Whatever was hanging on the wall must be horrific.
He wove his way through the crowd. A few people raised their eyebrows as he walked past. Others stopped talking completely, staring at him as if he’d grown two heads.
Maybe it was what he was wearing? He should have known not to wear his black, funeral suit, but it was the only one he had.
When he was a few feet away from his destination, the people around him fell silent.
William was right. This crowd could spot an imposter when they saw one. Anyone would think he was here to deface the canvases or…
Something weird was going on. Everyone’s gaze was darting from the wall to him, and back again.
He moved closer to the canvas and stared at the large photograph.
It was him, but it wasn’t.
When his mind calmed down enough to see what Willow had created, he was shocked. Her photograph had stripped back every emotional layer he wore and exposed the most vulnerable part of who he was.
He stepped closer to the canvas. Half of him was in awe of her talent. The other half was embarrassed.
She’d taken the photo at Levi and Brooke’s wedding. He was standing on the edge of the dance floor, staring at the bride and groom. There was a longing in his face that he’d never seen before. He knew why it was there, and so did Willow.
It wasn’t for what could have been, but for what had always been inside him. Patience, courage, and determination shone from the canvas. It was in the line of his shoulders, the angle of his jaw. Light balanced the shadows, his dreams added depth.
At that stage, Willow had only met him a couple of times. But even then, she’d looked beyond his complicated, damaged soul and found the best of who he was.
Megan moved closer. “Are you all right?”
The only thing Zac could do was nod. Willow’s picture was changing the way he saw himself, the way he saw the world.
Megan’s hand rested on his elbow. “I’ll be back soon. If you need to leave, head toward the glass doors you came through. I’ll find you right away.”
Zac watched her leave, then turned back to the canvas.
Afghanistan had taken nearly everything from him but, until now, he hadn’t realized how much he had been given.
The refugees lived with hope. All they wanted was to return to their homes, to the lives they’d left behind. At times, when the pain of what he saw was too much, Zac turned to his friends for support. Levi and the other medical staff were incredible, but so were the people who had become refugees in their own country.
They knew what it was like to live in fear, to worry about unclean water, limited food rations, and medicines that were difficult to find. They knew, better than most, what it was like to lose the people you loved.
Somehow, the refugees’ tenacity and perseverance had become part of who Zac was. Beneath the unpredictable symptoms of PTSD was a man who could love and be loved.
“Hi, Zac.”
His heart pounded. Willow stood beside him, her eyes full of the same uncertainty he felt. He wanted so badly to reach out, to hold her in his arms, to explain why he’d panicked. But he didn’t know how.
She took a deep breath. “Megan told me you were here.”
“I hope it’s okay that I came.”
“I wanted to talk to you after the exhibition anyway.” She glanced at the photograph. “The canvas is my gift to you. I want you to see what I see when I look at you. Whatever happened in Afghanistan hasn’t defined you. It’s made you stronger. Here.” She placed her hand over his heart.
Zac covered her fingers with his. “I’m sorry—”
“It doesn’t matter. I understand why you don’t want us to be together.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.” He gathered his thoughts, focused on the words he’d practiced on the way here. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you enough to let you close. I want you to be my safe place to fall, but I also want to be yours.”
Willow’s eyes widened, then filled with tears. “I’d like that, too.”
