. Between the station-mandated reports an d evaluations, I also had to be the one to tell Ryan’s wife.

That’s not something that can be done over the phone.

I was in such disbelief over what had happened that I didn’t have it in me to argue with her.

I don’t remember whether or not I greeted her when I walked through the door.

I just remember downing a glass of whiskey like it was a lifeline.

All I wanted was to numb every emotion. I didn’t want to feel anything. ”

Anger simmers just beneath the surface, twisting the empathetic ache from his loss into something darker.

His ex fiancée must be a real piece of work to hold his job against him.

Zack was potentially putting his life on the line every single day, trying to make the world a better place, and she couldn’t find it in her heart to support him.

Nothing I say will change the past, but I hope he can feel how much I care about him.

I hope he knows I would never hold his position with The Phoenix Legion against him.

I still haven’t quite wrapped my head around what all his job entails.

If I’m being completely honest, I’m kind of afraid to ask.

He told me he’s never killed anyone, and I believe him.

Whatever part he plays in the organization, whatever it is that the other members do, I don’t need all of the details.

They’re saving people who aren’t able to save themselves and giving them a fresh start. That’s all I need to know.

“What did she do?” I ask, knowing I’m not fully prepared to hear the answer.

“She followed me into the bathroom and threw the bottle of whiskey at the wall as I was getting in the shower.” He's silent for a few moments before he continues.

“I don't know whether or not she was aiming for me, but the bottle shattered, and with my back to her, I didn't have a chance to escape the shards of glass. ”

The scars on his back.

That bitch.

His gasp is a short, sharp inhale of breath. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you cuss,” he says.

I didn’t mean to say the words out loud, but they’re fitting. “You didn’t deserve to be treated that way, Zack. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are. Someone who accepts all of you, even the pieces you think are broken.”

“I used to think that part of me would always be broken.” The glow in his eyes eases the anger boiling underneath the surface of my skin.

My breath hitches in my throat. “And now?” I ask, voice barely above a gentle murmur as a steady pressure begins to build in my chest. Is this what holding your breath underwater for a long period of time feels like?

I want to stay calm and hang on for as long as I can, but the pressure is getting worse with each passing second, and I know that I’ll need to come up for air sooner rather than later.

“Now, I have you.”

The pressure in my chest releases as I pull in a deep lungful of air. My teeth scrape over my bottom lip as my eyes flick between his. And then I’m grasping the side of his face and pulling his mouth to mine.