Veiled in Brick

Eliza Modiste

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2023 by Eliza Modiste

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Book Cover Design by Mitxeran

www.elizamodiste.com

Content Warning: This book contains content that may be troubling to some readers including, but not limited to, stalking, attempted sexual assault, mentions of childhood abuse, and mentions of suicide.

Contents

1. 1. Chapter 1

2. 2. Chapter 2

3. 3. Chapter 3

4. 4. Chapter 4

5. 5. Chapter 5

6. 6. Chapter 6

7. 7. Chapter 7

8. 8. Chapter 8

9. 9. Chapter 9

10. 10. Chapter 10

11. 11. Chapter 11

12. 12. Chapter 12

13. 13. Chapter 13

14. 14. Chapter 14

15. 15. Chapter 15

16. 16. Chapter 16

17. 17. Chapter 17

18. 18. Chapter 18

19. 19. Chapter 19

20. 20. Chapter 20

21. 21. Chapter 21

22. 22. Epilogue

23. 23. Dear Reader

Chapter 1

A bottle floats in the ocean, the letter haphazardly rolled and stuffed inside of it hiding a message for a select few deemed worthy to read. It pitches and yaws through the waves, safely holding the contents as it aimlessly wanders. Storms pass. Lightning strikes. And yet the bottle remains the same, protecting the fragile sheet of paper from the elements. The bottle is impenetrable. The waves crash and the rain pours, but it remains the same—unyielding. Bobbing along as if the glass is unbreakable.

Until someone comes along, grabs the bottle by the neck, and throws it to the ground.

The seemingly everlasting protection that was once in place is shattered to pieces, and the letter is stolen. There’s no telling if it’s in good hands. It could be ripped to bits in the blink of an eye—soaked in acetone rendering the ink unreadable—burned until it’s reduced to ash. Of course, not all things are what they seem…but the possibility of the letter being destroyed sounds more likely than any other outcome.

I’m biased, though, because it’s me. I’m the bottle. And I just wanted to be left the fuck at sea.

Ugh. I’m being dramatic—I should rewind to the point where I stopped recognizing my life. I could go as far back as when I was packing up my belongings to follow my best friend, Claire Branson, to Salem, Virginia. The venture across state lines from North Carolina wasn’t what caused my head to spin, though, for our lives were both as normal as they could possibly have been.

Normal. We got an apartment. We had jobs. She fell in love with her bartender coworker, Luke Turner. Her ex-boyfriend and old accomplice Colton Langdon blackmailed her for a heaping pile of money that she didn’t have, leading our newfound group to set up a sting operation for the drug dealer to whom Colton was indebted. We watched a man die.

You know. Typical girl things.

Traumatic as those events were and as often as I unintentionally revisited the horror in my mind, they weren’t what caused my world to feel like it turned upside down. It was the goddamn men—and I was currently sandwiched between the two that most often sent my mind reeling.

“I found a nice place to get dinner—”

“This shit again?”

The voices came forth from either side of me, and I slowly returned my empty bottle of cider to the counter. I took my time, rotating it atop the coaster as if I wanted to view the label. I swallowed the last sip that I held in my mouth and looked toward the second voice, Liam Cohen.

My dear friend and across-the-hall neighbor’s mouth was twisted in an amused grin that stretched the scar above his upper lip. The expression softened my annoyance, but only just. I shoved his brawny shoulder, and I was certain that the resulting sway of his body was one that was put on for show.

“Will you be nice?” I admonished him, and his dark eyes damn near sparkled.

“What is it,” Liam leaned forward to speak past me, “the fiftieth time that you’ve asked her out?”

I sighed, clamping my teeth together to prevent myself from responding sarcastically, ‘This week.’

“She said no, Jay,” Liam added. “She doesn’t do—”

“Dates,” I finished Liam’s sentence for him as I twisted myself to look at James Turner. “I don’t do dates.”

The grimace on James’ face that was clearly directed at Liam vanished as I looked into his grey eyes. He smiled, his crooked nose scrunching up, and he tucked his hair behind his ears.

“I know,” he replied, confidence unwavering. “You’ve said so before.”

Liam and I spoke simultaneously.

He advised, “Let it go, man,” and I questioned aloud:

“Do you want to fuck, Jay?”

James chuckled, shaking his head in amusement for it was not the first time that I had asked him that question.

Liam groaned loudly as he lifted his half-filled beer to his lips, “Dammit, Zo’.”

“Go ahead, take me out back,” I continued, challenging James and ignoring Liam’s clear disapproval. “I’ll drop to my knees and suck you off before you can say boo, but I’m not going on a date.”

The all-knowing laugh from behind the bar brought my line of sight to Claire. Her red hair shined, the yellow neon lighting along the wall behind her illuminating her in a glow that would have looked angelic if we weren’t all sitting in the dim, dusty bar that was down the street from our apartment complex. We all adored Henry’s—the bar, that is. Although Claire and Luke were required to frequent Henry’s considering that they were employed here, the rest of our group enjoyed going here on a regular basis.

Claire smiled wide as she looked at my empty bottle and silently replaced it with a full one.

“Are we doing this again, Zoey?” she asked me with one of her brows angled up high.

Luke approached us all from behind the counter, popping two shot glasses on the bartop as he grinned at her with soft, loving eyes, inquiring, “Doing what?”

“Zoey’s offering to give your brother head,” she told him.

“Ah,” Luke voiced, scrunching up his slim nose in distaste as he poured a liquor with a milky consistency into both glasses before him. “Yeah, that tracks.”

This was our ritual.

I won’t even try to lie—I wanted James. Bad. The brown hair I could wrap my hands in…the tattoos…the muscles…the beard…it was all too enticing. I frequently imagined that I could climb his arms like tree branches and wrap my thighs around his head until he suffocated in the most glorious, glorious death imaginable, but James had made it clear over the past several months that he wasn’t interested in a one-night-stand. Or a one-morning-stand. Or a one-afternoon-stand. Any kind of stand, really—trust me, I checked. It had been so long of us rinsing and repeating this same song and dance that the man even knew my birth control regimen because damn if I could get him to cave for one goddamn second, then we wouldn’t have to waste any time before he could just fuckin’ stick me already.

But he wanted a goddamn date…and because I just don’t do romance, I was forced to turn him down time and time again.

It was a challenge, to say the least, to continually deny a man who looked like he could throw me over his shoulder and onto his bed with a flick of his wrist. Especially when I was in the driest spell of my life. I used to have sex. Glorious sex. Toe curling sex. Sex that could make one want to believe in a god. Those times were almost an entire year behind me though, and to say that I was chomping at the bit for any sort of sexual interaction would have been a massive understatement.

Luke grabbed the two drinks he had prepared from the bartop and began to walk his way behind Claire, looking at his brother with a sympathetic glance.

“Liam’s right. Let it go, Jay—it’s a bad idea.”

“A bad idea?” I interjected sharply.

Luke exhaled heavily and halted his steps as Claire chuckled, “Oh, baby, you said the wrong thing.”

Luke looked to Liam with a silent, “Help me,” and Liam shook his head vigorously from side to side.

“I—um,” Luke stammered, his grey eyes wide from his sheer aversion to confrontation. He lifted the two small glasses in his hands. “These are getting warm.”

He scurried away and Claire smirked, saying, “I think what Luke’s trying to say is that you both have…different goals when it comes to relationships.”

I grumbled, “Relationships.”

“Exactly my point,” Claire retorted with a grin and glanced at James as she said, “Zoey doesn’t want a relationship. You are a relationship guy.”

James’ eyes rolled to the ceiling. “You say this because of the wife thing.”

She snorted. “Because you were married. Yeah.”

None of us, with the exception of Luke, had met James’ illusive ex-wife, Allison. Any conversation of her would sharply drift off course with James’ direction and, according to Luke, there was no need to pry. Allison was as out of the picture as a girl who had once signed lifelong papers with a man could have been.

“Only time I’ve seen Alli in the past year was to meet up and discuss legal paperwork,” James argued. “The divorce shit is lingering, but we’ve been separated for…fuck, I don’t even remember how long at this point. Year and a half, probably.”

Claire snatched the empty lowball glass that resided in front of him.

“Right.” She poured three fingers of his preferred whiskey instead of his usual two and pushed the glass back to him as she stated, “And you haven’t had a rebound in that time either.”

He scoffed, and I cooed, “Are you looking for a rebound, Jay?”

James looked at me with a gentle smile. “No, Zoey. I’m not looking for a rebound.”

“If you were,” I replied, “you do know that I’m here, yes? With legs wide open?”

Liam choked on his beer, the sound of him sputtering with a deep cough not lost on my ears. He spoke in a few choice words, but they all turned to incoherent chatter as James leaned down to speak to me quietly.

“How about,” his beard scratched at my neck as he moved his lips, and I had to force myself to contain a shudder, “I take you out. If it goes well—and I mean if—then I’ll show you what I really want.”

He said the last few words in a gritty tone that shot a jolt right through me, and I felt my lips stretch into a wide smile. It was the most sexually forward that James had ever been with me, and the feeling was gratifying as all hell. My will to continually tell James no when it came to his dating inquiries had withered away to almost nothing over the past few months—I hadn’t admitted that aloud, sure, but it was true. And now, with the sound of his gravelly voice still fresh in my mind and resonating between my legs, any of my remaining apprehension melted away.

I whispered back in as sultry of a tone as I could manage, “Are you compromising with me?”

James’ shoulders shook in a near-silent, husky laugh, and he leaned back to view my expression.

“Maybe.”

“Took you long enough,” I quipped.

He shrugged, grey eyes dancing as he ushered me, “So?”

I traced my gaze down his body and then back up. I focused for only a brief moment on the muscles in his inked forearms. They flexed as he gripped his glass tighter, and though I was uncertain of what was written across my face, Claire alerted me to it soon enough.

“Down, girl,” she mocked me.

I glanced her way and quietly voiced, “Woof.” She chortled, shaking her head until I looked back to James and sighed. “Fine; you’re on.”

James smiled so wide that I was able to see each and every one of his teeth. “Yeah?”

Claire gasped loudly, and Liam muttered from behind me, “Oh.”

I rolled my eyes and looked to the both of them. “Y’all are dramatic.”

Liam took a final swig of his beer, set it on the counter, tapped the rim of the glass to signify to Claire that he wanted another, and grinned a lopsided grin down at me.

“See you at the wedding,” he remarked. “You’ll be the one in white, right?”

He laughed at his own joke, the dim lighting shining off of his blonde head as he threw it back, letting out a loud guffaw as I smacked his chest.

“Fuck off, Lee!”

My profanity only appeared to amuse him more, and his laughter remained until Luke appeared once again. His typically coiffed hair was hanging over his forehead, his head cocked to the side in curiosity at Liam’s fit of hilarity. He set down the two empty shot glasses that he had returned with and began to ask Claire:

“What is he—”

She slid a fresh beer to Liam and trilled over her shoulder quickly, “You owe me money.”

A wicked smile stretched the freckles across her face, and Luke’s brows pulled together.

“I do?”

“Mhm.”

She moved to stand before him, placing a hand on his chest and leaving it there, toying with the material of his dark t-shirt.

He smirked at her candor. “And why is that?”

Her eyebrows raised in a silent challenge for him to guess, and he squinted his eyes, slowly shifting his gaze to James.

James lifted his whiskey in a cheersing motion and as he took a large sip, Luke’s focus moved rapidly to me.

“You didn’t,” Luke voiced to me disbelievingly.

“Didn’t what?”

“Did you…bet money against me, brother?” James asked him with a sarcastic tone, narrowing his eyes.

I added, “Did you two bet on my sex life?”

Luke held up an index finger to us both. “The particulars are neither here nor there.” He moved his now-accusatory finger to me. “You two are…”

Luke’s words lingered in the air, awaiting my response.

I spoke on an exhale, “Going on a date.”

“And you sound so excited about that,” Liam joked from my right.

Luke’s finger was now directed to Claire, tapping on her bare sternum right above the edge of her tank top.

“That,” he told her, “does not mean that I owe you shit, love.”

She began to argue, “You said—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Luke held his finger to her lips now, silencing her as she rolled her eyes so hard that I wondered if they would fall out of her head. “Particulars are not to be discussed in public, baby. You know the rules.”

Claire bit the pad of his finger softly and Luke yelped, clasping his hand as if she had gravely wounded him. His mock offense lasted for only a split second, immediately being replaced with an adoring gaze that could melt paint off a wall as he whispered what appeared to be, ‘Feisty.’

Claire chewed on the inside of her cheek, her smile that was attempting to be withheld creeping to her lips until her teeth were beginning to blind me. She turned to James and me.

“The particulars are not to be discussed in public,” she announced wryly.

James chuckled, clearly enjoying their back and forth, and asked me, “When are you free?”

“Did you have to do this now, Zo’?”

Liam was watching me with tired eyes as I paced through my place of employment, Zest. It was five minutes past closing time on a Friday, and because we had discussed grabbing a drink at Henry’s after my shift was over, he was waiting—none too patiently, might I add—at the front door. We had one hour between now and when James was to pick me up from the bar for our outing, and I had yet to find something to wear for the occasion. Background music having been turned off for the night, my steps echoed along the black and white marbled tile as I perused the boutique.

“Well, I couldn’t shop while Brenda was here,” I argued. “She would have asked me what the occasion was and…”

He laughed softly. “Yeah, Bee would have been all over that.”

Brenda was another one of the employees at Zest. Being the owner Noelle’s younger sister, she was scheduled nearly as often as I was, and though I desperately tried to keep my private life private, she had a way of weaseling her way into my mind. In her mid-forties, a single mother with two young children, she was constantly on the lookout for any gossip to speak of. If she were anyone else, I would have told her to fuck off long, long ago, but for whatever reason, Brenda had quickly become an exception to the rule regarding divulging details of my private life. I never gave her any information of importance, of course, as I did that for very few people, but I simply allowed her to question what she felt she needed to.

Liam knew of Brenda’s interrogating ways—in fact, he had personally witnessed it on many occasions when he would meet me after my shift was over. It was no secret to Brenda that I was, as she put it, ‘single as a pringle,’ and, at Liam’s frequent appearance, she got to questioning my relationship status. I shot her inquiries down fairly quickly. Not in my typical fuck that noise attitude—this was a work environment, after all—but, regardless, I inevitably got my point across. Her interrogation regarding the, in her words, ‘hunky, tall glass of water with the blonde hair,’ ended almost as soon as it had begun, but her vaguely lewd commentary on Liam’s attractive looks remained.

Entertaining as that commentary was, Brenda was not here to make it, which was why my steps were tapping across the tile at an alarming rate.

“Can’t you just wear what ya have on?” Liam whined. I halted my steps, glanced at him disbelievingly, and he muttered questioningly, “Or not?”

“It’s a date, Lee, I can’t just wear this.”

“What’s the problem with what you’re wearing now?” he asked. “You look fine.”

“I look fine?”

Liam shrugged. “Brown’s a good color.”

I looked down to observe my outfit—the t-shirt dress fell just below my upper thigh, the chocolate color of it offsetting the pallor of my skin that I had yet to tan in the new summer sun.

“It’s basically an oversized shirt, Liam, I need to look nicer than this.”

“What do you care, Zoey?” he questioned as he rocked back on his heels. “You could wear a paper bag; James isn’t gonna give a shit.”

“Okay, well, I give a shit.”

“Why?” He chuckled. “You like him? Are ya goin’ soft on me?”

“I just want-to-fucking-look-nice, Liam!”

As I glared at him, he pressed his lips together in a fine line. I exhaled a breath sharply through my nostrils, turned to face the rack that I stood closest to, and picked up a red dress. I held the black, wrought iron hanger up to my shoulders, displaying it on my body. The fabric had impressions of leaves adorning its entirety. What was supposed to be rather short would have been a knee-length skirt for a girl of my short stature, and the neckline was delightfully provocative—holding up the plunging décolletage were two spaghetti-thin straps that split into four separate strings along the back. With my blonde hair being cropped so short that I had little need to even tuck it behind my ears, the dress would leave my back almost completely bare. I smiled as I considered it further, holding it out at an arm’s length.

“Little too much tit, don’t ya think?” Liam voiced.

I sighed and draped the dress over my arm, saying, “That’s kinda the point.” He grumbled in response, and I retorted, “Okay, what would you choose?”

“For myself?” he returned with a broad grin that elongated his many freckles. “A short skirt that shows off my ass, thanks for asking.”

I snickered. “Do you wanna help me or not?”

His thick eyebrows pinched together. “You want me to help you pick out an outfit for your date?”

“The quicker I find something, the sooner we’ll be at Henry’s,” I reminded him.

Liam nodded, turning his head around to view the store’s entirety without moving his feet, and stated, “Green dress, front window.”

I knew the one. Olive green, it had large, pearlescent buttons down the center and a skirt that would flutter down to just above my knees. The top was modest but had a ruching to it that I knew would be a flattering cut for my ample bosom.

“That one?” I questioned. “Why that one?” Liam raised his left shoulder and then dropped it, and I pressed jokingly, “It’s because it doesn’t show off any cleavage, isn’t it?”

He exhaled loudly. “It matches your eyes.” His words struck me in a way that I couldn’t fully discern, and I paused to consider them for a beat. They still hadn’t fully sunken in when he quickly added, “You wanna look nice? Get the green dress. Now, can ya try something on so we can go? I’m thirsty.”

Chapter 2

I got the green dress.

I wasn’t sure what exactly made my decision set in stone. It could have been the way that the fabric felt on my skin, the fact that it perfectly matched the high wedges I had already chosen to wear for the day, and the realization that it emphasized my petite frame in all the right places. Or, it could have been the sight of Liam’s dark eyes widening the moment that I stepped out of the dressing room. Flattery aside, I went with the former.

The recent memory of his oh-so-silent approval brought a soft smile to my lips, but only for a brief moment as the uncomfortable sensation of uncharted territory prevailed. I had bugs under my skin—and they wanted out.

I considered the metaphorical insects’ existence over and over in my mind during the night—not constantly, of course. Just…in between immersive conversations. Enough to make me run my hands over the crepe material of my dress time and time again to the point that the feel of it was memorized by my palms. There was a nick in the fabric that rested along my right thigh. A single thread was peeking out behind the third button that lined up the center of the skirt. I pulled at it, twisting it over my finger until I felt resistance, and released it altogether.

I sat in a dimly lit establishment. The table at which I sat looked like a butcher block, decorated with different colored stained pieces of wood. The place was neither big nor small; neither busy nor deserted. It was a place I could see myself going on a Friday night even if it were just with friends. I wasn’t with just friends, though. I was with James. At a restaurant that he suggested near his neck of the woods in Roanoke. On our date. We had already eaten dinner, gone through generic pleasantries, had all-together enjoyable chit-chat, and now, we were waiting for the waitress to return the bill back to us.

“You work at that store, right?”

I stopped fiddling with my dress and snorted at his lack of detail.

“You realize that sentence could mean literally anything.” James dropped his eyes to his glass on the table, smiling as he swirled the amber liquid inside, and I quipped, “That store could sell…yarn. Watches. Fucking…lumber. Tile. Toilets. Dildos—”

“How in the world did you go from yarn to dildos?”

I slung the rest of my green drink back, the taste of sour apples coating my mouth. “No one wants to be in this mind, Jay.”

I stated it sarcastically, but he noted:

“I do.”

His grey eyes shined with sincerity, and I found myself grinning at the gesture.

“Anyway,” I muttered, “what store do you mean?”

“The yellow one.”

“Descriptive.”

“Sells clothes.”

“You’re getting warmer.”

He pointed at me. “Has that dress in the display window.”

“Are you stalking me, Jay?” I whispered dramatically.

James laughed softly. “You learn things after you hang around for a while, fuckin’ sue me.”

“I lack the supplemental income for the fee for a lawyer, but thanks for the offer.”

“Uh huh,” he brought his glass to his lips and set it back down promptly.

“I do work at the yellow store—Zest.”

“You like it?”

I did like my job, but I knew that the nature of it was less than entertaining, so I shrugged.

“It’s retail.”

“Yeah,” he replied, “it is.”

“Does that make me sound too young?” I ventured the question as it popped into my mind. “The fact that I work in retail?”

“Nah.” He shook his head quickly and began to trace the rim of his glass with his index finger.

“What about your job?” I asked. “What does James do on a day-to-day basis?”

“You don’t know what I do?”

“Er…” I took a wild guess off of any context clues that I had picked up from passing conversations at Henry’s, “Numbers?”

James laughed. “Numbers?”

“You do numbers.”

“Financial modeling,” he corrected me.

“That makes you sound…”

My words drifted off as I pondered the end of the sentence that I was intending, and James pressed with a chuckle, “Makes me sound what?”

“Old,” I responded. “It makes you sound old.”

“I hate to tell you that you’re robbing the grave,” he replied with his signature crooked smile as he took another sip of his drink. “But you are.”

I snorted. “I was just joking; I don’t think you’re old.”

“I’m thirty-one, Zoey,” he told me, and then restated, “ah—thirty, actually…give me a few weeks.”

“You’re five years older than me,” I commented on our age difference, announcing aloud what we already knew. “I’m hardly robbing the grave.”

“That’s sixteen percent of my life, and twenty percent of yours.”

“Numbers,” I mocked. “Hot.”

James pressed his lips together. “I, ah, had a long day at work.” He moved his head from side to side once more. “I know that’s not exactly sexy; that, um, that shit’s hard to turn off.”

His uncharacteristic stammering left me with the urge to reassure him with a slight deviation of topic, and I remarked, “Are you a freak in the spreadsheets, Jay?”

His eyes danced at my words and he replied, “You…do not want to take a ride on the Excel pun train with me. Ticket to admission doesn’t guarantee that you’ll be allowed out of the cabin.”

“You’ll…what,” I snickered, “torture me with bad jokes all day?” He nodded emphatically, and I responded, “That doesn’t sound so bad. I’d only understand a few of them, anyway.”

“Don’t test me.” His gaze shifted up to the waitress who had returned with the bill, and he reached for the black booklet as he thanked her. James opened it, quickly scribbled his signature, and drained the remainder of his glass. He stowed his credit card in his wallet. “You wanna get out of here?”

I gave him a smile and nodded. “Mhm.”

We stood and he led me out of the restaurant by the hand. I followed behind him, unable to tear my eyes off of the way that his dark jeans moved when he walked—or the gathering of grey fabric just above his elbow that led to his bicep straining against the material—or the way the muscles underneath the black ink on his forearms moved when he gripped my hand tighter. It made me almost disappointed when we began to walk to his car and he dropped my hand altogether. I say almost because he then moved his hand to my lower back as we walked, and I could nearly feel the heat from his fingertips radiating into my skin.

We only had a block or so to walk to get to his car, but despite the height of the wedged sandals that I wore, I could have stood for it to be a bit longer. The street, which I had never visited before tonight, was well-lit with tall lampposts. Various bars and small restaurants lined either side of the road, each one bringing a general hum of conversation to my ears as we passed them. A gentle heat from the summer night’s air embraced my shoulders. It was pleasant.

“So, what did you think?” he asked me quietly as we took slow steps down the sidewalk. I looked to him, pinching my brow together in silent question, and he clarified, “About the date that you tried to avoid for the past six months.”

I chuckled. “I had a good time, Jay.”

“I was starting to worry I had lost my edge,” he whispered down to me dramatically. “Y’know. It’s been a while. The whole date thing.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about losing your edge,” I told him with a soft laugh, knowing that his charm was one of the things that I thoroughly enjoyed about him. I joked more to myself than to him, “Anyway—it’s not like I’ve done this before or anything.”

“What, been a while for you too?”

Fuck.

“Um.” I scuffed my heel against the concrete. “I, ah—I’ve told you that I don’t date.”

“Thought that was a figure of speech or something.” James glanced at me with a singular raised eyebrow, and I shook my head. He clarified, “So…like…never?”

I let out a soft, nervous laugh. “Erm—ya caught me?”

“Oh…okay.”

I felt the need to busy my hands by smoothing a crease that had formed in the fabric of my dress. The tension hung between us at my admission, and I wasn’t certain why it made me anxious, but it did. So much so that when we reached the quiet lot that his grey sedan was parked in and our footsteps slowed, I turned toward him to speak on the subject.

Leaning against the passenger door with my behind, I began to state, “Look, if that’s weird—”

My words fell away as I glimpsed his expression. His eyes had gone dark, his fingers dug into my hips, and as he looked down at me, the palpable anxiety that I was experiencing previously disappeared. My mouth pulled up into a wide smirk for he was so close that I could smell the teak in his cologne—taste the hint of smoke from his whiskey. He kissed me, the soft brush of his lips a contradiction to the grizzle of his beard, and I grinned against him, feeling my entire body sigh in relief as I grasped at his waist. Before I could deepen the kiss any further, he pulled away, his typical lopsided grin on display.

“Thanks for coming out.”

His voice had deepened to something grittier, more akin to a tone that you’d hear when you’re between the sheets, and I felt my smile stretch wider.

“My pleasure,” I replied, tightening my grip on him.

“Your pleasure, huh?”

I nodded, stretching upward to kiss him once more, this time opening my mouth to brush my tongue against his. A low, rumbling noise came from his chest and he kissed me back with fervor, pressing me against the passenger door of the car with his hips. I gasped into his mouth, the escalation of his actions bordering on rough, sending sensations through me that hadn’t been caused by another human being since long, long ago. His face trailed down to my neck, his beard scratching at my skin, and he whispered in my ear:

“You taste like candy.”

I silently thanked the gods above for this moment and for the drinks I had consumed earlier that made my mouth taste like a liquified Jolly Rancher. I sighed as he licked along the pulse point of my neck and brought my hands to his hair, brushing the long strands away from his face.

“If you think that’s good, wait until you try the rest of me,” I breathed.

He hummed out a chuckle, skimming his hands up my front until they cradled my face. He looked at me almost with awe and kissed me deeply once more.

“A tempting offer,” he simpered. “Let me take you home.”

I nodded, and he reached behind me to grasp the door handle. Once I was safely in my seat, he jogged around the car to make his way behind the wheel. I waited patiently as he put his keys in the ignition, backed out of the parking space, and drove down the road. When his right hand fluttered its way across the center console, onto my upper thigh, and squeezed, the silence crackled around us and my patience had, officially, run out.

I clicked the button to release my seatbelt, ignored the car’s complaining beeping, and kneeled on the seat to stretch myself toward him. James smiled devilishly, maintaining eye contact with the road as he moved his grip around my waist and to my backside. I licked and nipped along his neck and was rewarded with a groan that I felt vibrate through my lips. His hand moved back and forth gently as if he were attempting to memorize the shape of my ass, and I hummed happily.

“You’re being very distracting,” he told me.

I cooed, “Am I?” and began to suck on the skin behind his ear.

“Fuck,” he murmured, “yes.”

“Maybe I want to be distracting.” I pulled the collar of his button-down out of the way of my mouth and softly bit at his shoulder. Feeling the musculature with my lips was gratifying, and I exhaled a gentle breath in his ear.

He squeezed my right cheek. “I like that.”

“Do you, now?” I ran my hand underneath the neckline of his shirt, across his chest, back up into his hair, and pulled.

He groaned. “You’re gonna make me crash.”

“That would be no fun at all.” My touch grazed over the buttons on his abdomen and to his crotch.

“Fuck, Zoey,” he hissed through his teeth. “Don’t make me pull over.”

“And do what?” I kissed his neck once more, my hand finding his cock struggling to be contained by his jeans, and I tugged at the length through the material. He grunted, flicking his wrist to spank me softly, and I yelped in delight. “Do that again.” He obliged; this time just hard enough to leave a tingling sensation in its wake. “You can do better than that, come on—I won’t break.”

The last sentence came out of me in a purr, and James turned the wheel quickly to bring us down an alleyway. The wheels skidded to a stop, he thrust the car into park, and brought both of his hands to my face, yanking my mouth to his. Our tongues tangled for far too brief a moment, and he tugged at the short hairs on my scalp to pull me away.

“You’re making me want to fuck you in this car like a teenager and I really, really wanted to give you more respect than that.”

His words reverberated down to the neglected area between my thighs, and I craned my neck left and right to examine the area around us.

Finding it dark and deserted, I stated, “Respect is overrated.”

“How did I know you would say something like that?” he asked in a single breath, not allowing me to respond as he pulled my mouth back to his. I sucked on his lower lip, dragging my teeth along the soft skin, and he whispered, “Get in the back.”

I all but launched myself into the back seat, crawling over the center console while James quickly exited, and then re-entered the car from the rear door behind me. He nearly fell in as he slammed the door shut. I was still trying to sit myself up from my venture from the front seat and as I was kneeled facing away from him, he found the hem of my dress and pushed it upwards. The soft fabric of my skirt laying over my waist, the lacy material of my cheeky underwear was exposed. He planted an open mouth kiss directly on the left side of the lace, and then brought his hand down to the same spot swiftly, spanking me much harder than he had just moments ago.

“Fuck!” I moaned and leaned down on my elbows.

James groaned, gliding both of his hands over my backside, caressing it gently until he grasped at my hipbones. “Turn over.”

I obeyed, his fingertips grazing along my skin as I rotated to face him, and he leaned down to kiss me greedily. Our tongues grazed against each other’s more and more aggressively until our hips began to buck, our bodies began to rock, and his touch worked its way up my body. He kneaded my breasts and I arched into his touch, breaking our contact at the mouth.

I mewled, “Yes, please.”

His hands rested on either side of the buttons that went down the center of my chest, and he asked in an exhale, “Are you fond of this dress?”

“Now? Not so much—” I barely managed to finish my snippy reply before he yanked his grip in either direction and the buttons fastening the material snapped free. They scattered on the floor mats, and I gasped, “James!”

He flashed me a sinful grin and mocked, “I’ll buy you a new one,” before he tugged at the cups of my bra to expose my breasts, and his mouth went to work.

“Ah!”

His tongue on my nipples was nearly my undoing. I quivered, letting out many shaky breaths, unsure of how long I’d be able to stand this. When I realized that my loss of control was imminent, I reached down between us to grab the fastening on his jeans and, with deft fingers, slipped my hand beyond the waistband and grasped his cock.

He groaned, “Shit,” and allowed his head to fall against the crook of my neck as I pumped him up and down. I only managed to quicken my pace for a few strokes before James sat up, grabbing me by the hipbones once more, and flexed his grip in a way that could only mean, ‘Flip the fuck over.’

I followed the suggestion of his touch, the skirt of my dress resting over my back once more, and James’ hands were on me as he caressed me from behind. I arched into the feel of his hands on me, stretching as far as I could within the small confines of his car, my chest touching the seat and my ass in the air.

He found the seam of my panties and, with great care, slipped them down to my knees. He cursed quietly under his breath, tracing a finger lower and lower until it was directly outside of my pussy, and he pressed it inside of me slowly.

I begged, “Just fuck me, please.”

He muttered, “Jesus, Zoey.” His finger left me, then, and I heard the twang of a zipper. He hovered over me, leaning down so his mouth was grazing my ear, said, “Don’t need to tell me twice,” and thrust himself into me in one quick movement. I nearly screamed, and he panted out, “Too much?”

“No, fuck, no,” I spoke in gasps, waiting for my body to accommodate for his size. “Not enough, please.”

“Yes.” He slid himself almost all the way out, and then back again.

We moaned simultaneously, and from there we both began to quickly—very quickly—come undone. He moved hard and fast, grunting in my ear as the air around us turned hot and humid.

“Please.” I pleaded over and over again, and once I felt myself tighten like a rubber band, I ordered, “Touch me!”

He obliged, moving a hand between my legs, and I cried out at the sensation.

“Oh my God,” James gritted out from behind me. “Are you gonna come?”

I mustered all my breath for a whiney, “Uh huh.”

“Fuck.”

At that last cursed word, I imploded. I shouted nonsensical sounds into the abyss as he continued to pound into me, and then stilled abruptly. What almost sounded like a growl graced my ears, and I let my body go slack.

We caught our breath for a bit, then. James pushed himself up and gave me an appreciative pat on my right cheek, pulling himself from me slowly. I groaned, reaching for my panties around my knees and hauling them up before flopping myself over. I sighed out a long breath and swatted in his general direction as he began to re-fasten his jeans.

He smirked at me as he sat back and questioned me with a quiet, “Hmm?”

“Good,” I somehow found my voice, but stammered a bit in the process. “Good—good job.”

His crooked smile grew, and he laughed to himself softly as he stated, “A pleasure, Miss Sheffield.”

Liam sat next to me on the couch in my apartment, cackling so hard that he was struggling to catch his breath. He clutched at his ribs, blonde head thrown back to the grey fabric of the cushion behind him as his booming laughter bounced off of the walls and reverberated back to my ears. I narrowed my eyes at him, waiting for the noises to subside.

When they didn’t, I snapped, “Are you done?”

He faked wiping a tear from one of his brown eyes.

“I’m sorry, Zoey,” he said, exhaling a last time. “That’s just…that’s fucking hilarious.”

“It is not hilarious,” I responded.

We both turned our heads and squinted our eyes at the offending delivery: an arrangement of red roses. They were in a clear vase, situated perfectly as they sat in the center of my kitchen table. Truthfully, they were beautiful, but they were so, so not up my alley—and Liam knew this. Anyone who spent more than five minutes with me should know this. But, apparently, James did not.

Liam giggled, coughed to try to cover it up, and spoke as if his throat had a frog in it, “You went on one date—yesterday. That was fucking fast. How’d he even set up the delivery in time?”

I groaned, collapsing back on the couch with my hands covering my face, which only made Liam laugh at my misery even more. I took my aggravation out on his hip, kicking him swiftly.

“It’s not funny, Lee,” I chastised him, and his teeth glinted out to bite the corner of his mouth as I noted, “James must have lost his goddamn mind—”

“I told you I’d see you at the wedding—”

“And I told you to fuck. Off. Liam.”

He joked, “What, do you have a magic pussy or something?”

I barked out a reluctant laugh. “No,” I paused for a moment, “actually—probably. Yeah, sure, I have a magic pussy.” Liam pursed his lips, and I added, “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“You can water them and enjoy how they smell.”

“Not the flowers, Liam, God,” I retorted, exasperated. “The situation with James, what do I even do with that?”

Liam shrugged. “I don’t fuckin’ know. If he’s clingy, cut him off.”

“Clingy is a massive understatement, Liam!” I exclaimed, throwing a hand to the ceiling. “He’s been on my ass for a date for half a year, I finally cave, and I get these?!”

He opened his mouth to speak but a pinging noise sounded from his jeans, cutting off his inevitable response. He leaned back, stretching himself in such a way that allowed him to reach a hand into his right pocket, and I found myself having to avert my eyes as his white t-shirt rose just high enough to reveal his abdomen. I focused instead on his phone that he fished out of his jeans, tracing my eyes over the heavily cracked screen.

“You still haven’t gotten that fixed?”

He spoke offhandedly, “Someone quoted me a hundred bucks.”

“That seems high.”

“Yeah, it seems high. I’m fuckin’ broke; I’ll just cut my fingertips up on this screen ’till I die.” Liam placed his phone back in his pocket and moved to stand. “I have class in an hour; I should go back to my place and pack up.”

It wasn’t long after Liam and I had gotten to know each other better that I learned that he was studying to be an elementary school teacher. His studies kept him relatively busy, and when he wasn’t preoccupied with that, he was working manual labor jobs here and there, which was why when Claire and I had initially met him, he had referred to his career as freelancing. I gave him all kinds of hell when I found out, of course, because our first impression of him was that he was either a drug dealer or a moocher.

“What’s on the roster for today?” I asked.

A corner of his lip pulled up in a small smirk. “Buckle up; these class names are fun.”

I pointedly interlaced my fingers on my lap. “Throw ’em at me.”

He held up a single finger. “Creativity and the Young Child.”

“Sounds like a Harry Potter book,” I interjected. “Go on.”

His smirk widened as he pointed two fingers toward me. “And…wait for it…The Exceptional Child.”

“Wow,” I chuckled. “I didn’t think it could get any better.”

“Right?” Liam laughed quietly. “Anyway. I’m outta here.” He stuck out a hand and I slapped it, giving him the usual low-five that I do when he leaves. “I’ll text you later,” he remarked, gesturing towards the flowers. “Good luck with that.”

I heard him snickering to himself as he walked away, and I chucked a throw pillow in his direction.

I repeated my prior words in a yell, “Fuck off, Lee!”

He blocked it with his forearm with ease, his dimply grin beaming back at me as he pulled the door open.

“I got eyes everywhere, Zo’, ya gotta try harder than that!” He didn’t, however, have eyes everywhere. He stumbled a bit, avoiding Claire as she entered our apartment, and he muttered an apology along with his typical nickname for her. “Sorry, Frecks.”

“Eyes everywhere, sure,” Claire remarked as she began to waltz through the foyer.

Liam remained in the doorway, his expression laced with glee as he watched Claire’s slow steps pat their way across the cherry wood. She set her purse on one of the kitchen chairs, rifled through the worn blue bag for a moment to retrieve her phone, and spoke:

“So, how’d it go last ni—” Her baby blues widened on the flowers that reached her line of sight, and her jaw unhinged. She blinked once, hard, looked from the vase to me, to Liam who was now near giddy, and then back again. Her light red locks fanned out behind her at her rapid motions, and she shrieked, “The fuck are THOSE doing here?!

Liam threw his head back and let out a loud, “HA!” as he stepped right back inside and shut the door behind him.

I groaned. “I thought you had class, Lee.”

“Oh, for this, I can be late,” he replied with a Cheshire grin and returned to his seat on the couch beside me. I shoved his shoulder, and he said, “You’re, like, abusive, y’know.”

I scoffed at his comment as Claire began to amble her way over to the green chair that was adjacent to Liam. She limped heavily today, and I felt my face pinch together in concern.

“You good?”

“I’m fine,” she waved me off as she grabbed the edge of the seat to stabilize herself and sat gently. “It was warm yesterday, cold this morning—weather always fucks with it.”

Claire was referring to her bum left leg. The injury that she had gotten when her past came back to metaphorically bite her in the ass approximately six months ago had yet to heal properly.

“You could just use your stick like the doctor told you to—”

“I’m not using the fucking cane, Zoey,” she snapped. “It’s annoying. I’m not ninety years old.”

“You were stabbed almost clean through your thigh, Claire,” I reminded her. “The muscles aren’t going to just heal themselves.”

“I don’t. Like. The. Fucking. Cane.” She narrowed her eyes as she spoke.

“Okay, well, Liam was shot and his shoulder was shattered and he’s like…totally fine now since he did all his physical therapy and wore the sling and—”

“Then he gets a fucking gold star!” she exclaimed loudly.

Liam muttered to himself, “Nice, a gold star.”

“We aren’t talking about me right now, and I’d bet my ass we aren’t talking about Liam.” Claire pointed enthusiastically toward the vase on the counter.

“James,” I answered somberly.

“He got you flowers?”

I let out a noise of misery, threw an arm over my eyes, and wailed, “Yes.”

“Oh, Jay, no,” she complained, tsking him. “No, no, no. Did it come with a note?”

“A note?” I asked.

“A love letter,” Liam added with a chuckle.

She clarified, “There’s no note?”

I shook my head. “A little tag with our address on it, but that was it.”

“Did the delivery guy say they were for you?” Her expression turned curious.

“There was no delivery guy. Liam saw them on the doorstep on his way in.”

“How do you even know they’re from James, then?”

I hesitated, for I wasn’t sure of an answer aside from the fact that the timing lined up just right.

“Um—”

Claire held up a finger to halt my speaking and quickly tapped away at her phone. It began to ring loud enough for the entire room to hear, and Luke’s voice spoke through the speaker soon enough:

“The answer is yes; I have time for round two.”

Liam let out a loud laugh at Luke’s greeting, and a flush rose to Claire’s cheeks as she replied:

“Ah—you’re on speaker, baby.”

“Lovely,” he grumbled back. “You forget something at my place?”

I remarked, “Aside from his dick.”

Claire ignored my comment and the corresponding snorting from Liam.

“Mm-mmm,” she hummed a semblance of a no back to Luke, “Did you order me flowers?”

A short silence hung in the air.

“No,” Luke said. “Er—was I supposed to?”

She reassured him with a snicker, “No—no, we have a mystery delivery here. You don’t think Jay…”

It sounded like Luke’s breath hitched in his throat. “He’s not an idiot.”

I muttered, “One would think.”

“Okay, okay,” Claire waved off my commentary, “we’ll call him next—”

“We will not call him next!” I exclaimed.

She ignored me, cooing into the phone, “See you in a few hours at Henry’s.”

Luke spoke a brief goodbye, and Claire tapped the glass face to end the call. She looked at me inquisitively.

“I take it last night went well considering that you think these are from him?” Her brows bobbled up and down.

“Yeah, yeah,” I shooed her away. “We fucked in the back of his car—”

She shrieked, “You WHAT?”

Liam turned to face me so quickly that I was concerned that the motion wreaked havoc on his spine. Eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, he was the picture-perfect expression of surprise.

“Is that really that much of a surprise to you?” I returned to Claire snarkily. “Yes, we fucked. Yes, dear GOD, it was glorious. Yes, I told him I want to see him again—”

Claire gasped, dramatically bringing a hand up to her mouth.

Liam groaned, “You fucked him?”

“And you.” I continued, glancing at Liam. “Why do you look shocked? You’re the one that joked about me having a magic pussy.”

“That was supposed to be a very funny joke.”

“I mean, it was—”

“Zoey!” Liam whined my name, leaning back to press his hands to his eyes as if he were trying to erase a memory. “That was a terrible idea!”

I wanted to snort and say, ‘Oh, trust me, it wasn’t,’ but the way that Liam was reacting gave me a twinge of anxiety that I couldn’t shake, so I settled on the much tamer:

“Oh, come on.”

“Oh, sweetie, no,” his face contorted a bit, “it really was.”

“Why, pray tell, was it a bad idea?”

“Come on Zo’, the guy screams commitment and…I dunno, I just don’t think you’ll be able to shake him now that he’s gotten a taste—”

That one, I couldn’t let slide.

I interrupted him with, “A taste?” Liam nodded, shrugging a brawny shoulder, and I added, “Congratulations, that was a deliciously disgusting comment about my pussy.”

Claire announced, “Er—we’re getting off topic—”

Liam shifted uncomfortably, raising a hand to plug one of his ears, “Ah, la-la, that’s not what I meant.”

I ignored Claire’s interjection and told Liam, “Don’t worry, he hasn’t gotten a taste yet.”

He threw his head back and mumbled, “I don’t even know why I said that.”

“He was a little too busy fucking me from behind—”

“Ah, la-LA, no,” he hummed louder to himself.

“In the back of his car—”

“Please stop—”

Claire admonished, “Zoey!”

“In an abandoned alleyway, tires squeaking as the car rocked—”

“Oh, for the love of all that is holy, I’m picturing it,” Liam said, staring straight at the ceiling with unblinking eyes.

“ZOEY!” Claire yelled.

“Don’t even get me started on the spanking—”

Liam snapped in a firm voice that he rarely used, “Zoey!” and I pressed my lips tight together. For a moment, he looked angry with me, but the expression he gave me was so fleeting that I could have imagined it for all I knew. All he said next was, “I don’t need to hear about him fucking you—okay?”

I questioned, “What, you don’t like James?”

“James is…fine.”

“Because that wasn’t the longest hesitation before answering a question like that in all of existence,” I retorted.

“Zoey,” Claire called to me once again, and I glanced in her direction. She asked me with half-lidded, exasperated eyes, “Are ya done?”

I huffed out a breath. “Mhm.”

“Back to the more important topic at hand,” Claire said, pointing at me. “You told him you want to see him again?”

“That is what you get out of this?”

She nodded, smirk ever-growing, and gestured towards my face in a circular motion.

“Growth,” she stated smugly.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No—God, Claire, fuck no.” I complained, pushing at the couch cushion beneath me to sit myself up better. “I’m not doing this; I don’t care how good of a lay he is—”

“Okay,” Liam spoke up, grunting as he stood once again. “As fun as this has been, I have class.”

He walked to the front door, and I asked, “Drink later?”

Liam responded over his shoulder, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be back around six. I’ll come by.”

I called out, “Bye!” and he shut the door behind him.

Claire pressed, “You were saying?” I pointed to the vase that sat on the kitchen table, and she snorted. “No way James sent them,” she said. “Just call him and ask.”

I felt my eyes widen. “Do you even know me?”

“Too well,” she quipped, “which is why I’m deciding this for you right now.” She rapidly tapped away on her phone for the second time this morning.

My voice gravely serious, I asked, “Claire, what are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing,” she sang in a high-pitched tune, placing the phone against her ear. “Hey, Jay!”

“Claire!” I yelled.

“Oh, I’m good,” she happily responded back to him. “Hold on a second—”

She extended the phone in my direction, fluttering her eyelashes in mockery of me.

I whispered, “If you think I’m picking up that phone, you’re out of your mind.”

She rolled her eyes, putting the phone back to her head, and said, “Zoey wants to talk to you. Her phone died; she lost her charger—long story.”

Without another word, she thrust the phone in my hand. I mouthed, ‘Bitch,’ and reluctantly placed it against my ear.

“James?”

Claire darted up from the couch and into her bedroom, chuckling to herself all along the way.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he crooned through the speaker.

Despite the possibility of the romantic gesture being a truthful one, his voice did bring a slight smile to my face.

I sighed. “You’re not a dumb man, are ya, Jay?”

Chapter 3

“You thought I bought you flowers?”

The relief that engulfed me was overwhelming to the point that I sagged into the couch with a thud.

“It was plausible,” I replied.

“Zoey,” James chuckled my name. “How dumb do you think I am?”

“Not,” I responded quickly. “Not dumb, really. But I was about to never speak to you again if it turned out to be true, so…”

“You hate flowers that much?”

The ambient noise of a car driving along a highway filtered in through the speaker as I questioned my response.

“Flowers are nice,” I stated. “The connotations are not.”

“And the connotations of these flowers are…”

I winced audibly. “Well, they’re red roses, so—”

“Ah,” he cut me off, “say no more; you have the Valentine’s Day deluxe edition staring you in the face, don’t you?”

I laughed at his usual sarcasm. “Please don’t tell me that’s the actual name of a flower arrangement from your favorite florist that you know by heart.”

“Haven’t bought a girl flowers in at least two years, Zoey,” he responded. “And considering your hate for them—”

“Not hate—”

“Your distaste for them—”

“Eh,” I considered the word, “more than distaste, but less than hate—”

“Considering your obvious commitment issues and the connection that you’ve made with flowers and commitment,” he offered, letting the sentence hang in the air. I bit the skin on the inside of my cheek, and he continued, “I will be skating on thin ice with flowers for a hot minute here.”

I smiled. “Good.”

“Thank God I got that one right,” he joked, steering the subject away with, “What are you up to?”

“You mean aside from questioning your existence in my life?”

“Uh huh.”

“Laundry, probably,” I told him. “It’s my day off. You?”

“I am driving.”

“I could tell—where to?”

I kicked up my feet on the coffee table and crossed them at the ankles.

“Lexington.”

“Kentucky?”

“Far drive, I know,” he agreed with my unstated sentiment. “Work trip for the week; easier to drive than fly.” I hummed some sort of acknowledgement to what he had said, and he noted, “I have the whole day to get there. Just about to pass Salem now.”

“Is that right?

“Mhm.”

The line fell silent. Too silent. And just when I began to internally question the lack of noise, a loud knock sounded at the door.

I made my way to stand, muttering, “One second,” into the phone and twisting the speaker to rest against my chest.

The hinges creaked as I swung the door open, and James’ smiling face beamed down at me. He held his phone up and tapped the end call button with his thumb. I took in his appearance none too subtly, starting with his usual brown boots. My eyes dragged over his dark jeans. The black t-shirt he had chosen was loose—bunched at his hips, but I could still tell that it was stretched taut over his chest underneath his unzipped coat. His arms were crossed now, his head—topped with a grey beanie—was tilted to the side, and his eyebrows were raised as if to ask, ‘Are you finished?’

“Am I a piece of meat?” he asked.

I smiled, stowing Claire’s phone in my jeans’ pocket. “Uh huh. What are you doing here?”

“I was going to ask Luke if he wanted to get coffee, but it sounded like you have a pressing issue that needed to be solved.”

“Do I?”

“Uh huh—let me see them.”

I chortled and gestured to my breasts grandly. “The girls? You gave them plenty of attention last night, but I’m not complaining—”

“The flowers, Zoey,” he laughed. “Step aside, let’s see the damage.”

I obliged, muttering, “Fine, fine.”

The moment that I moved to allow him in, James let out a deep whistle.

He pushed the door shut behind him and quipped, “Damn. They’ve got baby’s breath in there and everything.”

“The fuck is baby’s breath?” I asked with a cringe.

“The little white ones,” he told me as he approached the table, pointing at the tiny buds that were scattered amongst the larger red ones. He leaned down and sniffed at them appreciatively, sarcastically stating, “Oh, yeah. Quality arrangement. You don’t know who sent these?”

I shrugged. “Someone must have gotten the address wrong.” James touched one of the red petals gently, and I offered with a raised brow, “You wanna take them off my hands? They’re all yours.”

“You’re not gonna keep them?”

James thrust his hands into his pockets, cocking his head to the side.

“I was five minutes away from chucking them in the garbage,” I admitted.

He laughed. “Wow. As much as I would love to bring them to my hotel in Lexington, I think I’m gonna pass. But, I did have a thought.”

“A thought?”

“Mhm,” he returned, “you said you’re free today?”

“Laundry,” I reminded him.

“Can the laundry wait an hour? Maybe two?”

I ushered him, “For…”

“Giving these flowers a better fate than becoming trash.”

I shriveled up my nose. “That sounds—”

“Fun?” he finished my sentence with a word that I hadn’t intended on using. “It will be. Promise.”

His tone was genuine, and I exhaled softly.

“If it’s not, you owe me.”

“Owe you what?” His smile stretched wide.

I returned, “To be determined.”

“Fine,” James replied. “Grab a coat; it’s cold.”

James instructed me—no, ordered me—to trust him in the process as he drove me just outside of Salem’s city lines and into the goddamn forest.

I sat on a boulder.

A damp boulder.

I was wet. And not in the way that I wanted to be when I was in his presence.

A mist hung low across the water of the small lake that we had arrived at, and I watched James as he piled wood on top of rock, criss-crossing the pieces this way and that. The breaths that left my mouth instantly condensated in front of me, lingering in the air and sticking to my face. The unseasonably cold weather that had come in overnight had me praying silently for the thick cloud cover to dissipate, but my prayers were, unfortunately, unanswered. When I blinked and the cold humidity that had gathered on my lashes flecked off and smattered my cheeks, I stood.

“James!”

“Patience is a virtue, Zoey—”

“I’m fuckin’ cold!”

I witnessed his shoulders sag with a heavy sigh beneath his black puffer jacket. He dropped the few sticks that he held in his arms and stomped over to me, yanking the grey beanie off of his head as he walked, leaving his hair wild. He ran a hand through it, tucking it behind both of his ears, and halted his steps in front of me. His hands touched either side of my face as he gruffly tugged the hat onto my head.

A hint of annoyance in his light eyes, he asked, “Better?”

“You understand that I hate both the cold and the wet, right?” I grumbled, “What’s the plan here?”

James glanced over his shoulder, held up a single finger, and walked back to the wood pile he had been creating. He knelt down, blew a few large breaths at the bottom of the stack that had begun to smoke, and soon enough a small fire was crackling before him. He looked back to me with his eyebrows raised and waved me over. When I didn’t move, he whined:

“What, now you’re comfortable where you are?”

I rolled my eyes, moved to stand by his side, held my hands out to the fire to warm my palms, and exhaled through my nostrils pointedly.

“What’s the deal with the fire, Jay?”

“So much for tryin’ to be fuckin’ cute; you question everything.”

“Jay.”

“Gah, fine.”

James walked to his car that was parked approximately fifteen feet behind us, opened the back door, and retrieved the flowers. He pulled them from the vase, dumped the water out onto the ground, and set the glass vessel back in his car carefully. When he approached me again, grabbed a single stem with his right hand, and handed it to me, I took a step back.

“Oh, no,” I grumbled, shaking my head. “This was a bad idea—”

James threw his head back, groaned loudly, and chucked the rose into the fire. I watched it as the flames contorted it, shriveling the petals to nothing, and he said in a forcedly calm voice:

“We’re burning these.”

I looked back at him, but his gaze was focused on the fire. “Was that the plan?”

“Yeah,” he snarkily replied. “That was the plan. I thought it would be fun—”

Relief engulfed me, and I ordered, “Give me one.”

His head snapped to face me, and I gave him a wide smile, holding out my hand for a flower.

His perturbed expression softened. “Oh, now you want one?”

I stuck out my lower lip in a pout and cooed, “Please.”

James grabbed another rose from his left hand and pointed it at me, petal end first.

He smirked. “Only because you said please—and you know how much I like that word.”

I held the flower in front of my face and observed it briefly, asking, “Do you, now?”

“Mhm,” he hummed back. “It reminds me of how polite you are.”

I chortled and tossed the rose into the flames. “I’m polite?”

He held a bundle of baby’s breath to his nose and inhaled deeply.

“Oh, only when I’m fucking you,” he replied, glancing at me with a crooked grin. “You’re very polite when I’m inside of you.”

The sudden mention of our actions from the night prior made my jaw drop, and I beamed as the baby’s breath found its way into the blaze. It burned quicker than the roses did, the flames being stoked briefly before dying back down.

“Am I?” I asked him, and his grey eyes lit up at the memory.

He hummed a deep noise. “Please, James—fuck me, please—please, touch me,” he recited my incantations. “I do like a girl with manners.”

The way that his voice dipped down low as he remembered it made me flush.

I stuck a hand out. “Baby’s breath,” I requested. “Please.”

“Of course,” he responded, offering me a small bundle of white flowers. I grasped them, and when he refused to let them go, I looked into his eyes. He smiled. “Having fun now?” I nodded, and he released his grip to allow me to toss them to the fire. The flames flashed with the additional kindle, and James asked, “So, do I owe you?”

I chuckled at his mention of my gentle threat from earlier today. “Not this time.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his gaze bouncing across my face. I allowed myself to do the same, taking in how he was examining my expression. He gravitated a bit closer to me, focus now intent on my mouth, and I reached up to touch my hand to the back of his neck. His smile widened as I pulled his lips to mine.

The kiss was far too brief, and he pulled away from me with a smack, looking down at me curiously.

“Do you like marshmallows?”

I felt my head tilt to the side. “Why?”

“I have an emergency stash in the car,” he whispered.

“You have marshmallows in your car?”

He shrugged. “I camp frequently.”

I laughed. “You should have led with the sugar rush.”

“Noted—you want one?”

“Mhm.”

James’ mouth brushed mine again, just once, and he set the flowers by his feet, making his way back to his vehicle. I watched him as he walked, observing the way his glutes moved beneath his charcoal jeans, and followed him silently. I tiptoed as quietly as I could, James seemingly unaware of my presence as he opened the rear passenger door. He reached inside, stretching his way to the opposite side of the back seat. Blessed with the opportunity presented to me, I felt a grin stretch across my face as I approached him from behind and gently placed my hands beneath his jacket and onto his waist.

“Ah!” he yelped loudly, wriggling away from my touch as he snickered in a high-pitched voice, “Zoey, stop!”

James fell onto the seats and as I crawled behind to follow him, he wriggled to flip himself over. I straddled him, and he placed a hand on either of my hips to steady me.

I chuckled, “Hi. Did I scare you?”

“I’m, er—ticklish,” he replied quickly. “You grabbed my ribs.” I went to move my hands and place them on his abdomen, but his grip flashed up to stop me. He held both of my wrists, cocking an eyebrow high as he asked, “You’re not very good at following instructions, are you?”

“You don’t like a girl’s hands on you, Jay?” I simpered.

He lifted my hands to his mouth, pulling me to lie flush on top of him, and he kissed at the pulse points just beyond the sleeve of my jacket.

“I do, but only in the permitted areas,” he admitted with a coy grin.

I pouted. “And what happens if I want more than the permitted areas of you?”

“That depends—do you want the forbidden zones?”

I leaned in to him to kiss him softly with an open mouth. Our tongues touched, and the grasp that he had on my wrists withered away to nothing as he moved to cradle each side of my face.

He spoke against my lips in between kisses, “Why is the back seat of my car quickly becoming my favorite spot?”

“Cozy interior,” I cooed. “Ambient lighting. Memories of you buried inside of me. Several reasons.”

His crooked grin widened, and he pulled me to him once more. Our kiss quickened and I ground myself into him, his erection apparent and pressing into me through both of our jeans. James moaned, placing his hands on my hips once more, and guided me forward and back as we remained connected at the mouth. The most sensitive part of me rubbed against him, and I let out a breathy sigh.

He told me in an exhale, “Close the door.”

I obliged immediately, twisting around to slam the door shut, and when I turned back, James was sitting upright, watching my motions with darkened eyes and an eager anticipation. Seeing the material of his pants tented upwards, I slinked down, ran my hands along the denim of his thighs, and asked:

“Is this a permitted area?”

“Very much so,” he murmured.

I palmed him through his jeans, he grunted with what sounded like appreciation, and I traced up to his belt buckle. It clinked as I moved it aside, and James lifted his hips to assist me as I pulled the waistband down to his knees. I drank in the sight of him, eyeing the colorful tattoos on his upper thighs. My gaze was brought upward quickly to what sat at rapt attention before me, rigid and waiting. I prayed that the saliva that pooled in my mouth wouldn’t escape and run down my chin, lowered myself to kiss at each of the tattoos, licking the watercolor splatters as if I could taste them, and then I trailed my tongue to his cock.

“Fuck, yes,” he gritted out as I took him in my mouth and sucked. I moved up and down, humming against him when he laced his hand under the beanie he had given me and into my hair. He gripped the back of my scalp by the roots, and my eyes flashed up to him as he pushed me down. The picture of a hungry man, he watched me as my lips touched the base of him and he dragged me back up. I continued like that, bobbing on him with his guidance until his legs began to flex and he ushered me up to his mouth with a tug of my hair. He kissed me roughly and demanded, “Take off your pants.”

I did as he asked in the blink of an eye, only faltering when I had to yank at my boots, and when I was bare from the waist down, I climbed onto his lap. I lowered myself onto him, the exquisite stretch making me whimper a quiet:

“Oh, fuck.”

I rocked on him, and he caught me by the mouth once more. Our tongues tangled as I moved and he unzipped my jacket, pushing it off of my shoulders and onto the floor. My shirt was off. My bra was removed. And suddenly, I was very naked and he…was not.

I whimpered against him as he began to kiss my chest and whined, “Jay.”

He recognized my call of his name as discontent and looked at me with hooded eyes.

“Hmm?”

Instead of replying verbally, I yanked at his coat. James understood the message and shrugged it away quickly, subsequently pulling his shirt over his head, and he was back to my breasts in an instant. I sighed as he licked me, taking in the sight of his bare upper half while I rode him. His chest was a stark white compared to the dark swirls of ink that covered his arms up to his shoulders, and I itched to drag my nails down the ivory musculature.

I took a fistful of his hair and tugged, pulling him away from my nipples, and I placed both of my hands on his pectorals. He watched me as I flexed my fingers into his skin, and when I scratched down to his ribs, he groaned.

“Shit—ah!”

It was a noise cut with a peal of laughter that sent his head flying backward against the headrest, and I chuckled as I buried my face into his neck. My teeth grazed along to his shoulder, and I bit him softly.

One of his hands swatted down on my ass swiftly, and I moaned as he thrust up to meet my movements halfway. The stinging sensation on my left cheek sent me reeling, and I begged in a soprano-like tone:

“Please.”

He smiled, grunting as he moved, and he hoarsely asked, “Please what?”

My lower half tightened at the throaty tone of voice he used. “Spank me again.”

James caressed the same spot with care as we moved against each other, gave the area a generous squeeze, and then allowed his hand to rise and quickly fall against me once more. The smack resounded throughout the car, and I shrieked in delight. His fingertips remained on me, tracing the pain that lingered there.

“You like that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

The reply was laced with a squeal that I couldn’t contain, as I felt myself on the precipice of release.

“Fuck,” he whispered, “I like it too.”

I tensed; my muscles ready to snap as I told him in a moan, “I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah?” His tempo remained the same, and he grabbed my jaw in one of his hands to angle my line of sight to his. “Come for me.”

My body listened, and I screamed.

James followed suit, groaning into my mouth as he pulled my lips to his, and I laid on his chest. His arms lay slack on my back for a while as we came down from our collective high, and he eventually moved to graze a single finger up and down my spine. I arched into the touch like an attention-craved cat, and a few breaths later, he leaned back to look into my eyes, chuckling as he asked:

“So, you want that marshmallow still, or what?”

Chapter 4

I did my laundry in a haze throughout the day as I wore a lopsided, lazy smile. Though the way that my morning had begun was, without a doubt, less than ideal, the turn of events that resulted were more than satisfactory. I relived the experience over and over, the scent of burning roses and roasted marshmallows fresh in my mind.

The afternoon came and went and the thoughts still ran through me, leaving me reminiscing as I laid on my couch and a documentary played in the background. Whatever the narrator was depicting was a general hum in my ears as I happily pictured James squirming beneath me as I raked my nails down his chest.

The front door creaked open, I shook my head to clear it, and Liam appeared with two six-packs grasped in one of his large hands.

“Hey,” he greeted me, and I clicked the pause button on the remote. Liam strolled in and set his items on the kitchen table, picking up a bottle and pointing it at me. “Cider?”

“What kind did you get?”

He peeked at the label and read, “Pear with notes of cinnamon, nutmeg, and—”

“Say no more, give it to me,” I told him with an outstretched hand.

He smiled, twisted off the cap, and chose a beer for himself from the second six-pack that he had brought. I sat upright once he approached and grabbed the bottle that he offered as he sank onto the cushion beside me with a heavy thud.

“Good day off?” he asked casually, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and taking a large sip from his bottle.

“Mhm.” I drank, making a pleased noise as the taste of the cider coated my mouth. “Did some laundry.”

Did some James.

I hid my smirk with another gulp of my drink.

“Did ya put it away, or is it all folded in a basket in the corner of your room?”

His tone was accusatory.

“What do you think?” I replied, and he snickered to himself while I asked, “How was class?”

“The Exceptional Child was not exceptional,” he told me. “The guy that teaches it talks. So. Slow. The room is always too hot, and it’s right after lunch so I’m all full and warm and it’s like he’s, I dunno, singing me to sleep.”

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Fall asleep, I mean,” I clarified.

“I tried,” he said with a chuckle. “Girl next to me kept elbowing me in the side every time I nodded off.”

It was all so clear in my head:

Liam sits in a lecture hall, leaning back at his desk with arms crossed over his stomach. Sleepy-eyed as a deep-voiced man drones on, pointing at words written in chalk at the front of the classroom, his blonde head dips lower and lower until his chin finally rests on his chest. A pretty brunette sits next to him, eyeing him as his eyes drift closed, and she whispers his name to catch his attention. He doesn’t stir, and she anxiously glances to the head of the class and back to him, hissing his name a bit louder to no avail. Finally, she reaches over and pokes at his waist. Liam flinches, his head snaps to hers, she smiles at him, and this turns into a cycle that they repeat every time class is held.

I shifted in my seat. “Got yourself a savior there?”

“Who, Kelsey?”

“Kelsey?” Her name left a bad taste in my mouth.

Liam rolled his eyes, muttering, “Don’t even get me started on Kelsey,” and then took a long pull from his beer.

“Yeah, saying that makes me want to get you started on Kelsey,” I quipped.

He groaned. “She’s just…always there.”

“Is she, now?”

“Mhm, she’s in most of my classes. Sits next to me in all of them.”

His lips pursed together in distaste, and I cooed, “Does Kelsey have a crush on you?”

“If she does,” he sighed and grumbled, “it’s my own fuckin’ fault.”

“Why’s that?”

Liam chortled, “Nuh uh.”

I set down my cider on the coffee table with purpose. “What do you mean nuh uh?”

“I mean we don’t need to talk about it,” he stated with a laugh. “Semester’s over in a few weeks. She’ll go away.”

I narrowed my eyes at his attempted deflection. I was well aware of Liam’s reputation to be a bit of a playboy for it was one of the commonalities that we shared, and the way that his gaze darted around the room made my mind go straight to the inevitable.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing—”

“Liam.”

His voice hitched up high. “It’s nothing!”

“Oh my God!” I shrieked, my eyes widening with the dawning realization of his non-admission.

He cringed. “Don’t look at me like that, Zo’—”

“You fucked her, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t know I’d be seein’ her almost every goddamn day, okay?” he finally confessed.

“Liam,” I groaned. “She goes to your school—”

“I know,” he whined. “I tried to tell her it was a one-time thing.”

I found myself sitting straighter at his tone of voice, and a potential message between the lines struck me.

“Don’t tell me you fucked her more than once.”

“No,” he responded quickly, taking his legs off of the coffee table and turning to face me with a single index finger held out. “I didn’t, thank you very much—”

“What did you mean you tried to tell her it was a one-time thing, then?” I pressed him, and he curled his finger back into his fist, placing his hand in his lap.

“She’s just…pushy.”

I knew the type. I squinted at his response.

“She offered to blow you?” I asked, an undercurrent of hope that I was wrong rushing underneath my skin. Liam wriggled in his seat uncomfortably and drank from his beer. I assumed aloud, “She did blow you?”

“I stopped her after like the third time.”

I gagged loudly, the image of some sort of a goddess on her knees sucking him off to completion making my stomach coil.

“LIAM!”

He groaned at my reaction and covered his face with his left hand in shame, asking from behind his fingers, “Can we not talk about this?”

“How are you so goddamn bad at hookup culture?” I questioned aloud. “You don’t want to have a relationship with a girl, tell her to fuck off and move on.”

“I can’t just do that.” Liam let his hand fall away from his eyes, and his cheeks were beet red. “She’ll go away eventually—and you’re one to fuckin’ talk; you got roses sent to you this morning.”

I snorted at his comment. “Don’t you see that they’re gone?”

“I do see that,” he noted happily. “Did ya call Jay and let him down easy, or what?”

I pointed the tip of my cider bottle at him. “Crisis averted; they weren’t from Jay. Random delivery, think they had the wrong address—so no. I did not.”

I felt my smile stretch across my face at the mention of it all, and Liam’s dark eyes took in my expression carefully.

He quietly asked me the same question that I had uttered to him just moments ago, “What did you do?” I beamed in response, and his face contorted as he groaned loudly, “Zoey! Again?”

“I had a great morning,” I admitted. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem?” he asked.

“With James.”

Liam shrugged. “What do you want me to say, Zo’?”

“Okay, seriously, what is it?” I tilted my head to the side curiously. “What’s your deal with James?”

“Look,” he started, setting his beer down on the coffee table in front of him and looking at me with a purpose, “you’re my best friend, okay?”

I grinned gently at him. Our friendship had been a quick one, to say the least. We had been getting along just fine as acquaintances after we decided to befriend each other about half a year ago. Well, we had been getting along better than fine, to be honest. Liam and I are just too similar of people to not be friends. The memory of the metaphorical bond of our friendship being sealed with glue came to my mind at his admission and, suddenly, I was far down a nostalgia trip that I typically tried to avoid.

I woke to a strange noise coming from God knows where. Unbeknownst to me, I had fallen fast asleep on Liam’s couch while we were watching television. Despite being comfortable and sunken into his couch with a blanket that he had clearly laid over me when he had gone to bed, I propped myself up on my elbows to try to listen again for the sound that had woken me.

The night prior was a lazier one and I had foregone my contacts, opting for my glasses instead. My vision blurry, I reached out around myself in an attempt to find them. I assumed Liam had either removed them for me, or they had fallen off of my face and onto the floor as I slept. I patted my hands out this way and that, and eventually found the thick, black frames neatly deposited on the side table that was situated behind my head.

Upon hearing the odd, almost mewling noise again, I rushed to get my glasses on my face and sat up to witness the world around me. Though still dark, I could make out the layout of his apartment from the lighting in his kitchen to my left—it glowed from the underside of his cabinets, shining off the black marble of the island. The circular kitchen table was directly in front of where I sat, a large clock ticking away hung up on the wall behind it. Silence permeated the room with the exception of the ticking, and I began to wonder if I had dreamed the sound in the first place. I laid myself back against the throw pillow that sat against the armrest, just beginning to close my eyes, when the noise sounded again.

It was louder this time. Clearer. A deep, gravelly, groaning cry that I couldn’t stand to ignore. I sat bolt upright, listening intently once again, and not seconds later, another iteration of it reached my ears. It was so loud this time that I could place that it was coming from Liam’s bedroom beyond the kitchen table, and though I wondered for a moment if it were even my place to be considering if I should be checking in on this man, I stood slowly and began to walk toward the sound that had woken me.

His door was ajar. Liam laid face up in the middle of his bed, his t-shirt along with all of his blankets having been thrown on the ground. The moonlight that shined through his window glinted off of his heavily muscled chest, illuminating the light sheen of sweat that engulfed his body. His breaths were quick and shallow. I froze in his doorway, watching as he approached hyperventilation, unsure of what I should do. Though I knew that I was welcome in his apartment, this was clearly bordering—or, perhaps, was already leaps and bounds beyond—an intrusion of privacy. Liam’s body writhed in agony as he made the same guttural cry, contorting into the fetal position as if to protect himself from an onslaught of an attack. An immediate, subsequent scream was muffled by the pillow that he buried his face in, and the thought of giving him privacy when he looked so tormented was long gone.

I made my way straight to his bedside, crouching down to call out to him quietly, “Liam?” He groaned again, this time his face pinching in what looked like pain. I reached out to touch his shoulder and left it there, his damp, clammy skin beneath my fingertips. “Liam?” His loud breaths quickened even further as he let out yet another anguished moan, and I shook him roughly in an attempt to wake him. “Liam!”

Liam’s eyes shot open, frantic, and I heard him mumble something that sounded like, “Stop, stop.” He sat up quickly then, his legs kicking out to push himself away from me but finding little traction on the sheets beneath him. Before I could even remove my hand from his shoulder, he snapped, “Don’t touch me!”

I held up my hands in defense, feeling my eyes widen from the shock of seeing Liam in such a state. One of his hands laid on his chest as he tried to catch his breath. His dark eyes scanned the room and landed on me, but he said nothing else. His face looked like his mind was in a different world—one that he desperately wanted to escape from, but couldn’t. He continued breathing deeply, in through his nose and out through his mouth.

I tried to apologize, “I’m so sorry—”

He gritted out, “Fuck!”

I wanted to continue apologizing for waking him, but I found myself speechless. Wordless mutterings came out of my mouth, but I ultimately said nothing. I slowly lowered my hands as I realized that they were still held up by my shoulders in shock.

Liam shook his head, asking gruffly, “What are you doing in here?”

“Um,” I hesitated, “I heard you from the couch…I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Liam remained silent, placing his hands behind his neck, hanging his head down between his knees as he continued to breathe methodically in, and out. “Which, you’re not,” I emphasized, feeling my initial worry for him amplify. He kept his gaze singled out on a particular point between his legs, unmoving. “Liam?”

“I’m, ah,” he responded, his voice almost cracking, “I’m fine, Zoey.” He cleared his throat roughly.

“Okay,” I replied softly. “You’re not fine, though—do you want a glass of water or something?”

Nervous flutters bubbled throughout my chest with my offering, and he shook his head rapidly in response.

“Look, this is kind of embarrassing,” he told me quickly. “Can you go?”

I stayed stuck in place, like there was a gravitational pull keeping me to that exact spot. My mind chastised me, ‘The man told you to go, just go!’ I chose not to listen to my mind, however, and I squared my body toward his.

“You really don’t look like you should be alone right now,” I noted, trying to keep my voice as gentle as possible.

Liam looked at me, eyes still holding a strain to them.

“Zoey—”

“Honestly, Liam,” I cut him off, “you’re not gonna be able to make me leave.”

If it had appeared that he legitimately wanted me to give him space, I would have done so. I would have walked right out of his apartment and back to my own to give him the rest of the night and check in with him in the morning, awkward as that may have been. It was clear, though, that his request was the opposite of what he yearned for. He had spoken not with conviction, but with a quiet shame that was, possibly, attempting to give me the option to leave. So, instead, I stood my ground cautiously, awaiting his response.

He sat quietly for a moment, curling himself back up into the position he was in before: back against the wall, head resting against his bent knees. I waited patiently until he leaned his head back, thudding it against the drywall, and turned his eyes to me. His left leg shook anxiously now, bobbing up and down quickly, while the rest of his body remained still. Liam sighed loudly and ran a hand through his damp hair, making it brush back and stick awkwardly behind his ears.

He asked me softly, “You’re really not leaving?” I shook my head and, almost quieter than the sentence before, he said, “I’ll take that water, then.”

I spun on my heel to move swiftly to his kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water from his fridge. I returned no more than a few seconds later, extending my arm with the glass to him, and he grabbed it from me without a word. He downed it all in a matter of two gulps and set it on the nightstand beside him, flickering his eyes to me in a silent thank you before focusing on the empty space between his legs once again.

“You okay?” I questioned, and he shrugged a naked shoulder at me.

He replied grimly, “Prolly fuckin’ not, you can ask my therapist that.”

“You have a therapist?”

I had an inkling that Liam had a darkness to him. I didn’t know what it was, of course, but knowing that he simply seemed to need a friend had drawn me to him initially. He was a happy man, though. A human incarnate of a golden retriever, at best. A cocky ray of sunshine. Though I knew that there was a story behind him that I had yet to uncover, hearing that he needed a therapist for whatever reason was mind-boggling. Liam shook his head at my inquiry.

“Not anymore. Stopped going. Guy was a prick.”

“Oh.” I was never one to talk about my feelings—or others’ feelings, for that matter—but Liam’s admission intrigued me to the point that I asked, “Why were you seeing a therapist?”

Liam’s eyebrows rose, creating little wrinkles smattering his forehead.

“I, um—”

“You don’t need to answer that,” I replied as rapidly as I could. “Sorry, that’s—”

“A really personal question?”

He attempted to finish my question for me, and a small smirk graced his lips. To see even a hint of his usual upbeat personality eased my tension greatly, and I exhaled a short breath.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I—I don’t know why I asked that, that was rude.”

“Nah, you’re good,” he replied. “Would take all night for me to answer that, anyway.”

“For the record, I’ve got nothing but time.”

Liam laughed softly—almost bitterly—to himself, and looked me up and down as if I were a curiosity to him.

“You really want to sit and hear about why I’m fucked in the head?”

I didn’t like the way that he said those words one bit. It was as if it were a certainty. As if there wouldn’t be a reason why another person would want to hear about his woes. As if his issues, whatever they may be, were his alone to bear.

“Liam, I doubt that you’re fucked in the head—”

“Trust me, Zoey—”

“Try me.”

He pressed his lips together in a fine line, and I heard him exhale a breath through his nostrils sharply.

“You really wanna know?” he asked.

I nodded, returning, “I do. Cheerful guy like you, I don’t exactly like seeing you like this.”

“Cheerful,” Liam said, more to himself than to me, testing the word. “No one likes seeing the damaged boy, right? People like me better cheerful.” He thought about that for a moment. “I like me better cheerful.”

It was then that I wondered if Liam’s forever upbeat personality was somewhat of a façade—a mask not only for the outside world, but for himself. And I have to admit that the thought of that yanked on my cold, dead heartstrings like none other.

“I don’t mind a little darkness now and then.”

I told him that, and his bitter smirk morphed into a genuine one—dimpled, freckled cheeks and all. Liam scooted himself over so he sat on the far side of the bed, and glanced down to the now open space next to him.

“You can sit, you know.”

I gingerly rested myself beside him so we sat shoulder to shoulder, leaning my back against the wall. I straightened my legs out in front of me, crossing them at the ankles, and looked back at him again.

“Alright,” I said. “I’m all ears.”

It was from that day forward that I was pulled into Liam Cohen’s orbit. I had been told by Claire in the past that I had a protective streak in me—perhaps this was no different. I didn’t know. I just knew that I wanted the guy to be happy for God’s sake, and after he told me that he typically keeps to himself, I had decided that he could use someone to be a little closer to.

I began to respond back to him, affirming the same feelings about our friendship, but he held up a hand to stop me.

“I know, that was cute—let-me-get-this-out-before-I-lose-my-train-of-thought,” he mentioned quickly, holding back a smile that made the dimples in his cheeks appear. The way his mouth twisted made the scar over his upper lip stretch and my chest panged with the now-familiar feeling of sympathy and protection that I associated with Liam. He spoke again, “You’re my best friend, and I’m a dude. He’s not gonna like me and honestly, I don’t expect him to. Plus,” he added, voice shriveling up into nothing, “I-don’t-really-approve?”

I snorted out a laugh. “You don’t approve?” His face twisted up in a silent apology as he shook his head to answer my question. I asked, “What, you think he’s not good enough for me or something?”

“Obviously not,” he noted bluntly. “No one is. You know that.”

“You can put the pedestal away, Lee, I don’t wanna stand on it,” I grumbled.

“It’s not a fucking pedestal, Zoey.”

“Okay, whatever, doesn’t matter,” I interrupted him. I didn’t need to argue with him about how he thought I had sunshine and rainbows coming out of my ass. We had done that far enough in the past, after all. “Whether he’s good enough for me or not is kind of irrelevant anyway.” Liam questioned me wordlessly with a pinched brow, and I answered, “It’s not like we’re together or anything, it’s…casual.”

“Oh, please,” Liam scoffed.

“It is,” I stressed. “Casual. It’s casual.”

I wondered if I said the word casual enough, it would begin to lose all meaning.

Liam threw me an expression that screamed, ‘You’re so wrong right now,’ before saying, “Casual, sure.”

He tilted his beer bottle all the way back and finished it with a large gulp. I replicated his actions, finishing my own, and he grabbed it from me when I was done. Liam stood, and I watched as he traipsed his way back to the kitchen, tossing our empties in the trash and grabbing another of each of our drinks. He returned quickly and extended mine out for me. I mumbled out a thank you as I reached for it, but Liam didn’t let go. He held a far-away gaze, appearing as if he wanted to say something gravely serious as our eyes connected, but he seemed to think better of it, shaking his blonde head quickly as if to clear it. He released his grip on the bottle and slouched back down on the couch next to me, grabbing the remote as he sat.

“Lee?”

“Hmm?”

“Looked like you wanted to say something?”

“Oh,” he moved his head from left to right once again, “nah, just lost my train of thought.” He ran on right into his next sentence, not allowing me to question him any further. “Alright, what kind of horror shit do you want to watch this time?”

I slumped back into the comfort of the couch, taking a long sip of my drink before suggesting the series we had most recently been binging. He clicked the buttons on the remote to select the show, and we both assumed our usual positions. I scooted down, resting my head against a throw pillow behind me, and stretched my legs out onto the cushion between us. Liam kicked his feet up onto the coffee table once more.

“Ready?” he asked, his thumb hovering over the play button.

I answered with a smile and a nod, and the start of our usual routine put me at ease.

Chapter 5

Work is work.

I liked my job. I was good at my job. That being said, working retail at a boutique that didn’t employ anyone else under the age of 35 could get…trying. I would have looked for work elsewhere, but they paid well enough and I got good insurance. Plus, I didn’t even have to use a car to get there—the store was only about a four-block walk down the street.

The stroll on this particular afternoon was deliriously nice. The small cold snap that had occurred earlier in the week had lifted quickly, and the sun warmed my shoulders as I walked. Cobblestones in the road, similar to the walk to Henry’s, made my footsteps sound as if I were wearing hollow clogs, no matter the choice of footwear for the day. I felt myself smile as I listened to the noise and lifted my chin toward the sky to enjoy the sunshine on my face.

The storefront came into view far sooner than I would have cared for it to. Its appearance was what had drawn me to my workplace from the beginning. A short, light yellow cloth flag hanging on a post outside of the store read in curly, black cursive print: Zest: New Age Boutique. A small wrought iron table with two chairs sat outside of the front entrance. The door itself was an old, heavy wood that I had to put all my weight into in order to open it. It was shaped in an arch with elaborate moldings surrounding it; windows on either side displayed mannequins that were wearing clothing that was far too young of a style for anyone else that worked there. The familiar sound of bell chimes as I opened the door tickled my eardrum, followed by the clack of my heel onto the tile floor.

“Welcome to Ze—oh, hey Miss Zoey,” a familiar voice called to me from behind the counter.

“Morning—er, afternoon, Brenda,” I called back.

She stood behind the register, waving at me happily.

I smiled at her as I walked past the register and through the door behind her into the room that any customer would just refer to as the back. The questions would always be:

Do you have this in the back in another color?

Is there a larger size in the back?

What about anything new—you got that in the back?

There was never anything in the back.

The back was an area situated in the middle of the store that housed a single-stall bathroom in the back right corner. Our kitchen—or what you could call a kitchen—was to the left. There was a small fridge, the grey countertops that surrounded it held a stainless steel sink, and a microwave was plugged in atop the surface. A circular wooden table took up the majority of the space of the room with yellow chairs that matched the store’s signature color. What was most definitely not in the back, much to our customers’ dismay, was extra clothing.

I placed my purse—a little blue and white striped clutch that had a long, slim strap to hang across my shoulder—on the counter to stow it away for the day, and Brenda wandered through the door behind me.

“What up?”

She greeted me in a tone that sounded like it came straight from the nineties, and I smirked at its oh-so-Brenda-like quality.

“Not much,” I told her. “How are ya, Bee?”

She shrugged. “Good. Do anything fun on your day off?”

Her short, brown bob tipped to the side as she, as per usual, inquired about my life.

“Same old,” I replied, keeping my excursions with James from days ago purposefully to myself. “Hung out with Liam, did some laundry—you know.”

“Hngh.” Brenda emitted a sound that was reminiscent of envy, her hazel eyes staring off into the distance, and she said, “Yeah, I know. He comin’ around any time again soon?”

I joked, “What, Bee, you miss seeing his face?”

“I miss seeing his ass,” she stated brazenly, and I chuckled as she added, “It’s tight.”

“Uh huh, right,” I voiced back. “Well, he was just here a few days ago…the last day you and I were scheduled together, actually. You missed him.”

“I did?”

“Mhm—you left early to pick up your kids?” I reminded her with an upward inflection.

“Damn those children!” she mockingly called to the ceiling. “What was he wearing?”

I laughed, replying, “I don’t remember, Bee—you can use your imagination.”

“Already am,” she returned quickly.

I was going to ask her a question that erred on the side of small talk regarding her children, but the bell chimed from the front door. Instead, I just told her, “I got it,” and made my way out to the floor to begin my shift.

Time passed quickly. I was working for several hours, as I typically did, but the sheer amount of people and the velocity at which they scampered through the store was staggering, and before I knew it, I was ringing up my last customer.

I smiled sweetly at her as she joked, “Oh, there’s no tag on this? Must be free! Ha!”

While my brain sneered, ‘Your joke isn’t original. I hear it fifty times a day. No, you are not getting this sixty-dollar sweater for free, that would come out of my check,’ my mouth replied in a bubbly tone, “Let me check on that price for you!”

I was ecstatic that I had her out the door in the next five minutes. My fingers itched to close shop, and I rushed through the procedures as quickly as I could. Brenda had left long ago, as it was another night in which she had custody of her children, and I was left to go through the process alone. Truthfully, I didn’t mind. It was peacefully quiet in the store as I went through the motions, and it wasn’t long before I was yanking the heavy door to the entrance of Zest closed. I locked it with the set of keys that I kept in my purse and threw them back into the bag with a flourish that signified the end of my day.

Despite knowing that we lived in a safe area, I always had a nervous twinge run down my spine when I walked home at this hour. There was something about the silence and the dark of night that made the air around me feel oddly…tense. The foreboding sensation that commonly took over me always grew stronger as the hollow noise my steps made on the cobblestones shook my eardrums. This night and many nights before it, I found myself walking with bated breath. I glanced behind myself to see the street deserted and the lamplights glowing a peaceful yellow, but that did nothing to ease my anxiety for my upcoming stroll.

The wind blew, my bangs wisping across my forehead, and just as I had steeled myself to walk forward once more, my phone began to ring from the inside pocket of my purse. I was thankful for the distraction from my overly anxious thoughts, and upon seeing James’ name on the glass face of the screen, I smirked. Inane thoughts of being abducted in the street left my mind, and I slid my finger to answer the call.

“Well, hello there.”

“Miss Sheffield,” he greeted me happily.

James was in Lexington all week for work, as he had mentioned. The several days since I had last seen him had come and gone, and the cadence of the routine that we had created was one that was genuinely growing on me. He took note of when I was on the clock, called me when I was finished for the day, and talked with me while I walked home. It was peaceful, really.

“You’re right on time,” I told him.

“Am I?” he asked in such a way that I could envision the crooked smile on his face. “That’s not like me.”

“Every day that I’ve worked this week, I make it about half way down the first block and there you are—buzzing in my purse.” I grinned. “You’re very consistent.”

“A point of pride, really,” he returned.

“What are you up to?”

“On my way back into town.”

“Ah, solved all the world’s problems by analyzing their datasheets?”

He chuckled, noting, “You remembered what I do for a living.”

“I do listen,” I replied. “Don’t ask me anything else about your job though, it confuses the hell out of me.”

“You got it.” The faint clicking noise of a turn signal reached my ears, and he said, “So—I’m close to your neck of the woods.”

“Are you, now?”

“Mhm.”

“And you wanted to take me out to dinner, how nice of you,” I joked, scuffing my heel with a kick as I walked.

“No,” he laughed gently. “No, I already ate—figured you did too, it’s a little late.”

“That I did.”

I had eaten a quick dinner in the back roughly two hours before. Over time, I had stocked the freezer at Zest with various microwavable meals that I could eat during a quick break. They weren’t satisfying by any means but at the very least, I wasn’t going hungry.

“I would ask if you wanted to meet up at Henry’s but I am…exhausted. Long week; long drive.” I heard him exhale into the speaker. “I was going to just drive straight back to my house and sleep but…”

His voice trailed off on the last word, and I replied, “Hmm, what’s but? Will I like but?”

“Thought I could come and tell you hello?”

I felt my eyebrows raise as I considered his words. The line was quiet—so quiet, that I yet again heard his turn signal clicking away. It stopped after a moment, and I responded:

“What does hello mean, Jay?”

“Well, I could—”

“Is this a booty call?”

“No, no-no, I didn’t mean—”

“You do realize that would be listed as a pro on my hypothetical pro and con list that contains all of James’ qualities,” I told him in as seductive of a voice as I could muster.

“Would it, now?” James asked, his tone dipping down lower than it had been previously. “Dare I ask what else is on the pro side of that list?”

“Likes giving out spankings, big cock, tattoos.” I hummed to myself as if I were weighing options in my mind. “Cons—”

“I don’t know if I need to know the cons, I’m kinda digging the pros—”

“Cons,” I repeated as I began to ascend the stairs to my apartment, “I’m starting to forget what said cock felt like.”

“Cons,” James continued for me, “we’ve only had sex in the back seat of a small car.”

I let myself in the apartment, turning on lights and happily noting to myself that Claire was working tonight as I ambled inside, tossing my belongings on the kitchen table.

“I don’t mind that con,” I told him, “but it would be nice to experience a full range of motion, I suppose.”

James chuckled. “Is it too forward to say I could be at your place in five minutes?”

I cooed, “I would expect no less.”

I replied to him and immediately hung up, laughing to myself as I nearly skipped with glee to my bedroom. I kicked off my flats, jumped onto my bed, and stretched my legs out, interlacing my fingers behind my head as I rested on my pillow.

Checking my alarm clock that was on my bedside table, it was five minutes on the dot when the front door creaked open yet again. There was the unmistakable sound of a deadbolt locking after the door was closed, and James’ booming voice followed:

“You hung up on me!”

“Thought I’d see you soon enough,” I called out to him.

Presumably, he followed the sound of my voice into my bedroom. I remained in the same comfortable position when James poked his head into my room. His appearance was unlike I had seen before—his usual brown boots were traded for loafers, jeans replaced with khaki slacks. I followed my gaze up his loose, navy button-down shirt to find his eyes bespectacled. The frames sat high on the bridge of his nose; perfectly circular lenses enclosed in a silver metal that enhanced the grey of his eyes. He smiled his typical crooked smile, tucking his hair behind his left ear.

“Comfortable?” he inquired, taking in my relaxed appearance.

I flexed my ankles enough to point my toes straight toward him and sighed.

“I am,” I replied. “You look very different than I’m used to seeing you.”

“Oh.” James splayed his hands outwards, looking down at himself and then back to me. “Yeah, I, uh—this is how I dress for work?” He tugged on the cufflink of his shirt that constrained his wrist. “Have to cover the tattoos.”

“And the glasses?”

“Ha,” he laughed out a singular, weak syllable, and gently grasped the stems on either side of his face. He removed them, looking at them in his palm as if he had forgotten he was wearing them. “I have night blindness, er—astigmatism. Really only wear them when I drive at night. Or when I’m at a computer, y’know—screen time.”

I unwove my fingers behind my head, pushed myself up into a sitting position, and swung my legs to dangle off the side of my bed. I waved at him with a smile.

“Hey there.”

He made his way to me leisurely, setting his glasses down on my nightside table before taking my head in his hands and kissing me deeply. His beard scratched against my face as he opened his mouth to mine, biting my lower lip softly. I hummed appreciatively, and he pulled away.

“Hi,” he told me, teeth glinting out in a wide grin. “I like your room.”

“It’s the duvet, isn’t it?” I responded wryly.

He laughed quietly, peeking downwards. “White eyelet lace? Nice.”

I shrugged. “I try.”

His fingers gripped my neck a little tighter, and he pulled me to him once more. Our tongues touched, entwining as he ushered me backward with the gentle pressure of his body against mine, and our familiarity allowed us to move together like water. We undressed, exploring each other’s bodies with a newfound appreciation for the open space around us. I traced the markings on his arms that were akin to a paintbrush across a blank canvas, James nipped at the curves of my breasts, and when we were ready, our motions shifted from a blissful fluidity to a fight for control.

He inevitably won, asking me in a filthy tone if I remembered what his cock felt like as he drove into me. The bedframe rattled, the sound along with our collective shouts of pleasure an erotic symphony that only spurred both of us on further. We came loudly, gritty pleas and collective shouting reverberating the walls, and he held me as I rolled through the waves.

I had intended to see him off—really, I did—but the buzzing contentment that rolled through me was too much, and it wasn’t long before I had drifted off to sleep.

I woke after several long, uninterrupted hours face down, naked, and buried under the covers. Sunlight was already peeking in through my window, and as I stretched my arms overhead, one of my hands made unexpected contact with something that was neither my several voluptuous pillows nor the remainder of my bedding. I patted at the intrusion curiously, the gears in my mind still cranking oh-so-slowly from my blissful awakening, until a deep, amused voice spoke to me.

“You sleep like the dead, you know.”

It was then that I realized that the intrusion I was curiously poking at was a body. A hard, large, warm, muscular body. And at that realization, I was alarmingly awake. I sat upright so quickly that my head spun, and I snapped my gaze to a very curious James. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at me, his head tipping to the side to question me.

I continued to stare at him, my heart racing from the shock of the situation. He was resting his back against my headboard, shirtless. My comforter lay over his lap to disguise whatever other clothing he may or may not have been wearing, and though the sight before me was, without a doubt, delicious, the implication was not, for I’d truthfully thought that he would leave after I had drifted off. I blinked, words failing to come to me until he spoke again.

“Zoey?”

I blurted out, “What are you doing here?”

“Uh—I came over last night?” James replied, his brow pinching together in confusion. “We—”

“Yeah, we fucked, I know,” I told him quickly, blinking hard at not only the situation, but my dry eyes. They scratched as I did so, my contacts from the night prior that I hadn’t removed wreaking havoc on me. “Why are you still here?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you sleep here?” I pressed.

His eyes glanced down to my chest, which the bedding was no longer covering. “It was, um—late—”

“Don’t look at my tits right now, Jay—”

“They’re nice tits—”

“Yeah, I know they’re nice,” I retorted. “Get up.”

He let out a disbelieving laugh and said, “What?”

“Get. Up,” I reiterated, this time with more bite.

“Zoey, what’s the big deal?”

“What’s the big deal?!” I asked, my voice hitching up high.

“Zoey—”

“Jay—”

“I don’t get it, I fell asleep here after we had sex, what’s wrong—”

“I don’t sleep with men, James,” I told him firmly.

“Huh?”

“I have never,” I spoke as I stood from my bed, punctuating my words for maximum impact. “Slept. With. A. Man.” I snatched his boxers and pants in one fell swoop and threw them at him. He flinched as they landed on him, and I stated, “Until fucking…this. Get up.”

“I—” James stammered, skittering to his feet and yanking his clothing on. “You’ve never slept with someone?”

“No.”

He found his button-down shirt on the floor, and he pulled his arms through the sleeves. Button by button, the gears visibly cranked in his mind before he asked, “No sleeping partners, ever?”

I rushedly dressed myself in flannel pajamas that were placed in my dirty laundry bin from the day prior.

“No.”

I started to point at my door to show him where his exit was, but he just held up two hands in weak defense.

“Okay,” James spoke slowly, as if I were a frightened animal. “Easy. Take a breath.”

“I do not need to take-a-breath!”

“I’m sorry, Zoey. I didn’t know I was crossing a line…”

His words faltered when I let a long breath out of my nostrils.

“That,” I pointed to my bed, “made me feel very…betrothed.”

“Betrothed?” he questioned.

“Yes, Jay,” I snapped. “That was too much, I don’t want—”

“Zoey,” he chuckled, eyes wide now, “I don’t want to be betrothed. I’m still in the process of getting un-betrothed.”

I paused, his reply causing my initial panic to ebb away. “Okay, well—”

“Well,” he interjected, “we had sex and I mistakenly slept in your bed with you. That is all.”

I huffed out another quick breath, crossing my arms across my chest. “That’s all?”

“I did not know that was a no-no,” he stated. “Really.”

All I could respond with was a quiet, “Okay.”

“Okay?” James asked.

“Okay,” I repeated myself. “No more sleeping in my bed?”

“After this show? Absolutely not.” He shook his head hard from side to side, and I finally felt as though my heart rate had returned to normal. James snatched his glasses from the bedside table and placed them on top of his head in the way that one would their sunglasses, tucking his hair away from his face. He inquired hesitantly, “You good?”

“Uh huh.”

“Can I approach you now?” he asked with a note of sarcasm.

I gave him a cautious look and replied, “Approach away.”

He ambled up to me slowly and when I was within reach, he bent down to give me a soft, chaste kiss.

“I had a good time last night,” he said, looking down at me with a suggestive grin.

I sighed audibly. “Yeah, yeah—I did too.”

“I’m gonna go,” he told me, pointing his thumb over his shoulder to my bedroom door. “I won’t stay for coffee. Or ask if you want breakfast. You sure you’re good?”

I begrudgingly smiled back at him and nodded, saying, “Okay, yeah—fine; I’m good,” as I followed him out of my bedroom door. The smell of perfectly brewed coffee reached my nose at the moment the door opened, and I called out, “Oh, no—wait, Jay, wait—”

“AH!”

James jumped backward and into me at the moment of Claire’s shocked scream, and I muttered, “Fuck.”

I considered retreating back into the comfort of my bedroom and forgetting that this entire morning had even happened, but I knew somewhere deep within myself that pretending would do me no good. So, with that thought, I pushed on James’ lower back to usher him out of the doorway and into the kitchen.

I reluctantly looked to the dining table and saw Claire sitting in her usual chair, messy hair in a large bun, with alarmingly wide, blue eyes bouncing between James and me. Luke sat next to her, trying but failing to avoid eye contact with us both. His hair flopped over his forehead as he took a tentative sip of his steaming mug. The third presence’s blonde eyebrows had retreated into his messy fringe. Liam was perched at rapt attention at the head of the table directly facing us, his shocked expression glued on James.

“Erm—hi, brother,” Luke greeted James quietly.

Luke flashed me an apologetic look, grey eyes pinching at the corners as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Um—hi,” James told Luke, then redirected his attention to the red-headed firecracker beside him. “Morning, Claire.” He shifted his gaze ever-so-slightly to Liam, and smiled. “Liam.”

Liam’s dark, alarmed eyes flashed to me, and I mouthed, ‘What are you doing here?’

His lips parted, and then he promptly shut them as he looked back to James with the same wide eyes. I adjusted my weight from foot to foot at the sight of his expression for what felt like a nervous current of electricity had begun to run underneath my skin.

Claire screeched, “You spent the night?!”

“Don’t even get me started,” James murmured.

Claire asked, “Do—do you want coffee, Jay? There’s some over there—”

“No-no,” James replied quickly. “I’m good—definitely good. Was just on my way out.”

“I’ll walk you,” I announced quickly, pushing him along and keeping my eyes to the floor as I ushered him to the door. I opened it and froze, for there was something on the ground before us. I whined, “Again?”

I bent down to pick up a white vase. It was tall. Slender. With a triangular base, the ceramic sides twisted in a spiral toward the top and ended with a circular lip just large enough to house a quarter. And it contained one single yellow rose.

I carried it in one hand with a grimace, and James held up his palms in defense.

“Don’t look at me,” he muttered.

Shifting my eyes to the group sitting at the kitchen table, I looked at all of them with a pointed stare. Luke shook his head. Claire, upon assessing Luke’s reaction, shrugged. Liam squinted at the vase with a morbid curiosity, and I sighed at their collective telepathic, ‘Not a clue.’

Claire called out, “It’s cute, though!”

I placed it on the floor within the apartment for Claire to do with what she will, and James shimmied by me. He turned to face me in the entryway, his crooked smile making me huff out a breath that was released along with my hesitancy regarding his presence at the break of dawn. He leaned against the door jamb.

“They’re watching us,” he whispered dramatically.

I grumbled back, “I figured that.”

“I’ll call you later?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I rolled my eyes. “Call me later.”

With a quick flash of a glance over my shoulder and what sounded like a smug chuckle, James reached a hand down to clasp the back of my neck and leaned in to place his lips on mine. The kiss was soft and slow—so enticing that I bowed into it, opening my mouth for just a brief moment to allow our tongues to touch until I remembered that we had an audience.

I pulled away from him abruptly and smacked his chest.

“You did that on purpose,” I hissed. “What are you doing, claiming property?”

He shot me a beaming grin and shrugged. “Bye, Zoey.”

I watched him walk through the hall and disappear down the stairs, and as I shut the door behind me, I found three very intent sets of eyes on me. I groaned loudly.

Claire insisted, “Come. Sit. Coffee. Now.”

I obliged, snatching the slim vase by the neck to bring it with me, and retorted, “I’m not a fucking dog, Claire.”

She rolled her eyes as she stood and moved to grab the necessities to make my cup. I placed the ceramic on the table between us all and tentatively sat next to Liam. As I looked his way, I found his gaze set on his coffee. It appeared to not have been touched, and though he reached to place his hand on the handle of the mug, he didn’t bring it to his lips. He rotated it slowly, as if he simply wanted to busy his hands, and then released it all together.

“What are you doing here so early?” I whispered.

It wasn’t uncommon to find Liam at my apartment in the morning drinking a cup of coffee, but I was usually well-awake for an hour or two before he ambled over from his abode across the hall and let himself in through the front door.

Liam cleared his throat. “It’s not,” he murmured back. “You slept in.”

Before I could respond, Claire had returned with my mug. She leaned over the table, sliding it toward me with a smile.

“So,” she started, “Jay sleeping over is new.”

I held up an index finger to signify for her to wait, took a large gulp of my drink, and set it down with purpose.

“May I clear a few things up?” I asked her sweetly.

“Oh,” she laughed, “was that not what it looked like?”

My eyes shot skyward. “Yes, we had sex last night—that is not news. This is not new. We have fucked before. I can tell you all the detail of that if you want. I can recall it with alarming clarity.” Liam had finally taken a sip from his cup, and his face contorted as if it were incredibly bitter. I continued, “The sleeping in my bed—not consensual.”

“Not consensual?” Claire asked.

Liam snorted into his coffee, and I exhaled quietly in relief that his usual candor had returned.

“Did not want him sleeping in my bed,” I stated bluntly. “My bed is my bed.”

“And you didn’t kick him out because…” Liam asked, his question fading off as he awaited my response.

“Okay,” I began, “just to make everything clear—because apparently, everyone is incredibly curious about my sex life—”

“I’m not,” Luke spoke into his mug.

“I didn’t get a chance to kick him out,” I announced. “I fell asleep—mmkay? So, everyone can stop looking at me like I grew a third, romantic head.”

Claire trilled, “That kiss looked awfully—”

“You can stop now!” I interjected, the admission aloud combined with the knowledge that I enjoyed his tender goodbye causing me to raise my voice. “We don’t need to talk about it.”

Claire grinned wide. “Don’t we?”

“Alright,” I snapped, “I wouldn’t still be seeing him if I didn’t like the guy. Is that what you want to hear? Are ya fuckin’ happy? I’m not to the point where I wanna canoodle him in the middle of the night, but I’m still thoroughly enjoying him inside of me. ’Kay?”

“’Kay,” she returned promptly, taking a happy sip from her cup that made me narrow my eyes.

Her natural inclination to inquire about my situation with James had me grinding my teeth…and the worst part of it all was that my qualms regarding my closeness with him were growing fainter and fainter. The time we spent together—the memories that we had shared—were frequently bringing smiles to my face. Drifting me off to a dreamland that I didn’t even realize existed until now. The unknown land offered a pleasant warmth that I knew I could sink into, but I pondered that if I were to give in if I would be lost. Floating at sea. Waiting to be found. I took another taste of my coffee and clenched my jaw, silently praying that I could remain with my feet happily on the ground; landlocked.

Chapter 6

Zoey 7:45 P.M.: I think I may owe you something.

James 7:52 P.M.: You have my curiosity.

Zoey 7:53 P.M.: An apology?

James 7:55 P.M.: And now, you have my attention.

I didn’t know how to apologize for kicking James out of my apartment a mere two days ago. I just had the lingering feeling that I should, and the thought spurred the subsequent unease of unexplored waters vast before me. I exhaled loudly at the messages on my screen and placed my phone down on the table. We sat at our usual table at Henry’s—the one that we occupied when Claire and Luke were able to join us outside of work—Liam in a chair beside me and Claire and Luke across from us. The short glasses before the both of them were drained, and they were having a quick, hushed conversation amongst themselves before Claire smiled at me and announced:

“We’re outta here.”

“It’s not even eight o’clock!” I complained. “Stay for a bit.”

Luke scrunched up his nose as he shook his head from side to side and stood. He pushed his chair in, offered his hand to Claire to stand, and she took it. She favored her right leg, glancing at him with thankful eyes, and then looked back to me.

“Nah, we’re beat.”

“Fine,” I replied with a groan. “Spoil-sports.”

“I got a few more in me,” Liam announced from my left.

My lips pulled up slightly at the offer, and I nodded at him. Claire and Luke spoke a quick goodbye as they scurried away, and my phone began to buzz across the table, dancing over the wood grain with every vibration until it clinked against my cider. I grumbled at the insinuation of the conversation before me and clicked the button on the side of my phone to silence the call.

“You’re avoiding him, now?” Liam inquired.

“Liam,” I groaned.

He held up both of his hands in defense.

“I wouldn’t have asked, but you looked all…” Liam contemplated his words for a moment before deducing, “sad. So, what gives?”

“I basically kicked him out the other day,” I stated quietly, rotating the bottom of my bottle against the tabletop between us.

Liam’s mouth pursed together. “I remember; I was there,” he replied. “And as much as I enjoy thinking about that, ya look torn up, so—again—what gives?”

“I think I was mean—or overreacted—or whatever, I dunno.”

Liam wore a smirk so crooked that it stretched the freckles across his cheeks.

“That’s kinda part of your charm, Zo’.”

“Oh, fuck off,” I muttered, and Liam’s freckles somehow stretched even further. “I just think I’m actually starting to like him and I don’t—I don’t know.”

He appeared to be chewing on the inside of his cheek before he said, “If ya like him, why are you all…” He waved a hand at me, gesturing toward my general discontent.

“I dunno,” I stated rapidly. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Mmkay.” His immediate acceptance of my aversion to this conversation put me at ease, and I watched while he lifted his beer glass to his lips and took a sip. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his lips darted out to catch the foam that remained there, and I averted my gaze. “Think I may go back to Southport here soon.”

“Yeah?”

His hometown of Southport, North Carolina—a stone’s throw away from where Claire and I had moved from—was one that everyone knew he was fond of. The strain within his family unit that he rarely spoke of aside, it was clear that he enjoyed visiting home for he took the chance to return as often as he could.

Liam nodded at my clarification. “Haven’t gone back in a bit. My sister moved into a new place a few months back.”

“Cassie?” I spoke his sister’s name with an upward inflection to confirm it.

“Mhm.” He grinned at the mention of her, and the reminder that Liam appeared to be a protective older brother at the mere sound of her name made me smile. “She keeps calling, I’ve just been—” Liam looked into my eyes and then briefly behind me, and the grin fell off of his face. “Fuck.”

“Lee?”

His brown eyes went wide, and he whispered, “Oh, fuck.”

“Liam, what—”

“Liam?!”

The last questioning of Liam’s name did not come from my mouth. I followed the screeching voice behind my shoulder to find that Liam’s gaze of abject horror had been directed at a woman and she was, without a doubt, striking. Wavy, brunette hair without a strand out of place framed her face. She had glowing, tanned skin, a button nose, and bright, almond-shaped blue eyes. She stood from the table she was seated at and long legs that were scarcely covered by dark shorts revealed themselves. They led to what was clearly a very toned abdomen that was concealed with a tank top.

I hated myself for thinking it because I wasn’t typically envious of other women, but this one? I wondered if this one had spent her time walking a runway at a fashion show. This one was an exception, and I subconsciously wrapped a single arm around my waist, feeling the slightest bit inadequate.

“Fuck-shit-fuck,” Liam hissed under his breath as she walked towards us.

“Lee,” I crooned quietly, “care to clue me in here? Who is this?”

“Ah,” he mumbled quickly, “can’t say. Don’t-remember-her-name.” His anxious eyes darted around the room.

“Jesus, did you hit that?”

He gritted out, “Several times,” and I grimaced at the unwelcome thought of Liam buried within this woman. “Over a weekend a few months back and that was it,” Liam told me rapidly, “but I think it was a mistake because she’s been kinda-on-my-back—hey…there.”

Liam looked upwards at the woman who approached our table and forced a smile on his face.

“Liam,” she crossed her arms underneath her perfect chest. “Who the fuck is this?”

She pointed a French tip manicured nail in my direction, and I couldn’t help myself from wondering if it had scraped its way down Liam’s back at some point. The irritation from the mental image combined with her immediate rude tone made me square my shoulders and narrow my eyes in her direction.

“Uh—hi. It’s Zoey, first of all. And who the fuck might you be?”

“Liam’s girl—”

“Oh-ho-ho,” Liam chuckled a bit, cutting her off and muttering, “Oh, sweetie, no-no,” before he collected himself and stated, “Listen, we…had a good time, right?”

“I have been messaging you,” she spoke between her teeth, glancing at me with a side eye, “for months.”

“I…didn’t get those,” Liam told her, adding on, “lost my phone, er—I’m off the grid.”

“Isn’t that your phone?” she asked, gesturing at the black faux-leather case that was face down on the table.

It was his phone—and I should have felt bad for her. I really should have—but I didn’t. I bit my tongue to keep from laughing outwardly and listened as Liam continued speaking with her.

He snatched the phone off the table and lied quickly, “Oh, Luke left his phone—silly goose.”

“Why are you ignoring me, Liam?” she inquired, adamant.

“Ah, I—simple explanation—um…”

Liam fumbled his words, his eyes shifting from side to side. I watched the gears in his brain churn away as he attempted to think of anything to tell the woman before us, and he was clearly coming up blank. I felt my face pinch together in sympathy as he stammered nonsensical words. Liam may have been one to fool around—he was similar to me in that aspect. He wasn’t one to have a girlfriend, but that didn’t change the fact that Liam was a nice man. He obviously didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but he needed her gone—and I was more than happy to oblige.

I sighed dramatically, forcing both of their focuses to be on me, and said, “How many of these women do we have to talk to?” Liam squinted at me curiously, I smiled in a way that I hoped conveyed for him to follow my lead, and I looked up to the woman to say, “We’ve been together for a bit now—has a bit of a past on him, doesn’t he?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You?”

Now, I originally wanted to try to let her down easy. However, the way she spoke the word at me made me quickly change my tune. With just one syllable, she made it clear that the thought of someone like me being a threat to someone like her was, in her mind, ridiculous. And it was my mission to make that notion of hers disappear.

“Yes,” I replied calmly. “Me. Been a few months, hasn’t it, Lee?”

“I—yes,” he nodded vigorously. “Months, right.”

She shook her head quickly, as if she was having trouble understanding.

“I—Liam, that weekend that we were together was—I—” She turned on him, “I don’t understand…you were talking about getting me jewelry and—”

“Jewelry?” Liam scoffed. “Look, I don’t know what you heard, but—”

“You said you wanted to give me a pearl necklace—”

I let out a loud, “Ha!” that could have been heard around the entire bar.

“Oh, sweetie,” Liam said, his cheeks turning slightly pink as he smiled, averting his gaze from both of us, “that is not what you think that means.”

“I—what—” she began to ask what it was supposed to mean, but I answered for Liam myself.

“It’s a euphemism for a man coming on your neck, dear.” I mimed pumping a cock in front of my face, tipping my head back and gesturing gratuitously towards my neck. “Pearl necklace.”

Liam’s face pursed together from the effort to hide his laughter at my lewd movements. I chose not to ask whether she received the metaphorical pearl necklace or not—the image of Liam screwing the makeshift model had just barely left my mind, and I was in no mood to have it return.

“Okay,” she retorted to me, “I don’t know who you are, but I think you need to mind your own goddamn business.”

“You walked up to our table,” I reminded her. “You are officially in our business, not the other way around.”

“Liam,” she huffed, “tell this crazy woman—”

“Easy,” he warned her.

“You’re talking to his girlfriend,” I interjected, flashing as wide a smile as I could manage in her direction.

A combination of insecurity and rage flared in her expression and it may have made me an absolutely terrible person, but that just made me feel so…good. She could have been a good person—hell, I didn’t know her at all. For all I knew, she dedicated her spare time outside of fucking men that she barely knew to…I dunno…saving puppies or some shit. All I knew was that she had gotten right under my skin—and I was determined to get her out.

I decided to take it a step further, reaching my hand across the table to grab Liam’s. His head tilted to the side, a shadow of a smile creeping to his lips as he looked at our entwined hands. He had just begun to weave his fingers through mine, twirling my hand this way and that, before I was forced to yank it back in shock. The mystery girl had, in one swift movement, grabbed both of our very full beverages and upended them above our heads.

Liam sat across from me, laughing to himself as he wiped beer away from his eyes. I, on the other hand, had the polar opposite of a reaction. Maybe it was from the surprise of getting a drink thrown in my face for the first time in my life, or maybe it was just because of the absolute gall on this girl. I couldn’t be sure exactly why, but my mood had swung to you-have-got-to-be-fucking-kidding-me in about a second flat.

I wiped the cider out of my eyes and glared up at her. I mean—I glared way up. My internal monologue whined something along the lines of, ‘Does she have to be so leggy? Tall bitch.’

I asked snidely, “What is wrong with you, you fucking Amazonian?”

“Zoey,” Liam called out to me as I stood to confront her, reaching out to grasp my wrist.

I whipped my head to face his, purring out, “Not now, baby, we’re talking.”

Liam’s eyebrows shot up at my use of the endearment, and added, “Er—darling, how about we just sit?”

I ignored his inquiry and when I looked back to her, I realized that my use of the endearment seemed to have worked for I caught a glimpse of insanity in her eyes. I leaned closer to her, Liam’s hand still firmly gripping my wrist, and whispered:

“He doesn’t even remember your name.”

She moved so quickly that I didn’t even notice what had happened at first. All I felt was a hot, stinging pain flashing across my wet face as a resounding smack echoed throughout the bar. My eyes were still closed as I listened to Liam’s voice admonishing her angrily, followed by her heels clacking across the wood floor towards the exit, and then, the door closed behind her with a thud.

I was, without a doubt, slapped into submission. I could have run after her. Started a full-on fistfight in a nearby alleyway. Yanked her chocolate tresses from the roots. But, alas, the shock of the initial assault had left me almost paralyzed.

“Good God, are you okay?”

Liam tugged at my wrist to try to get me to turn to him, but my mind was still in a daze. I gingerly touched my left cheek, feeling the burn from her slap radiate into my palm, and tested opening and closing my jaw. It was tender already, and my head throbbed painfully when I nodded back to him.

I winced, angling my face towards Liam, and asked, “How bad does it look?”

I opened my eyes just in time to see him cringe, inhaling a breath through his teeth.

“The lighting in here’s shit, I can’t tell…but it looks, erm—red. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

I brushed him off with a quick, “No, no—I, ah, probably shouldn’t have poked the bear on that one.”

He asked me gently, “What were you thinkin’, Zo’?”

I felt his thumb graze along my forearm in a consoling manner. It was oddly calming, but the sentence that he spoke was anything but.

I shrugged. “Get the crazy girl off your back? I dunno. It just happened so fast.”

I went to sit back down, but Liam shook his head, droplets of beer that clung to his blonde head flinging off of him from the movement.

“No-no, don’t sit, let’s just go,” he said, standing himself up. “We both need a change of clothes anyway, we can have another drink at my place, okay?”

I nodded, my mind still hazy, and I heard Liam apologizing to the bartender who had approached the table as I grabbed my things that surrounded me. The young man, whom I had never met, stammered out for us to not worry and that he would take care of the alcohol spilled on the floor. Liam thanked him quietly, ushering me out the door with a hand between my shoulder blades that felt shockingly warm compared to my cider-soaked shirt.

I placed one foot in front of the other blindly, head a blur, as Liam guided me down the street. We walked slowly, his guiding touch a blazing heat that scorched the back of my neck. His thumb brushed against my hairline in a consoling gesture, and it sent a shiver through me that I couldn’t suppress. I felt the comfort from his movement in my bones, and the sensation sent me reeling.

I was the type of person that thrived on being able to stand on my own two feet. I couldn’t put my finger on the specifics of why, but now, I felt like I had been swept off of them. With every step that we took and every gentle sweep of the pad of his thumb across my neck, I felt like I had slipped. I was falling. Careening downwards until I would, inevitably, break into pieces upon impact with the ground.

“Come on, get inside. I’ll grab you a towel.”

I mumbled some sort of agreement as Liam unlocked his door and pushed me inside it, and he strolled into his bathroom. I was left alone in front of his kitchen island, willing my mind to break out of the mist that had settled over my thoughts.

Not a minute had passed by the time Liam walked back to the kitchen with two towels. One was in his hand, poised to be thrown in my direction, and the other rested atop his shoulders—his very naked shoulders, as he had disposed of his beer-drenched shirt.

There were many instances throughout our friendship in which I was forced to suppress any outward attraction to Liam. There was no doubt that he was, for lack of a better term, hot, and I typically had no problem averting my eyes. I’d shift my focus and, if necessary, hum an internal monologue of baseball, baseball, baseball until the dirty thoughts that flooded my mind were whisked away. Right now, however, it was an impossibility. The recent memory of his comforting touch on the back of my neck jolted through me and sent me into a tailspin. Innocent as it may have been, it, along with the sight of his bare chest, made me weak.

He ran the towel through his hair and the jagged, pink scar along his left collarbone became visible, the evidence from when a bullet had impaled and shattered the bone completely apparent in the long gash. I found my gaze wandering, raking across his wide, muscular shoulders and downward. By the time I saw the flaxen happy trail leading from his belly button to his belt buckle, I had to force myself to close my agape mouth. I cleared my throat and tried to become as interested as one could be with the pattern in the wood grain of his apartment’s flooring.

I wanted to tell him to clothe himself before I had a goddamn coronary, but that could lead to further questioning that I didn’t think myself strong enough to answer—so I kept my mouth shut.

Liam chuckled out, “What are you doing?”

Fuck.

“Um—”

“Here,” he threw a towel at me as if it wasn’t blaringly obvious that I was just thinking of cleaning whatever beer splatter that remained on his chest with my tongue. I could practically feel the bristles of his chest hair tickling my lips when the towel landed at my feet. I shook my head, blinked my eyes once—hard—and bent over to pick it up. Liam ordered me, “Sit down, Zo’, let me look at your face.”

I scrunched my hair absentmindedly with the towel as I walked to his couch, sitting and turning my cheek toward him so he could look at it.

“Jeez.” He sat on the cushion next to me, gently touching my chin with his thumb to twist my head away from him further to get a better look. “Was she wearing rings? You should ice this.”

I groaned, for she was. I could still feel the blunt force of the metal shooting across my face.

“I should’ve chased after her,” I grumbled.

“And what?” he asked with a soft laugh. “Get into a bar fight?” I shrugged, and upon his resulting amusement, the scar stretched across his upper lip in a way that made my chest ache. Liam gently touched my cheek and I winced. “Sorry,” he whispered, lowering his hand to rest back against my neck.

His fingers flexed ever so softly as his dark eyes traced whatever redness that was on my face, and I exhaled a rather shaky breath.

Liam’s gaze turned serious at the noise, his brow pinched together as he searched my face, trying to read it.

“Zoey?”

I met his eyes and stayed there, unable to break away as a voice that didn’t even sound familiar to mine croaked out lightly, “Uh huh?”

The sound reached both of our ears, and Liam appeared to swallow through a lump in his throat. His grip shifted. His nails scratched me softly as he moved, and my head rolled into the feeling that bordered between pleasure and pain.

In a raspy tone that sent a thrill through me, he asked, “Are you good?” I nodded silently, and Liam muttered, “You look like you’re in a different world right now.”

The spoken sentence spurred the realization of our closeness, and the sensation of treading water to the point of near-drowning was, suddenly, evident. I was in a different world. And I sure as hell shouldn’t have been there.

I pulled away from his touch abruptly, and Liam shook his head quickly, blinking several times in succession.

“Zoey—”

“I should probably go, you know—” I waved a hand around my face with a flourish, “Cider—sticky—shower—”

I scolded myself internally, ‘Maybe stop thinking about your best friend in said shower, you slut.’

“Oh.” Liam stammered, “I—I really am sorry, I feel like this is my fault—”

I interrupted, “Stop apologizing, it’s not.”

“Why don’t you stay—”

“Lee—”

“Or go shower at your place—change and come back?” he offered, looking regretful of the turn the night had taken. “I’ll grab you another drink and some ice for your face.”

Liam was always incredibly hard to say no to, and I found it especially difficult in this moment. Maybe it was because the look he was giving me was screaming that he just wanted to make everything better. Or, maybe it was because my current weak-willed frame of mind and the feel of his touch on my skin had left me helpless. I wondered if I were to have been dead sober if it would have changed my answer…but I wasn’t, and the resulting reply was one that I don’t think I could have controlled even if I tried.

“Yeah,” I muttered back, “sure.”

“How do you even watch these?”

Liam’s muttered question came from my right. Both of us freshly scrubbed from the alcohol-dousing incident at Henry’s, we sat shoulder to shoulder on his couch. The television rambled on about a man whose preferred victims were young, petite women. The details of his string of slayings that ran their way up the east coast played in the background as I rolled my head to glance at Liam. His hair almost looked blonder than usual, the messy mop of it holding a soft wave that I couldn’t stop my eyes from tracing.

“Hmm?”

“The fuckin’ Most Wanted shows,” he clarified, his arm brushing against mine as he moved to flick a hand at the television before us. “This shit’s sad.”

He lifted his beer bottle to his lips and took a long pull, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, and he rested his drink on the coffee table in front of us.

“Sad?” I questioned the word. “It’s not…sad—”

“Zo’, these people are awful,” he noted. “And they’re still on the loose. How is that not sad?”

“I don’t think about it that way,” I said with a shrug. “It’s more like I’m in on the mystery and because it’s real, it’s…thrilling. I dunno.”

He shook his head, murmuring, “Horror freak.”

“You’re damn right,” I retorted, grabbing my cider from the side table to my left and taking a quick swig before returning it.

Liam laughed. It was a deep, gravelly sound that lingered in my ears like none other, and it made me smile in return. He shifted his body, settling deeper into the couch and resting his head back behind him. I found myself doing the same, his movement somehow making me restless myself, and my cheek brushed against his shoulder.

The act was unintentional, and as I moved to tell him as such, I felt his touch on my forehead. His nose traced back and forth softly. The gesture was remarkably intimate, and because it was one that oddly warmed me through, I leaned into it. His gentle exhale wisped out of his nostrils and across my face, and I shivered.

My eyes fluttered closed as I relished in the sensation, and the gentle cupping of his hand warmed the injured side of my face. I looked up at him then, my nose grazing along the stubble of his chin until our gazes locked on each other’s.

I began to whisper, “Lia—”

His lips touched mine gently, and I gasped. The noise that had come forth from me was one that could only be construed as shock, and Liam pulled away from me before the feel of his kiss was able to settle on my mind.

He sat bolt upright as if he were woken from a deep sleep and uttered, “Fuck.”

I brought a hand to my mouth, touching my lips as if I were questioning if the encounter I had just experienced were real.

“Liam, what—”

“I’m sorry.” It came out hoarse. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” Liam brought both of his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes so hard that I wondered if he were seeing stars. “I’m—Jesus—I’m drunk. For—forget that I…fuck.” His wide eyes darted around the room, and once they finally landed on me, I spoke quietly:

“You’re sorry?”

He shook his head. “I should get some sleep.”

“Liam—”

Liam stood abruptly, walking around the couch and toward his room. “I’ll, um, come to check on you tomorrow, Zo’.” He called over his shoulder. “Ah—ice your face again before you go to bed—g’night.”

His bedroom door shut without a further word, and I stared at it.

A pit of nervousness bloomed inside of me, my breath turned ragged, and I whispered to myself, “What the fuck?”

The cause of my profanity was a loaded one, and I pondered it silently as I made my way back across the hall to my apartment.

I knew that the sparks were there between us. They always were—we would have to have been fucking blind to not see that there was some sort of a flame between us that we regularly tried to ignore. I had considered in the past what would happen if we were to let our flame burn. It concerned me—no, terrified me—that it would become an inferno and reduce our entire relationship to ash. Now, however, with the match briefly lit and subsequently blown out in the blink of an eye, the sulfur-scented smoke of the memory burrowed in my brain.

And I craved incineration.

Chapter 7

There’s an ice pick buried in my skull.

I grumbled to myself as I fumbled for my glasses on the bedside table, putting them on and watching my world come to focus. I laid there for several moments, praying that the feeling would dissipate, and the memory of Liam’s breath hot on mine flashed through my mind. I inhaled sharply at the reminder. My head throbbed, and I moaned loudly.

Fuck, it’s still there.

I all but stumbled my way through the apartment to reach the bathroom that Claire and I shared. Conveniently for my aching head, Claire had spent the night at Luke’s and all the lights in the apartment were gloriously off. I braced myself as I flipped the switch on the outer edge of the bathroom wall, wincing as the lights seared my eyes.

Jesus, I think I need surgery.

I looked in the mirror, half-expecting to see evidence of the assault that had taken place on my cheek, and found nothing but tired eyes and scraggly blonde hair that damn near stood up straight. I sighed, not-so-silently cursing myself as I went about my morning routine. The usual regime was interrupted with unwelcome thoughts that were so vivid, I could barely distinguish them from reality.

I splashed water on my face. The calloused pad of Liam’s thumb brushed the back of my neck. I ran my hands over my head, running damp fingers through the short strands. His nose traced along my forehead. I popped two ibuprofen in my mouth. My head was rolling into his touch as he cradled my face. I drank water straight from the tap. His lips were on mine, and as I swallowed, he pulled away.

Soon enough, I sat at the kitchen table with a steaming mug of coffee that I was unable to drink. I simply let it warm my hands to the point that the ceramic nearly burned my palms, and I allowed it to do so because I wanted the punishment.

I think someone, at some point in time, said that the word insanity meant performing the same action over again and expecting a different result. If that’s truly the case, then I must have lost my mind. I relived the moment that I shared with Liam time and time again, anticipating that I would become accustomed to the memory—assuming that I could think back to the tender closeness that we had shared for a split second and feel nothing.

That was insanity. And I needed…erasure. I needed to forget. By the time that I came to the conclusion of what could be my oblivion, my coffee had gone lukewarm and I was staring at the new message thread on my phone.

Zoey 10:00 A.M.: Hey.

James 10:15 A.M.: Miss Sheffield.

Zoey 10:20 A.M.: You free before I go to work at noon?

James 10:22 A.M.: That’s presumptuous of you, is this about the apology you owe me?

His lighthearted reply brought a smile to my face, and the thought of James replacing the memory of Liam’s lips on mine made me breathe a sigh of relief. Life would carry on. Time could be rewound. My phone buzzed in my hand.

James 10:24 A.M.: Kidding. I could take off for an early lunch in like a half hour. I’m just in Roanoke.

Zoey 10:25 A.M.: See you soon, then.

The half hour in question was deliriously long, and by the time that James was knocking on the front door, my heart rate was sky-high. I itched for him to give me the void that I so desperately needed, and when I saw him standing before me in his uncharacteristic work garb, perfectly circular-lensed spectacles and all, I exhaled softly.

“Hey there.”

I smiled. “Hi.”

“A mid-day message was a nice surprise,” he coyly noted.

“Was it?”

“Mhm.”

“Are ya gonna come in?”

James bounded across the threshold and picked me up by the ass. I yelped in surprise, as he moved too quickly for me to say anything before I was off of my feet, and my calves dangled on either side of his hips. I heard rather than saw him laugh, and I giggled in return. One of his hands slid up to the back of my neck and squeezed.

And in my mind, I saw Liam.

I inhaled sharply at the intrusion, squeezing my eyes shut as tightly as I could to will the thought away.

James kicked the door shut with his heel and as his mouth drifted up to nip at my neck, I sighed. He kissed me there, trailing his tongue along my pulse point, his beard scratching at my skin in an enticing fashion. He reached my mouth, his breath mingled with mine…

And in my mind, I saw Liam.

I saw his warm, brown eyes full of tender compassion. I felt his hand on my face angling me up to his lips. I heard him stammering out curse words as he frantically apologized and stormed off and away from me.

I whimpered, our tongues brushed together, James’ grip tightened on my neck, and I saw it all again.

“Fuck,” I whispered against his lips, he smiled, and I croaked, “Put me down, Jay.”

James froze, pulling back to look at me with concern etching his expression.

“What’s wrong?”

I shook my head, groaning, “Just put me down.”

He obliged and when my feet touched the ground, I took a large step back.

“What’s going on, Zoey?” James asked in a consoling tone.

“I, um,” I looked into his grey eyes and my chest contorted. “I can’t do this right now.”

“Ah…okay.” He tilted his head to the side as if he were absorbing my words, his hair hanging from the roots as gravity pulled the strands to the floor. “Do I need to remind you that you invited me over?” he asked the question in his typical sarcastic manner, and a miserable noise erupted from me. James stated, “Mmkay, something’s under your skin; what’s up?”

He radiated genuine sincerity and curiosity, and I murmured, “Jesus, I’m a bad person.”

James’ head bobbed backward. “Zoey, what—”

“Liam kissed me.”

His eyebrows flew up above the edge of his glasses. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Tried to. Kiss me, that is.”

“Ah,” he paused, placing his hands on his hips, and cleared his throat loudly. “When?”

“Last night.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, seemingly pondering something to himself. He rocked back and forth on his heels, looking to the ceiling for a bit before he asked, “Are you torn up because he’s your friend and he crossed a line?” James awaited my answer for a moment with a clenched jaw, and then added, “Because if that’s the case, I can go find him and knock him on his ass.”

I coughed to alleviate the lump in my throat, but it did little to no good.

“No, um—”

“Oh, the no makes it much better,” he retorted. “No line crossed; you guys have just been waitin’ to do this?”

“No,” I whined, “it wasn’t—”

James held up a hand, his light eyes widening. “Wait, did you fuck him?”

“What?” I replied in a breathy exhale. “No.”

He nodded a few times and finally narrowed his eyes. “Mmkay, so let me get the gist of all this—so-called platonic friend Liam tried to kiss you.” I grumbled at his phrasing and he continued, “And this wasn’t crossing a line for you?”

“Jay—”

“’Cause I’m not gonna fuckin’ beat around the bush, Zoey, I’m a jealous man.” He said it plainly, and I frowned while he stated, “Always have been, and that’s not something I’m gonna work on fixing at this point—old dog. New tricks. You get it, yes?”

“Yeah, I—”

“So, forgive me if I’m a little perturbed that Liam tried to stick his tongue down your throat and that somehow was not crossing a line—”

“He didn’t…stick his tongue down my throat, Jay,” I argued. “He just kinda, like, gently went for it—”

“I don’t need to know what his fuckin’ lips felt like, Zoey!” he exclaimed, throwing a hand in the air in exasperation. “Why the fuck am I here?”

“What?”

He looked at me with an expression that asked if he really needed to repeat himself, but he did so anyway with a calmer questioning of, “Why am I here?”

“I wanted to see you,” I said truthfully.

James blew out a sharp breath through his nostrils. “Finding that hard to believe since ya looked like you were having fuckin’ ’Nam flashbacks when I was making out with you a second ago.”

“I did want to see you,” I clarified quickly, “I do, I’m just…”

My words drifted off into the air between us, and James offered, “Torn?”

I questioned the word. Torn meant feeling strung between two things. An equal tug in either direction until one feels like they’re being pulled apart—and that wasn’t fitting of the emotion building within me. I wasn’t…torn. I was being forcibly ripped as I struggled to cling to James and all the good that came with him. The pull in the other direction was too strong, though, and it seemingly had nothing to offer me regarding my natural gravitation. It just wanted to swallow me whole, spit me out, and leave me gutted.

I shook my head no.

“Right,” James responded, pursing his lips together.

It wasn’t fair. James and I—we could have actually worked. Resistant as I was to a relationship of any sort, he made me feel…good. But the way that my mind was so wholeheartedly focused on another gave me the realization that I couldn’t do it. Not to him. He didn’t deserve it.

“I don’t think I can, um…I don’t think we—”

“Yeah.”

My eyes burned. “I’m sorry, Jay.”

He coughed gruffly. “Me too.” James looked to the floor, took a deep breath in, and then stated, “I, uh—I should go.”

I nodded, he returned the gesture, and then I was watching him leave.

Tears sprung to my eyes as he walked out the door, and anger roiled inside of me. My exact thoughts weren’t apparent—they were all a muddy haze of chatter in my mind as I sat, alone on the couch, for an indeterminable amount of time. All I knew was that once my mind was able to slow enough to direct my emotions into action, my legs were stomping me to my front door. I yanked it open, stormed across the hall, and didn’t bother knocking as I let myself into Liam’s apartment.

Liam sat on his couch, head leaning back as he stared at the ceiling. I only saw him in that position for a moment, though, for he was startled at my sudden appearance. His entire body flinched as the door slammed shut behind me, and he looked to me with wide eyes as he pushed himself to sit up straight.

“Zoey, what—”

“Fuck you, Liam.”

His face fell. “What?”

“I said FUCK you,” I gritted out, swiping at my eyes to prevent the tears from falling down my cheeks.

“Zoey—”

“No,” I seethed, “you don’t get to talk, you ruined everything! My life,” I slapped myself on the chest to emphasize my point, “my life—was going to. Fucking. Plan. Liam.” He clenched his jaw, and I admitted, “Y’know the worst part is that I actually liked him. It felt good, me and Jay. I’ve never fucking felt that before, and now…” I looked upward, the sight of the ceiling blurred due to my crying, and the noise that came forth from me was close to a growl. “Now, that’s fucking gone.”

“What is?” Liam asked desperately. “Jay? What, did he call it off with you? Did you tell him that I—” He stopped himself, seemingly unable to finish that sentence. “I—I’m sorry, Zoey; it was a stupid mistake…”

The word hit me square in the chest.

“Mistake,” I scoffed more to myself than to him, for the word meant regret. It meant remorse. It meant…begging to turn back time—but that wasn’t possible. The thought that he wanted to do so when all that was permeating my brain and wriggling its way under my skin was the feel of his lips on mine was…horrid. Awful. In one swift movement, two pleasures of my life were stolen from me and I was left bereft. I didn’t bother to usher the tears away from my face this time, for they were falling freely now.

“Zo’,” he spoke the abbreviated name that he had given me, and I choked back a sob. His face twisted in a pained gesture, and he begged, “Tell me what to do. I—I hate seeing you like this, I just—I—please, Zoey. Don’t be mad, just talk to me.”

“Don’t be mad?” I retorted. “You kissed me and I can’t get it out of my. Fucking. Head, Liam!”

“I know,” he groaned, “I know, I fucked up.” Liam looked at me with desperation in his eyes. “I—our friendship is important as hell to me, Zoey, I really mean that—”

“Then why the hell did you throw a wrench in it?” I hissed, and Liam’s eyes widened to the point that I could see the whites all around his dark irises. I whispered, “I can’t do this.”

“What—what are you saying?”

His expression was aghast, and it made me want to—yet again—rewind time. His blanched face awaited my response, and the metaphorical knife that had been shoved into my gut twisted. I wanted to reassure him. To tell him that we would, of course, be fine and that we would probably laugh about it in the future—but my match was lit. I was ready to give in to the bonfire that was blazing around me and there he was, at the ready with a goddamn fire extinguisher. Though I had yet to succumb, I already felt as though I were burnt. And it hurt like hell.

“I, um,” my voice quavered, and I coughed to try to conceal it to no avail, “I don’t know, Lee. I think I just, ah…I’m gonna go.”

“Zoey—”

“Later, Liam.”

I couldn’t bear to look at his face, for it would have prevented me from leaving altogether. I simply kept my gaze on the floor, allowed the tears to fall, and left as quickly as I had arrived.

I moved in a haze. It was no more than an hour later when I had taken a shower nearly hot enough to flay off my skin, covered my overly-exfoliated face with a foundation heavy enough to mask the circles under my eyes, and walked boldly into Zest with the mindset that I could drown myself in work until I went straight back home and forced myself to sleep.

Work would allow my mind to drift off to far better places than the oh-so-recent memory of James walking away from me. Work could prevent my imagination from running wild as I pictured what could have happened if Liam hadn’t yanked his lips off of mine. Work was the distraction that I needed.

But it wasn’t busy. And I cursed the fact that it was mid-week and Brenda and I had only assisted one customer a piece by the time that I was attempting to eat my microwaved dinner in the back. I was using a plastic fork to push around a lasagna noodle that was simultaneously limp and far-too-crispy and trying to focus on my distaste for it instead of the alarmingly loud thoughts in my mind when Brenda flitted toward me.

“Sooo,” she said with a wide I caught you smile, her cheeks turning rosy at the action, her hazel eyes wide with implication.

“So?” I asked back, peeling my eyes away from the pathetic display of a meal before me.

She smacked her lips as if she were chewing a piece of gum. “When were you gonna tell me you got a boyfriend?”

Nausea built in my stomach, and I forced the feeling away with a snort at her question.

“Pardon?”

“Forgot to tell you,” she began. “Guy came in yesterday asking about when you’d be in next. I know, I know,” she held up her hands in mock defense as she smirked. “You don’t like talking about guys. He’s cute though.” She winked at me. “Nice job.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Brenda—”

“Well, he said—”

I exhaled heavily, setting my fork down on top of my uneaten meal. “Tall, tattoos, nice eyes?”

“He has tattoos?” Her grin grew.

“If, and I mean if, the guy that came around—who is most definitely not my boyfriend—is the guy that I’m thinking of…then yes. However,” I held up my index finger, “if you could see his arms at all and he didn’t have any visible ink, it wasn’t him.”

She shrugged. “Long sleeves.”

“Crooked nose?” I asked and Brenda nodded emphatically. Whatever reason James had for asking for my work schedule was beyond me, but the point was moot now. “Yeah, you won’t be seeing him around.”

She bobbled her eyebrows at me. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Paradise is a loose term,” I returned in a sigh.

“So…he was your boy—”

“Not,” I interrupted quickly, “my boyfriend. Semantics are beside the point; we are, ah—no longer involved.”

Brenda frowned. “Is that why you’re not eating?”

I begrudgingly chuckled. “I’m not eating because this microwave meal sucks.”

She replied in a hopeful tone, “Maybe he’ll come by for a visit anyway.”

“Yeah,” I returned slowly, “I doubt it.”

“Well, I gave him your schedule so it’s not impossible—”

I exclaimed, “Brenda!”

We all had to endure the hideous, made-in-the-80’s video about confidentiality, harassment in the workplace, and theft. Though the content was about as dry and boring as the lasagna that I refused to eat, the commentary about privacy between employees and what you should and should not disclose was ever-clear.

She laughed, “What?”

“You gave a random guy my schedule?”

Her hazel eyes locked on mine as I looked at her pointedly, and she reminded me, “He’s not a random guy, though.”

“Uh huh,” I retorted, “Do you need to watch the video again? Don’t give out schedules, personal information, paychecks—”

“Aren’t close friends and family exempt from that?” she pondered aloud.

“Pretty sure they’re not, and you’ve never even met James.”

“James, huh?”

I groaned, setting my fork down with purpose, and chastised, “Brenda.”

“Okay, okay,” she relented, holding up her hands in mock defense. “Sorry.” The bell from the front door chimed overhead, signifying a customer’s arrival. “I’ll go, finish your dinner—”

I shook my head, picking up the plastic container. “Nah, I’m done here.” I walked to the corner of the room by the kitchen sink and tossed the remains of my meal in the garbage can that resided there. “Don’t you have to leave soon to get your kids?”

Brenda glanced at the clock on the microwave to her left and, seeing that it was nearly six o’clock, she let out a surprised, “Oh! Thanks, Zoey, I lost track of time.”

That makes one of us.

It was two hours later when I was closing up shop. Brenda gone and the sun having set long ago, I shivered as I locked the front door to Zest and began to walk down the dark, deserted cobblestone path. My excruciating internal monologue was finally silenced as I braced myself for the eerie walk home. I would have welcomed the distraction but as my footsteps echoed, the tingles at the base of my spine told me that there was much to worry about. I shooed away the thought, the anxiety of being a small woman walking home alone in the dark always present, until the clack of my heel’s echo suddenly seemed like it wasn’t an echo at all.

I adjusted the speed of my steps—five paces slower, and then five paces faster, and the echo repeated my actions. I shook my head, continuing with my short commute.

Two blocks down, the pitter-patter of my shoes was amplified once more. I turned my head as casually as I could to glance behind me, moving my feet all the while, and saw nothing. No one. I strained my eyes against the dark, the only thing apparent being a stray napkin blowing across the street in the wind. My quickened breaths hung in the air, and though I felt anything but comfortable, I slung my purse more securely over my chest and began to walk again.

Several feet later, I heard it once more. The distinct soft padding of footsteps that I had been trying to convince myself that I wasn’t hearing at all were now most certainly becoming quicker than mine. I sped up, the duplication of my heels from behind me falling out of time with mine, and my heart hammered in my chest. I whipped my head around so quickly that part of my body went with it, and I was briefly thrown off balance. I threw my arms out as I fell, the palms of my hands scraping against a few particularly rough stones, and when I attempted to view whatever was behind me once more, I gasped.

The night did always play with my vision, but there was no mistaking the dark outline of a man approximately ten paces behind me. Though there was no way to make out the characteristics of the shadow in the darkness, it was certain that their steps had quickened. Their body bounced with the repetition of a running step as they bounded towards me.

There were possibilities other than this man having been stalking me in the shadows, really. He could enjoy nighttime, outdoor cardio sessions. He could have been leisurely walking behind me, witnessed that I had tripped and fallen, and sped up his pace to a jog to catch up and ensure that I was alright. He could have been on his way somewhere, received an alarming text message, and then began to run to his final destination. I supposed that all of these were considerable possibilities of what this man was doing behind me.

It was just that none of those possibilities seemed to be likely. Especially when I heard him exclaim loudly:

“Hey!” I scrambled to my feet and broke into a sprint the moment that the words left his lips. “Where are you going, baby?!” he called to me again. “Don’t run from me, beautiful, I just wanna talk!”

I cursed myself as I ran. I should have screamed, but my voice was…gone. I should have stood my ground. Pretended to have an enthusiastic phone call. Anything other than running would have been a good option. Knowing that my choice was a poor one that I couldn’t reverse, I let out a frightful whimper when his footsteps pounded louder behind me, overtaking mine. My race home was cut short when his fingers found the fabric of my skirt, and he tugged. I fell to the stones once again, the fresh scrapes on my palms taking another beating, and I clambered forward. I crawled, kicking as I moved, my heels finding little ground behind me, and he grasped my skirt more firmly, yanking it to move me closer to the adjacent alleyway.

“Get away from me!” I managed an attempted yell, but it came out hoarse.

There was still nearly a block to go before I would have made it home. The closest illumination being the lamplights that shined at the entrance to the apartment complex, we were shrouded in darkness. The scant public all walked happily on the main street there, unaware of the hell that I was placed in.

One of the man’s hands worked its way to my right shoulder, gripping me with a force that drove me down and brushed my clavicle against the ground. The cold of the stones pressed against my cheek. His breath was sharp against my face, the scent of cinnamon gum wafting into my nostrils.

“Seen you around here,” he whispered into my ear through grunts as I continued to attempt an escape. “Been wondering what your pussy tastes like.” I inhaled through my mouth, a long breath that was a feeble attempt to clear my mind, and let it out. He cooed, “You gonna relax for me, baby?”

I took another similar breath and on the exhale, I drove my right foot backward with as much force as I could muster.

He let out a sputtering, groaning gasp, the breath pulling from his lungs in deep heaves, and I knew that my heel had found his testicles. I reached my hands forward, manically pulling my way and kicking behind myself for good measure until I was, miraculously, free.

I didn’t look back. I simply ran. There were a few concerned glances at me from passersby as I made it into the light, but I paid them no mind. I just launched myself up the stairs to the apartment complex, digging through my bag rapidly, searching for my keys to no avail. They were missing—and I didn’t have the luxury of time to pause and search for them.

“Shit,” I hissed, skidding to a stop at my front door and banging on it with the hope that Claire was inside. “Claire?!” There was no answer, and I pounded on the door once more. “Claire!”

My tone was frantic, and just as I began to hear—or perhaps, I imagined that I heard—the stomping of heavy feet approaching the base of the stairs, the door opened behind me.

“Zo’?”

Without even glancing Liam’s way, I ran to him. I collided with him so roughly that he took a stumbling step back into his foyer, and he grunted upon impact.

I demanded, “Close the door!”

He did so, and I let out a very loud, shaky breath. My arms had subconsciously wrapped around his waist, and I squeezed him tighter as relief flooded me. Three of my panicked breaths later, Liam’s hands found their way around my shoulders and onto my back. They only stayed there briefly and then he released me, pushing to separate us. What began as a conglomeration of confusion and concern etching his expression shifted to wide-eyed anxiety as he held me at arms-length and glanced up and down at my appearance.

He rushed out, “What happened?”

I tried to speak. I truly did—I just couldn’t yet. My breath continued to come out ragged, and I witnessed Liam’s gaze move from my face down to my shoulder that had been pressed against the ground. His fingers brushed gently against the dirt that covered the red splotchy spot spread across the skin there. He grazed the back of his hand down the side of my dress, which was no longer the pristine white that it should have been, and touched the seam against my waist. It had ripped at some point during my struggle.

I don’t know why, but the sight of the frayed fabric made me whine, “Oh, no.”

Liam’s grip that had remained on my bicep tightened. “Talk to me, Zoey.”

It wasn’t until he shook me slightly that I was able to croak, “Some guy followed me home, I—” Liam’s eyebrows flew up, but he said nothing, awaiting the next words out of my mouth. “I…he chased me—”

Liam spat out, “He fucking did this?”

“Y-yes.” The word came out in a stutter. “He pinned me down near an alley but I—I kicked him in the balls and ran like hell.”

He nodded, absorbing the information that I told him, and the only sound that he made before turning to the doorknob was the shuddering exhale that he let through his nose. I reached for his wrist to stop him.

“Please don’t leave,” I whispered.

“Zoey, he could still be out there—”

“I don’t want to be alone right now, Liam, please.” I quavered as I said his name and his face pinched together, clearly torn on bounding out into the night and remaining here with me. I begged him once more, “Please.”

He sighed, moving to flip the deadbolt on the door, and pulled me back to him. I let him hold me, an arm around my waist and a hand at the base of my neck.

“We should at least call the police,” he spoke gently from above.

My voice took on the occasional extra inhale as I spoke. “No—no use; I didn’t get a good look at him. He was be-behind me—”

His arms tightened around me further, and there was no need for me to say any more. His thumb brushed against my hairline, and I breathed easy. It took a minute or two for his embrace to soften, and he peered down at me.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded in response. I knew he didn’t believe me with the concerned nature of his intense stare. It worked its way right through me, and I looked down to my hands, turning the palms up. There were bloody scratches all along the heels.

“Oh,” I muttered, tentatively touching my right hand’s wounds and noticing that they were damp with blood. “I didn’t know they were all—”

“Go.”

He pushed me toward his couch and gestured for me to sit. I did, all the while keeping my palms up, and when I glanced back to him, he was looking intently through the peephole on the door. He stayed there for a moment, assumedly waiting to see anything or anyone, and finally backed away, his shoulders sagging with an exhale. Liam moved to stand before me then, and I held out my hands as he looked at them. He reached down, squeezing my fingers with his to angle the scrapes to his line of sight. He let me go, walked to his bathroom, and returned quickly with a bag of cotton balls and a small bottle of some sort of cleanser.

I objected, “I’m fine, Liam.”

He sat down on the cushion beside me and gave me a pointed look that made me huff out a breath and roll my eyes. I offered him up both of my hands without further complaint. Liam wet a cotton ball with the cleanser and took my right wrist in his, his fingers engulfing it gently as he held me still. The material touched my palm, and I sucked in a quick breath.

“Sorry,” Liam muttered.

I replied, “It’s just cold.”

The scar above his lip twitched with the smallest of sympathetic smiles, and I watched him as he tended to me carefully, touching each bloody streak with the damp cotton ball. His compassionate stare made tears well up in my eyes, and as Liam grabbed a second cotton ball and began to move to treat my left hand in the same fashion, the wetness spilled over my cheeks. He glanced upward for a beat several seconds later and froze.

“Zoey,” he spoke my name consolingly, and it made me whimper. “You’re not okay; what can I do?”

He was clearly referencing the near assault…or, I supposed, the beginning of an assault that I then prevented by landing my heel in the exact right position.

“It’s not that,” I responded quietly. “Please, just ignore me.”

“What is it?” he pressed lightly.

I let out a short, bitter laugh. “There’s just…a lot going on.”

Liam nodded, his dark eyes inspecting my face, tracing every tear stain. He had a pained look to him, as if he knew what was going through my mind, or, rather, that he wanted to erase it altogether. He swiped at my palm with the cotton ball once more, focusing intently on each individual scratch until there was no more to be done. His grip softly squeezed my wrist, he gently scratched his nails up the back of my hand until his fingers met mine, and he remained there. He brushed his thumb over the pads of my fingertips as he looked to me hesitantly. There was a question in his eyes that he didn’t speak aloud that spurred a longing within me that I was unable to verbalize.

I held his gaze, feeling my breaths halt and my stomach somersault as he continued to graze his fingers over mine. I allowed myself to revel in the depth of it all until my tears had dried, only the salty streaks remaining on my cheeks.

The moment was somber, for I didn’t know how to handle the slow heat that had settled in my veins. Liam’s expression, however, showed something that I could only place as regret, and I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t bear the ache any longer, and I pulled my hand away from his.

“Ah,” Liam muttered, “sorry.”

Sniffling up the tears that were attempting to resurface, I gruffly stated, “I should go.”

“Go?”

“Yeah, it’s—I—long day, I—erm, tired.” The stammered sentence was almost nonsensical, and it made Liam tilt his head to the side.

“Zoey, what—I know I’m not your—your favorite person right now, but you should stay for a little bit.” There was a hopefulness in his eyes that hit me like a punch to the gut. “I can grab you a drink or—or just water; give it a minute to make sure the creep’s gone.”

I didn’t know how I could manage that. I could still see the gentle care that he held for me in his gaze, but there was an underlying tension that I knew we could both feel. It wriggled underneath my skin and made me shudder, but it was no use—the feeling remained.

“I’ll be good, Lee,” I told him with what I hoped looked like a reassuring smile as I pushed myself to stand, welcoming the pain in my palms. I chuckled nervously, morbidly joking, “If you hear a loud bang or anything, he probably came back for seconds.”

Liam shook his head, narrowing his eyes as he admonished me gravely, “That’s not funny, Zoey.” I ignored his complaint. I found my keys surprisingly quickly when I looked into my purse—they had fallen inside a hidden pocket in the lining—and I walked to his door. I placed a hand on the knob as I waved him a general goodbye, and he called out, “You can call me if you need anything—you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” I replied quietly. “Later.”

I barely heard his uttered, “Bye, Zo’,” as the door shut behind me.

Chapter 8

“Zoey!”

Claire’s voice filtered through my ajar bedroom door, and my eyelids snapped open. I groaned, lifting a hand to rub at the space between my eyes for I felt as though I had just fallen asleep. The drama of what had occurred with both Liam and James along with the incident from the night prior had twisted me up so badly that I could feel the bags under my eyes. I pulled my legs up to my chest, hugging them to myself tightly as I heard Claire storm her way into my bedroom. The mattress moved with her as she sat upon it, and I glanced to her hesitantly. She wasn’t visible in 20/20, for I didn’t have the energy to reach for my glasses on the bedside table yet, but I couldn’t find the headspace to care.

“Hi,” I offered her a weak greeting that sounded just about as pitiful as I felt.

I felt rather than saw Claire place my frames on my face. She fully came into view, looking a bit worse for wear as she appeared to have sprinted here directly from Luke’s apartment on the third floor. She was entirely dressed in his garb—a white t-shirt and black sweatpants completely drowned her petite frame—and her fiery hair did not look like it had seen a brush yet this morning.

She tilted her head, looking at me sympathetically as she asked, “The hell happened to you?” I squeezed my legs tighter to my chest and she scolded me lightly, “I texted you last night and this morning. You’re not one to disappear, Zoey, I was—”

“Called it off with Jay,” I spoke in a gritty voice.

“What?” she whispered back in a consoling tone. “Why—”

“Liam tried to kiss me.”

She stood, looking down at me with a shocked gaze before she yelled, “What?!”

“As you can see, I’m taking it very well,” I murmured.

“I—what,” she paused and then gently asked, “How did this all happen?” Her pretty, freckled face blurred into the tears that filled my eyes, and I felt her sit on the bed once more. I attempted to hide my face in my pillow, but she pushed at my shoulder, rolling me to make eye contact with her. One look at her concerned expression, and I had to place a hand over my mouth to stifle any mournful noise that emitted from it. “Jesus, Zoey,” she muttered. “What happened to you?”

I bypassed the occurrence from the night before, for it wasn’t why I had begun to cry.

“Is this what happens when you fucking feel things with men?” I complained in a whiny tone. “Because this is awful, Claire, what the fuck.”

“Okay,” she replied on an exhale. “Do you want to start from the beginning?”

I wasn’t sure where the beginning even was.

I grumbled, “What does that even mean?” Claire shrugged in response, and I sighed heavily, beginning with, “Some chick smacked me across the face at Henry’s the night before last.”

Her eyes widened. “How did I not hear about that?” She continued right on with, “Wrong question, sorry—why did you get smacked across the face?”

“Liam was with her a few months back,” I told her. “Ghosted her.”

“Ah,” she replied. “And you…”

“Pretended to be his girlfriend to get her off his back…turns out, that pissed her off and I got a face full of cider and a slap across the cheek for it.” I unhinged my jaw, testing its mobility, and then closed it, muttering to myself, “Feels better now.”

“Oh, God, okay,” she grumbled. “Remind me later to tell Luke to talk to Garrett—”

“Garrett?”

“New bartender; he needs to tell us who the girl was so we can make sure she’s eighty-sixed. Not important.” She rambled on, “What happened next?”

“Claire,” I whined. “I don’t want to relive all this, I’m fucking miserable.”

“Okay, okay,” she relented. “Give me the short version?”

I inhaled a deep breath and upon the exhale, rattled off, “Went back to Liam’s, he got all comforting, we got drunk and watched TV, he started to make a move and it was…”

“It was what?” Claire pressed me.

“I don’t—I dunno…quiet.”

“Quiet?”

I groaned. “All…sweet and nuzzly and his lips fuckin’ barely touched mine and he bolted.” Claire didn’t respond. She just looked at me with a long, blue stare until I finished with, “He freaked. Told me to forget it—said it was a mistake. Fuckin’ spoiler alert, Claire,” I sneered, “I can’t forget it now, and that’s not fair to Jay so I had to break it off with him. And now, I think I’m dying.”

An assertive knock sounded at the door. Claire’s red hair whipped to the source of the noise and back, and she clarified, “A mistake?”

“Did I mention that I don’t want to relive this nightmare?” I asked her sweetly. “You wanna get the door?”

She rolled her eyes, holding out an index finger in warning as she stood. “We are talking about this.”

“Sure, we are,” I murmured as I watched her walk away.

I pulled the comforter over my head, wishing that I could will myself to sleep instead of reveling in the dread that had settled in my bloodstream. The muffled voices from the front door were indecipherable until Claire called out to me in a loud:

“Uh—Zoey?”

“What?!” I yelled back.

“It’s for you!”

“Just let me fucking die in peace, Claire!”

“Not a chance,” her voice spoke loudly back to me as the front door closed. “Get the fuck up!”

I groaned, lugging my overly tired body out to the common area, and stilled as I took in the sight before me. The vase was yellow this time—a squat, square, opaque glass shape that housed twelve short-stemmed white roses.

“This shit again?” I complained. “How many times can the florist get our address wrong—”

“The delivery guy said they’re for you,” Claire stated from her usual spot at the table, her hands interlaced in front of her.

“This has got to be a mistake again, I—”

“Well, they wouldn’t be from James,” she noted.

“None of the others were from him either,” I retorted. “You know that—the guy that dropped them off literally said for me?”

“Delivery for Zoey,” she confirmed. “Yep…Liam?”

I snorted bitterly. “You’re hilarious, thank you for poking fun at my misery. Was there a note?” She produced a thin slip of white paper from between her hands, holding it between her middle and index finger and extending it towards me. I took the few steps to close the distance between us and took it from her. “Did you read it?”

She shook her head. “Nah.”

I opened it. There was a single line of text typed out in black ink:

Don’t run from me, beautiful.

I read it thrice, the sentence chilling my blood as I had heard nearly the same words the night prior. The first time, my mind fogged over as if I were living in a dream. I blinked rapidly to clear it and read it a second time, feeling my breath catch in my throat. The third time, my pulse began to pound and a shockwave of horror ran through me. I could feel the ominous prickling at the base of my neck that was present yesterday as I questioned whether or not I was being watched; sense the dread that came along with my dawning of realization that someone was indeed behind me, and my panic as I struggled to escape his grasp.

I breathed, “What the fuck.”

Claire’s response was etched with concern. “Zoey, what is it?”

“I—um—” I set the note down on the table and glanced to my scraped palms, the wounds a visible reminder of the incident. I didn’t get a chance to explain my horrified expression. Another knock reached both my and Claire’s ears, this one quiet—timid, almost—and I spoke under my breath, “I’ll get it.”

I raised to the tips of my toes to look through the peephole and saw Liam nervously shifting from foot to foot. The door creaked as I opened it, and the hollow space in my chest panged as his red Converse came into my view. My eyes scanned upward, trailing across his light wash jeans. The t-shirt he wore was a deep red—it somehow enhanced the brown in his eyes, and I felt a gentle breath exhale through my nostrils at the sight of him.

“Hey,” he greeted me.

“Hey.”

Our eyes locked for what felt like too long a moment without any further words being spoken, and he cleared his throat, looking to the ground between us. He thrust both of his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels.

“I was just making sure you’re good.” His eyes darted behind me, no doubt catching sight of the unexpected delivery, and he let out a nervous laugh that didn’t seem altogether genuine. “Another one of these, really?”

Claire announced from behind us, “I, um—I’m gonna give you guys some privacy—”

I wanted to tell her that it was wholly unnecessary, but I didn’t have the chance to speak as I was distracted by Liam bounding his way into the apartment.

“Ah, a note this time,” he remarked with a forced humorous flair, touching the slip of paper curiously. He slid it across the tabletop and flipped it open with a deft finger. “What does your secret admirer have to—” Liam’s joking stopped immediately as he took in the words before him. His voice lowered as he asked, “Who are these from?”

I exhaled. “No idea.”

“They’re—they’re not for you,” Liam began, anxious eyes shifting to me for a brief second.

“Delivery guy said for Zoey.”

He picked up the note, reading it again as if it would uncover a hidden message. “What does this mean?”

“I can only assume.”

“Assume what?”

“That, um,” I paused, “that guy from last night.” Liam’s shoulders shook with a deep breath, and I told him quietly, “He said that before he caught up to me.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” His gaze was alarmed. Enraged, even. “Zoey, that’s creepy—”

“Ya think?” I replied with a scoff.

“That’s not—it’s not funny, Zo’,” he chastised me sharply. “I don’t fuckin’ like this at all—”

I chuckled sardonically as I said, “Yeah, I’m not exactly enjoying it either, Liam—”

“It’s not funny.” He reiterated his prior point with more intensity, and I clamped my mouth shut as I looked into his wide eyes. “It’s not a joke. A man stalked you in the goddamn street after you left work. Chased you. Fuckin’ yanked you to the ground before you managed to run away—and the next day, he sent these to your home. He knows where you fucking live, Zoey—”

“What?” A horrified Claire stood in the entryway to her room, staring at us with her jaw agape and her face pale. “When the fuck did that happen?”

“Last night,” I replied, meek.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

“We were busy talking about—”

“Zoey,” she croaked, “I don’t give a single flying fuck about the drama going on with who you decide to sleep with! You need to call the police.”

Liam’s face twisted up at her first sentence, but it only lasted for a moment. I mentally sidestepped his reaction, pushing it to the back of my mind.

“What are the police gonna do, Claire?” I asked her. “Keep an eye out for a man fitting the description of a fucking shadow? I didn’t get a good look at him.”

“I don’t know,” she returned, her tone salty. “But it’d be better than nothing, what were you gonna do otherwise?”

“I didn’t exactly plan anything out—bit busy being traumatized!” I retorted.

Gaze frantic, she paced to the kitchen, looking around aimlessly until she locked eyes with her purse, which had been haphazardly tossed on the floor of our foyer. She nearly jogged to it, ripping her phone from the inside and tapping the glass face only a few times before she placed it against her cheek. It didn’t ring for long.

“We’re done. Get down here.” She waited for a response. “A lot is wrong, Luke, I’m not talking about it over the phone, get down here!”

As Claire jammed her finger on the end call button with a vengeance, I asked, “Why are you involving Luke?”

She narrowed her eyes as if what I had asked was at the peak of idiocy. “We can all talk about how we deal with the potential fucking threat to your life together, yeah? Four brains are better than three.”

“Alright, yeah,” I replied in a sigh.

Claire paced the floor. Liam and I sat at the kitchen table across from each other. He eyed the white petals situated between us with such a hatred that I began to ponder the reality of spontaneous combustion. I offered him a weak smile, and his hard expression softened. He returned the gesture briefly before it fell away, and it was replaced with a quiet sadness much like the regret that I had seen written across his face the night before. My chest lurched with that thought and I blinked, lowering my head to break our eye contact.

He whispered, “Zo’.”

I kept my eyes on the table. “Hmm?”

“Are you good?” Liam continued to speak under his breath, and I followed suit with a hushed tone.

“Do I look good?”

“You look like you’ve been crying.”

“Astute; I currently have a crisis at hand.”

“Not about the flowers, Zoey,” he hissed. “Can ya look at me, please?” I obliged, feeling my eyebrows pull together as I saw his pleading eyes. I wanted us to be normal. Needed us to be normal. To be as we were. But we weren’t—and I didn’t have the heart to address that. He asked again, “Are you good?”

“No,” I replied, simply. “I’m not.”

His shoulders sagged, and his response never left him for the door opened once more, and Luke arrived. His hair was windswept as if he had run down the single flight of stairs, and he looked to Claire, speaking quickly.

“Hey, what—” His light eyes found Liam and me sitting at the kitchen table with the roses between us and his words faltered. “Ah—hey, er—guys?” Luke pointed to the flowers casually. “What gives, another wrong delivery?”

Tired of addressing any of my drama in the now, I was thankful that Claire took over—and relieved that what she spoke of had nothing to do with my inner turmoil that we had sidestepped earlier.

It all came out in typical Claire fashion—a profanity-laced rant that showcased her anxiety in a fragile, illuminated shadowbox. And, from Luke’s perspective, where it took off was far from where it landed. His initial reaction to her incoherent, crude stammering had him sighing out a breath, reasoning with her in gentle words and a loving smirk on his face. It wasn’t until he was in the kitchen cradling her jaw in both of his hands, softly ushering her to take a breath before she ran out of them, that he could fully understand the words that were leaving her pretty lips.

A muttered combination of, ‘Zoey,’ ‘fucking,’ ‘assault,’ and, ‘note,’ left her, and Luke craned his head behind him slowly. Claire’s face still in his hands, he squinted at the arrangement of white roses. His eyebrows rose as the full realization of the situation before us dawned on him, and his arms fell to his sides. He walked to where Liam and I sat, looked down at the note on the table between us, and touched it in a similar fashion to how Liam did previously.

Luke swallowed. “Oh.”

Claire exclaimed, “What do you mean, oh?!”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I—one second,” he replied quickly, waving at the air between them both. “I’m digesting this—you okay?” Luke spoke to me as he sank down into the seat next to Liam, and I nodded in return. “You have no idea who this guy is?” I shook my head, and he remarked, “Well, did you call the florist?”

“The florist?” Claire asked, moving to sit beside him at the head of the table. “She should be calling the cops, not the place that sent the flowers!”

“I already told you—I didn’t see what he looked like,” I reiterated my point, feeling myself teeter on the edge of hysteria as I crudely added, “And it’s not like I can go to the police with a description of how his voice sounded when he said he was thinking of what my pussy tasted like as he tried to pin me down, can I, Claire?”

We all flinched as Liam snatched the flowers by the stems, pulling them out of the vase so roughly that water was splattered on the table. He stomped to the kitchen, around the island, yanked open the cupboard under the sink that contained our trash can, and threw them into the garbage with a vehemence that I was certain forced the petals to go flying. He returned with the white knit cloth that was usually located beside our sink. He wiped at the water spots between us all, ensuring that the space was sufficiently dried, folded the towel neatly, and then sat back in his seat in a calm fashion.

He let out a long breath and attempted to smile at us all, his teeth looking more like they were being bared rather than displaying a grin.

“So,” he voiced, looking to Luke. “Florist?”

“Um—yeah,” Luke spoke slowly as if he were expecting another outburst. “You could call and see who sent them.”

I nodded, and what felt like my wild goose chase began.

The local florist was more than happy to help me with my questions regarding the anonymous flowers that were sent. After all, these types of inquiries were normally the birth of a romance that the employees were able to witness from afar. I could tell even over the phone that they relished in the delight of it all so, naturally, I didn’t admit that this was part of the plot to my own personal horror film. I simply waited as I listened to the clicking and clacking of their fingers against a keyboard until I heard a disappointed sigh.

The order—along with any previous orders sent to our address—was purchased with a gift card, which was, in turn, purchased with cash.

The news that there was no paper trail at all was disconcerting, to say the least. With that knowledge and no further leads, Claire, Luke, and Liam all decided amongst themselves that, firstly, I was to carry pepper spray on me at all times, and secondly, they would establish a rotation of sorts in which one of them would escort me to and from Zest.

Though the situation indeed felt like a subplot to a thriller documentary I would watch in my spare time, I wanted to argue and say that it was unnecessary. That I could easily take care of myself and that their help was unwarranted. Unwanted, even…but I was the type of person that had a far larger bark than their bite. I didn’t care for the thought by any means but considering how my first encounter with this mystery man went, I knew that a chaperone for the time being would be in my best interest.

For my first accompanied excursion to Zest, Liam was to be busy working at a construction job that he had locked down recently. The contract only lasted a few weeks and to his deep dissatisfaction, he needed the money, therefore he couldn’t take any time off. Claire was initially required to hold down the fort at Henry’s as Henry himself, who typically worked the daytime shift along with some part-time help, was to be otherwise occupied for the day. However, Luke was ever-insistent that Claire was not to be alone on the street after dark considering the circumstances, and he had happily covered her shift so she could accompany me in the light of day.

Claire and I ambled down the street, the warm yet cloudy day bringing a happy ambiance to our otherwise gloomy stroll. Our steps clogged along, and I found that the noise that used to bring me a gentle smile now caused the hairs on the back of my neck to bristle with anxiety. I sighed at the thought, and Claire glanced at me curiously.

“You good?” she asked.

I returned quickly, “What do you think?”

Claire shrugged, her heavily freckled shoulder bobbing up and down.

“Yeah, I imagine you’re probably feeling like shit for multiple reasons,” she noted offhandedly. I nodded in response, and she stated, “You have three blocks to vent. Not that you normally do, but…y’know. If you want.”

I looked to her thoughtfully. “You’re giving me the option?”

“Considering the circumstances are less than ideal,” she tilted her head from side to side as if she were contemplating it in her mind. “Yeah, figure you’d appreciate the option rather than the Spanish Inquisition.”

“Mhm; thanks for that.”

I pursed my lips as I considered what would best be discussed on our short stroll. The stress of the assault was ripe in my mind but, despite that, I supposed that speaking about it at length would do me little to no good. The anger—guilt—whatever feeling that resided in my chest regarding James remained within me. The reminder that our so-called relationship had dissolved into a messy puddle beneath my feet caused the emotion to rise in my esophagus like vomit. It was nothing, however, compared to when I thought back to my occurrence with Liam. The feel of his lips on mine ever so briefly had left me wanting to be…consumed. I wanted to be swallowed whole by the sensation, but it was ripped from me. Our friendship felt as though it had been ripped from me because the desire to deepen it all felt like a necessity.

And that—fucking that—made the burn of tears rush to my eyes with such a force that my throat was stripped dry. We had one measly block of our walk to go by the time that I grunted to clear it, and the sound came out in a miserable whine that ushered Claire’s alarmed eyes to me.

She spoke in a gasp, “Zoey.”

Claire reached for my arm in a consoling touch, and I moved it away from her reach, throwing her a thankful glance to soothe the blow of my aversion to her comforting pat on my forearm.

“I liked James,” I croaked.

“I know,” she replied in as understanding of a tone as she could.

“And then Liam fuckin’—” I let out a frustrated sound that itched at my throat. “I’m getting torn apart here, Claire, what the fuck?”

She considered my words for a beat and asked, “Are you mad at him because he fucked up you and Jay?”

I looked to the sky. “I mean, yeah, but—”

“But what?”

“I’m mad about me and Jay. I’m pissed that Liam started something that he doesn’t want to finish.”

Claire muttered, “Oh,” thought to herself for a moment, and then noted, “So, you want to—”

I waved her away for, one, my workplace was within earshot, and two, my will to speak about my feelings had quickly dwindled to nothing.

I told her, “I gotta get to work.”

“Okay, okay,” she returned. “You good?”

The wetness that had gathered along my eyelids had dissipated. My throat, though still containing an ever-present lump, was no longer constricted. I breathed a heavy breath in, and then let it out.

“Yeah,” I replied. “I’m good.”

She nodded. “I’ll be working; Liam’s walking you home tonight?”

I let out a ragged sigh. “Uh huh.”

“You’ll live,” she told me with a gentle smile. “Let me know when you make it back?”

Her serious gaze upon her final question struck me, and I knew that it wasn’t a request in the least.

“Yeah, yeah,” I assured her, taking a step toward the entrance to Zest. “See ya.”

She waved, I returned the gesture, and I twisted the knob on the front door, giving it a generous shove with my hip to usher it open. I waltzed towards Brenda, who was at the cash register as per usual, waving a casual hello, and she asked:

“How’s Claire?”

I smiled. “Good, she’s good.”

“I’ve seen her guy around,” Brenda noted.

“Luke?”

She nodded emphatically, and I snorted at her usual insistence for details as she said, “He’s pretty. What’s his deal?”

“Bartends with Claire at Henry’s,” I told her. “Come get a drink with us some time; you could meet the whole group.”

Brenda made a noise of general approval at my offer and then said, “Oh, speakin’ of boyfriends—”

I whined, “Don’t start, Bee.”

I made my way to the back to the usual spot where housed my items while I worked, and as I was depositing my purse, a stark contrast to the dark grey countertops caught my eye within my periphery. I glanced to it and my heart jumped to my throat.

A single white rose laid before me.

I stared at it, trying to will it to disappear with my mind alone, yet it stayed in the same place. Taunting me. Watching me.

“He asked me to leave that for you,” Brenda stated with a smack of her imaginary gum.

“He?” I breathed. “Who?”

“The guy that stopped by the other day,” she clarified, her bob haircut tilting to the side at my seemingly odd reaction to a romantic gesture. “The—the one who said he was your boyfriend?”

“James?”

“Well, he never said his name—tall, nice eyes, crooked nose, right?”

I picked an alternate characteristic at random.

“What was this guy’s hair like, Brenda?” I asked slowly.

“Black,” she responded instantly. “Short. Eyes just as dark—”

“That wasn’t Jay,” I muttered.

“Hmm?” Brenda hummed as if she couldn’t hear me clearly.

“The man you gave my schedule to—I have no idea who that is.”

“Oh.” Her casual grin dissipated, and she noted hopefully, “Well, it seems like he likes you?” I sighed heavily, shaking my hands to increase the blood flow to my extremities, as my fingers had begun to tingle. Brenda squeaked, “Should I mention he also left a note?”

“Of course, he did,” I hissed under my breath. “Where is it?”

She scurried out of the back, presumably to the cashier’s stand, and returned quickly with the slip in her hand. She approached me, timid, and held it out for me.

“Kept it up front in a drawer for safe keepin’ in case any customers wandered in the back before you got here,” she murmured.

I grasped the paper in my hand, clenched my teeth, and opened it. It was in a scribbled blue ink this time, the scratches deep on the page as if they were written with a considerable force:

See you soon, love.

I crumpled it up and threw it on the counter with an aggravated growl.

“Sit down, Bee,” I told her in a breath. “I have to talk to you about something.”

Chapter 9

Naturally, Brenda was insistent that I go home. She told me that she could close up shop early whenever she had to leave or alert the owner, Noelle, to the situation at hand. I couldn’t, though. The first reason for that being that I didn’t want to be alone, not to mention alone in my apartment. The second was that this man was pissing me the fuck off. I didn’t want to allow him to run me out of my work and home. So, I stayed put. I felt like I was vibrating out of my skin for my entire shift, but I stayed put nonetheless.

Brenda was unable to stay until close. Though our schedules tended to overlap, she needed to be out the door by five o’clock sharp as she had to go home to tend to her two children. Thankfully, Liam’s hours were up for the day in time for the transition on what I was bitterly calling Zoey babysitting duty in my mind. I hadn’t alerted Liam to the additional rose nor the note that Brenda had passed along to me. The thought clung to my brain, and I itched to admit the knowledge, but I couldn’t find it in me to force it out of my mouth. Not yet, anyway.

Brenda was walking out the front door, none-too-subtly eyeing Liam as he rested on a grey chaise lounge chair that was situated in the front-right corner of the store with respect to the cashier’s stand. His skin held the sheen of someone who had been in the sun all day. There was a smudge of dirt on his left cheekbone. One of his arms stretched overhead in a display of relaxation, the other resting across his diaphragm, and his legs hung off the end of the chaise, his Converse firmly planted on the ground. He beamed at Brenda as he caught her staring, and I feared that her bulging eyes would escape her skull.

Liam lifted the hand off his stomach to waggle his fingers at her briefly. “Bye, Bee.”

Brenda appeared to have choked on her own spit. She coughed until she managed to return a high-pitched, hoarse, “Bye!” and she scampered out the door.

“You could have given the woman a coronary smiling at her like that,” I chastised him.

He chuckled. “Hmm?”

“Brenda,” I clarified. “She thinks you’re gorgeous.”

“Bee has good taste,” he joked. “I’ll let her look.”

I laughed softly, and he smiled lazily in my direction. The anger that I had felt toward him so recently had long dissipated with the stress of the now, and though I was initially pleased that our relationship was not so damaged that we were unable to speak candidly in one another’s presence, what emotions remained within me from our brief encounter had left me feeling raw. Our eyes met, and I was unable to look away. Our respective grins slowly dissipated, my face heated, and the crackle in the air made my breath hitch. The sound of my slight inhale woke my brain, and I looked to the counter, feigning busying myself with checking for an object in the drawers underneath the surface.

Liam seemed to stir as well, speaking up, “Um—how long until your shift is over?”

“Three hours.”

“Three hours?” he whined. “Why’d you tell me five o’clock?” I pressed my lips together tightly, and he stammered, “Ah, not—not that I mind, I just…y’know. Would’ve brought a magazine or somethin’.” I felt my teeth bite the inside of my cheek, and as I glanced to him, he questioned, “What? What’s wrong?”

I exhaled heavily, moving toward the door to the back. “Come with me, I have to show you something.”

Liam squinted at me, assessing how serious I was, and he stood. I didn’t wait for him to catch up to me. I simply walked through the door, past the table, and hovered near the fridge where the trash can resided. Just as Liam had done this morning, I had discarded the flower in a haste after the reality of its presence sank in. It, along with the note that accompanied it, was staring at me atop the rest of the garbage, mocking my very existence.

“Why are you showing me the trash?” he asked hesitantly as he took his final steps to me. I pointed to the bin, and he looked down. “Another one?” The word came out in a sharp mutter. I nodded, and he reiterated more angrily, “A-fucking-nother one?!”

“Yeah, a-fucking-nother one,” I replied, reaching my hand inside and grabbing the slip of paper.

I unfolded it to reveal the text to him, and Liam narrowed his eyes at it. The muscles in his jaw flexed. The whites of his eyes became visible, and he spoke in a forcedly calm manner:

“You should not be here.”

“That’s what Brenda said—”

“Well, Brenda would be right, Zoey, what the fuck?!” He placed the full force of his frantic gaze upon me, and I crossed my arms, the insinuation that I had done something wrong in this situation setting me on edge. “What, were ya just gonna wait here like bait?”

I retorted quickly, “I thought it would be a bad idea to go home since he knows where I. Fucking. Live.” He groaned, hissing something unintelligible to himself as I continued to speak. “So, excuse me for asking you to get here before Bee left,” I remarked snidely. “I was trying to not get raped. Or killed. Or whatever the fuck else he want—” The familiar sound of the bell chime signifying that someone had entered the store rang into our ears, and Liam glanced toward the source of the noise, his body stilling at the sound. I sighed. “I gotta go work.”

He huffed out a loud breath. “We could just go,” he suggested softly.

I wasn’t sure how I stood my ground as his quiet begging almost made me cave, but I did so with a murmured, “I don’t want to let this guy control my life, Liam.”

His head moved slowly from side to side, clearly unhappy with my response.

“If he does show up,” he spoke slowly, “visit me in prison, yeah?”

“Liam—”

“Hello?” A woman’s voice called through the store, and without a further thought, I yelled back:

“Coming!”

My time at work was uneventful. Well, uneventful save for the stolen glances I had shot in Liam’s direction. They always ended in shifting eyes or gruff coughing to break whatever tension I had built, and I cursed myself for it. The longing looks that I allowed myself as he lounged, perused the store, or hummed quietly to himself as he waited for my shift to end made my chest clench. I couldn’t decide whether it was from fear of my potential inability to maintain our platonic friendship, fear of the unknown, or fear of my feelings themselves. But that was certainly what it was—fear.

Thankfully, there were several occasions when Liam had regained his typical upbeat spirit, and I followed right along with him while we trudged through the dreadfully long hours remaining. When there weren’t customers to tend to, Liam busied himself by thumbing through the clothing racks, every so often holding up a particularly revealing piece and holding it against himself.

“Yay or nay?” he would say, holding an item like a bright red, lace, see-through bralette against his chest.

I rolled my eyes with every item he displayed, chuckling a variation of, “Put that back, Lee,” and he would oblige with a smirk on his face.

At one point, he called out, “Can ya get me a bigger size, Zo’?!”

Unaware that he had wandered into the dressing room with the largest size we had of a white, pleated skirt that he was unable to pull over his thighs, I cackled as I glanced into the room he occupied and yelled, “What are you doing?!”

As amusing as the time was, between his bouts of altogether Liam-esque behavior and our occasional locking eyes, he was looking back toward the glass windows with nervous snaps of his head. The sky having turned dark, the visibility low and the foot traffic on the sidewalk slowed to a crawl, the outside held an ominous appeal. With little to no lamp lighting and the inability to see all the way across the street, there was an air of the unknown about it. I would catch his glimpses towards the night, and as he would notice me watching him, he would plaster a large smile on his face. I knew better, though, because those smiles would never reach his eyes.

Liam stood behind me as I locked the front door to Zest, the dim lighting outlining his frame that towered over me and shadowed onto the sturdy wood. I dropped the keys into my purse, their soft clinking sound oddly loud in the still air. We walked silently, and I found myself taking a large breath as we approached the space where I scraped my palms. I let it out in a ragged sigh, and his head turned to me.

“All good?” he asked in a murmur that rang in my ears.

I met his gaze and shrugged, for I didn’t want to sound weak. I gathered that he must have seen the uncertainty in my eyes when he placed a guiding hand between my shoulder blades. The dress I wore had a low, scooping neckline, and his fingers flexed right against the skin on my back. I exhaled a slow, shaking breath for an entirely different reason then, and we ambled on.

We arrived at the apartment complex with no incident and as we ascended the stairs, Liam’s touch left me. I felt my lips pull down in a slight frown that I was unable to hide until he muttered in question:

“You want a drink or something? We could watch a show.”

I truly wanted to. We had done so countless times before, after all, but the electrical current running underneath my skin that I was unable to subdue was ever-present, and the moment felt…different. I was only able to hum to myself in thought, debating whether I was one to fight or one to flee, when we approached the space between our respective doors. I stepped on a small piece of something very solid, the disturbance in my footing pressing into the soles of my shoes, and I looked down. It was a rather large wood chip—a slim chunk about two inches long edged with a cream-colored paint that was akin to the interior walls of these apartments. I lifted my heel, staring at it curiously until I trailed my gaze back up. I was only able to see Liam’s alarmed expression for but a moment before he cursed under his breath, digging in his pocket quickly. I looked to the source of his panic and gasped at the sight.

The entrance to my apartment was ajar. The deadbolt stuck out between the door and the jamb, its silver color shining in the dim hallway lighting. The crevasse where it should have been locked securely in place was mangled—instead of the clean cuts of a divot for the lock to sit in, I saw splinters of wood jutting out from the door frame.

It wasn’t a question of whether someone had broken into my apartment or not—that much was abundantly clear. The question was if anyone was still lingering inside.

Liam opened his door with enough force for the backside of the knob to slam against the wall in his foyer, and he hissed, “Get inside.”

The moment that I crossed the threshold, he walked past me with purposeful steps. Heart hammering, I watched him stride past his kitchen and disappear momentarily into his bedroom before returning with an aluminum bat held so firmly in his right hand that I could see the whites of his knuckles. His jaw was set in a fashion that screamed contained anger.

I called to him, “Whoa, whoa-whoa.”

I strode towards him, holding my hands out in a gesture for him to stop, and met him in front of the island in his kitchen. He stepped to the left, and then the right, attempting to shimmy around me while I continued to step in his way.

“Fucking stop, Zoey!” he exclaimed, pointing the bat towards his front door. “I’m going to check out your place—”

“I don’t want you going in there by yourself!” I retorted. “What if it’s the psycho that’s been sending me—”

“Then GOOD!” Though he was standing a mere foot from me, he screamed.

The sheer volume of it caused me to flinch, and he took the chance to stomp beyond where we stood. I spun a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn to see him nearly out the door, and I chased after him.

“Liam, wait!”

He didn’t even glance back as he stormed through the hallway, tapped the door to my apartment open with the tip of his bat, and walked inside. I followed, and he reached his left hand behind himself blindly to stop me. His fingertips touched my waist, and we both slowed to a stop in the entryway.

The apartment was just as I had left it aside from the fact that the lights were on. We stood quietly, looking from left to right and finding nothing worse for wear until Liam began to step forward. I moved with him, his grip silently requesting for me to remain behind him. There was no one in the common areas. The bathroom that Claire and I shared was unchanged, toiletries still scattered across the counter from when I had gotten ready earlier in the day. Claire’s bedroom was fine—it was remarkably messy with clothing tossed across her floor, but no intruders were present. It was when we approached my bedroom that we took a collective breath to soldier on, and as we took in its appearance, Liam whispered:

“Fuck.”

I normally kept it in pristine condition save for a basket or two of laundry awaiting my attention, but at the moment my room looked exactly like Claire’s. My closet was stripped bare. Not a single outfit remained contained within it; even my purses looked to have been thrown about. The state of my bedroom wasn’t my biggest concern, though—it was the white rose that looked to have been delicately placed over my pillow. Liam’s protective touch on my waist fell to the side as there was no active threat among us, and I rushed to it, grasping it in my fingertips.

I may not have enjoyed the stereotypical romantic connotations to flowers, but I still found them beautiful. It was interesting how something so pretty—so innocent—could make me feel this way. Like I’m being watched. Violated. Like bugs were burrowing their way under my skin. I observed it for a moment, twisting it in front of my face once to the left, and then once to the right. And then I hammered it into the mattress. I did so over and over, until all the petals were ripped from the stem and remained a decoration atop my duvet. I yanked my pillow from my bed, threw the covers to the floor, and kicked clothing out of my way to no avail—the note which I had anticipated to accompany the rose was nowhere to be found. By the time I was pacing aimlessly, my hands pressing into my forehead in frustration, Liam called to me:

“Zoey?”

His rage appeared to have dissipated at the lack of a presence from an intruder. His bat was set beside him, leaning against the doorway that he stood in. He simply watched me as my emotions unraveled, looking as if he wished he could take on the burden himself.

Hot, angry tears pouring out of me, I snapped, “Why is he doing this to me?!”

A wrinkle formed between Liam’s eyebrows, and he replied as sympathetically as one could, “I don’t know.”

“What am I supposed to fucking do, Liam?!” I shrieked to him, “Never walk alone again, never work alone again, never be at my apartment at all, and look over my goddamn shoulder forever?!”

The last few words that I yelled were muffled into his shirt for he had taken the few steps between us and pulled me to him. I let out a scream of frustration into his chest, and his embrace tightened. My arms were trapped, folded in on myself, and I welcomed the embrace. We stood there, awaiting the course of adrenaline and overwhelming anger to cease its hold on me, and I breathed him in. I could smell the sun on his skin. His fingers brushed back and forth over my shoulders in a slow, consoling gesture. It was a long while before he spoke the obvious.

“Let’s get the police here, first. We’ll figure out the rest.”

“And you have no idea who this man could be?”

He was tall. Lanky. I’d place him in his mid-forties, maybe. Dressed in a typical policeman’s garb and holding a yellow notepad in one hand and a pen in the other, he paced about my kitchen as Liam and I sat at the table, and I groaned.

“No,” I repeated for the fourth time.

“I’m not saying that I don’t believe you,” he spoke in what I’m sure he thought to be a reassuring voice. “It’s just that it would be highly unlikely that you have zero connection to this man.”

“I told you,” I stated once more, “a man pretty much stalked and assaulted me. The next morning, I got flowers with a note. That afternoon—this afternoon at work, I got another rose with yet another note. Then, I come home to this with another flower on my bed.”

His sharp eyes glanced over his notes, nodding as I confirmed all the details. He looked as though the last thing he wanted to be doing at the moment was paperwork, and he was just blessed with more of it. He glanced back to me, his short, dark hair tipping to the side in question.

“And your work,” he asked, “do they have security cameras or anything of the like?”

“No,” I replied on an exhale. “My coworker said he had black hair, dark eyes, and a crooked nose.”

“Any approximate age? Weight? Height?”

“The guy that followed me home—”

I began to describe the man from my perspective on the one occasion that I had encountered him, but he waved me away.

“We can’t be certain that those incidents are related,” he stated offhandedly, and Liam looked at him with narrowed eyes as his jaw dropped open in disbelief. The officer continued, “Your coworker—did she say anything else about his appearance?”

“I don’t know.” I wracked my brain. “She…said he was attractive and she thought I was dating him so…I suppose average weight? Er—tall, she did say he was tall. Somewhere around my age?”

He scribbled on the paper and muttered to himself, “Between eighteen and forty years of age—”

I sneered, “Forty?”

“Between 170 and 250 pounds…between five-foot-ten and six-foot-six. Race?”

“Oh, um…” It was then that I realized that my descriptive abilities had been rather lacking. In the heat of the moment, I had asked Brenda shockingly little about the man who was attempting to thrust himself into my life. I would have called Brenda up right then and there to inquire of the details of this mystery man but for one, it was approaching 11:00 at night, and for two, I didn’t have her phone number with the interest of keeping my private life separate from work. I mumbled, “I, er—don’t know.”

“And a tall, average build man with black hair, brown eyes, and a crooked nose doesn’t ring a bell to you at all?”

“The woman said no, Randy,” Liam chimed in abruptly, squinting his eyes at the man who I just remembered was named Randy.

Randy sighed, ignoring Liam’s interjection. “No visible tattoos, piercings, nothing?”

“Like I already said,” I spoke through my teeth, “no. As far as I know, and I have never personally seen the man, there were no tattoos or piercings to speak of.”

“Right,” he muttered. “And it appears nothing was taken?”

“We’re not concerned about theft, Randy,” Liam sneered.

“I know, big guy,” Randy replied. “Just covering all my bases.”

Liam grumbled, clenching his fists that rested on the table in front of him briefly before releasing them.

“Ah—no, I don’t believe anything was taken,” I told him.

“Alright, well,” Randy closed his notebook, rotating the cover on the spiral that was attached at the top of the pages with a smack, “if there’s anything else that comes to light, don’t hesitate to reach out. We’ll keep this on record and be in contact with a case number for you to reference and—”

“Wait, that’s it?” Liam interrupted, his gaze unnaturally judgmental. “We get a case number? You can’t try to…to find this guy? Or at least say what we can do until then?”

“I understand the concern,” Randy responded, though it did not appear that he understood the concern, “but without an ID on this man or some more detail on his appearance, we can’t do much more. There are thousands, if not tens or hundreds of thousands, of males in Virginia—maybe even in this zip code—that could fit the description that you gave me. We don’t have a name, we don’t know if he drives a particular kind of car…we don’t even know if he’s from this area. We can’t exactly put out an APB—”

“APB?” Liam questioned.

“All-points bulletin,” Randy answered him swiftly. “Gets other officers on the lookout for a person of interest.”

“That would be great—”

I had begun to speak, but Randy cut off my words by waving a hand about once again.

“There isn’t enough of a description here,” he said bluntly. “And this is just too little of a crime to—”

“Too little of a crime?” I retorted. “He assaulted me and broke into my home; should that not warrant any sort of concern?”

“As I said before,” Randy remarked, “we can’t be certain that your assailant and the man who forced his way in here are one and the same.”

I began, “It has to be the same guy,” but when Randy inhaled a long breath through his nostrils at my words and let it out slowly, I let my sentence trail off.

“I wish I could do more,” he stated. “Please be back in contact if anything progresses.”

He then walked out of the front door, and the moment that he appeared to be out of earshot, Liam snapped:

“I’m gonna progress my fist into that guy’s face. I fuckin’ guarantee that he could put out an APB with that little description of the guy if he wanted to. Jesus Christ.”

“So, I just have to wait until this guy catches me, does with me what he will, and then I can go to the police,” I said sardonically.

Liam grimaced. “Fuck that…look, I dunno what you should do yet, but ya can’t stay here tonight. Even if your door wasn’t all jacked up, there’s no telling if the guy’s just gonna come back.”

I sighed heavily. “Shit, I have to call Claire—and maintenance for the door. Figure out a place to stay…”

“Just stay with me,” Liam voiced as offhandedly as he possibly could.

My gaze swung to his, and upon only seeing his usual shining sincerity, I replied with a soft, “Okay,” gave him a gentle smile, and whispered, “Thanks.”

He returned the expression as I fished my phone out of my purse, which I had strung over the chair behind me, and began to dial Claire’s number. I braced myself for her reaction, my shoulders tensing more and more with every ring.

“Hey,” she greeted me, the general buzz of chatter at Henry’s humming in the background. “You make it back?”

I hesitated. Of course, I did. I did make it back. I was safe. However, I wasn’t sure how to announce what had occurred.

“Um—”

Her voice turned stern. “Zoey, what’s going on?”

“I—fine, everything’s fine.”

I glanced to Liam, and his eyebrows raised. “Everything is not fine, Zo’, what the fuck?”

“What did Liam say?”

I huffed out a loud, long breath. “The apartment got broken into.”

“WHAT?!” she shrieked, and I could have imagined it, but it sounded as though the background noise behind her faded away for a moment, everyone intent on hearing my secrets.

“Okay, wait,” I replied, “take a breath, I’m fine, nothing was taken—”

“Take a breath?!” Claire returned, and I envisioned her baby blues wide in horror. “This is not a take-a-breath moment, Zoey!”

“Is this the right time to tell you that I had a white rose delivered to my work via Brenda with a note that said, ‘See you soon’?” I asked with an upward flexion to my tone.

Liam muttered, “You are bad at this,” just as Claire gasped, whispering a quick:

“Oh my God.”

“And then another on my bed.”

“Fuck—okay, now is the time to call the police, Zoey, you really—”

“Already did,” I told her. “Randy was worthless, although, to be fair, I don’t exactly have a great description of the guy. I can fill you in on everything later I’m just…” Tired? Exhausted? Exasperated beyond belief? “Done for tonight,” I concluded quietly. “Apartment feels like a goddamn hazard. I gotta call maintenance but, either way, we probably shouldn’t stay here for a while.”

“I’ll stay at Luke’s,” she responded. “What about you, where—”

“I’ll be at Liam’s.”

The silence was short, but it was noticeable. “Yeah?” she replied, all too casually.

I sighed. “Uh huh.”

“Should I ask, or—”

“Later.” I reminded her, “I have to call maintenance—we’ll talk later. Bye, Claire.”

“Okay, okay,” she conceded. “Bye.”

I hung up the phone and sagged in my seat, the weight of everything sitting on my shoulders heavily. I only allowed myself to rest for a brief moment, and then I told Liam:

“Let me pack a bag and we can get out of here.”

Chapter 10

The threat that was hanging over my head earlier like a storm cloud now appeared to be safely in the distance. The thunder could have been clapping away, lightning strikes setting trees ablaze in a forest deep within the Appalachians, but I wouldn’t have known. Or, perhaps, I wouldn’t have cared, for the buzzing of tension in the room was currently far louder than that storm. In fact, it was fucking deafening.

I was standing in the entrance of Liam’s apartment, loosely holding a small bag of essentials in my left hand and my pillow in the other. Walking into his abode was a stinging reminder of the current state of our friendship, the prior instances playing over in my mind like my own, personally crafted, highlight reel of hell. Our moment of intimacy was first, the feel of his lips on mine never having left my thoughts since the instant they connected. Then, Liam’s wide, aghast eyes as I screamed at him the next morning blew a crater of guilt in my chest. And, finally, his caring touch while he tended to me—as if I hadn’t vocally damned him mere hours before—was so vivid that I could sense his hands enveloping my wrists as he cleaned my scraped palms.

Liam was getting himself a rather large glass of water from the dispenser on his refrigerator when I dropped my belongings, and he glanced toward the noise. His focus moved from my things on the floor to my face and, upon seeing my expression, he pulled his cup away from the fridge and set it on the island counter, the glass clinking against the marble.

“You good?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” I replied.

He smiled gently. “Ya don’t look good, Zo’.”

“Thanks.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.” He nodded his head toward me in a gesture to my apartment across the hall. “Shit’s stressful. You okay?”

I laughed a bitter laugh, for I wasn’t thinking about the break-in. I wasn’t thinking about the flowers. And I most definitely wasn’t thinking about the man who had pinned me to the cobblestones. Liam cocked his head curiously at my behavior.

“Shit’s stressful is an understatement,” I responded, and he nodded in agreement. I added, “I’m coming to terms with that.”

Liam took a long drink from his water and set it back down on the counter.

“Are you, really?”

“I am,” I assured him. “That’s not even what was on my mind—”

“What is it, then?” His question made me hesitate, my mouth hanging open with unspoken words, and Liam hummed to himself. “Oh,” he muttered. “Right.”

The way that he avoided my gaze, focusing intently on his glass of water, pushed me right over the edge. The remorse inside of me overflowed, and I sighed audibly.

“Fuck,” I groaned. “I’m sorry.”

He met my eyes then, shock present within them as he asked, “Huh? What for?”

I lugged my body to his couch and sank into it. “You’re a good man, Liam.”

He quickly strolled over to where I sat and lowered himself beside me. I noted that he was careful to keep an entire cushion’s worth of space between us as he eyed me with a cautious gaze.

“Why are you being so nice?” he spoke slowly.

“I’m nice on occasion.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “You are.”

He said it with an inflection that showed his clear confusion about my current behavior, and I stated, “I went fuckin’ apeshit on you the other day. You’ve been so good to me, anyway.” Liam pressed his lips together tightly, averting his eyes as I said, “And you—”

“Deserved it?”

“Don’t say that, Lee—”

He shook his head. “No, no, I did. I—” Liam exhaled heavily as he glanced at the ceiling briefly. “I know I made a mistake, I—”

“There’s that fuckin’ word again,” I grumbled.

He finally looked to me. “What word?”

I scoffed. “Mistake.”

“Well,” he began, “you were with Jay, so it—it was a douchebag move.” His dark eyes were apologetic as he continued, “And then he knew and I’m sure he was fuckin’ pissed; the guy hates me.”

“Yeah, he wasn’t thrilled,” I muttered.

“I figured that—since he broke up with you.”

I felt my head bob in surprise at the sentence, the false insinuation clear as day. Silence hung between us and I squinted my eyes at Liam for a few beats before I replied:

“Um…what?”

Liam laughed nervously to himself. “Whatever fuckin’ term you want, I dunno if break up sounds too relationshippy—”

“Ah—I called it quits with Jay.”

His words stopped in his tracks. His jaw hung open. He appeared to be pondering to himself for several seconds before he spoke again:

“Oh—you, ah…you were so mad, I just—”

“Yeah,” I replied quickly. “I know. I was—because it was a mistake. Because kissing me is repulsive in hindsight, I’m sure.”

Liam looked at me with thoughtful eyes—the deep, dark brown that I had grown so used to bored into me, and our gazes locked for a long while before he said:

“It was a mistake because I knew you were with Jay and went for it anyway.” He continued speaking, the words falling from his lips as if they hadn’t even had a chance to pass through a filter. “I saw how much that bothered you. And I was drunk as all hell. And you fuckin’ gasped like I had done the worst thing in the world and then the next day, ya told me I threw a wrench in our friendship and that tore me apart.” Liam exhaled quickly. “If you wanted it, I’d do it again because you’re…” He shook his head, looking to the space between us as he murmured, “Beautiful. Soft…warm…sweet.” His brown eyes darted to mine, and he said, “Not repulsive. Jesus, please don’t think that.”

I had frozen at the word beautiful. My joints ached with the desire to reach to him; itched with the need to draw him to me, but I was so taken aback at the admission that I was stuck in place.

All I could manage to say was a breathy, “Liam.”

A corner of his lip pulled up in a small smile. “I’m gonna go to bed before I say too much.”

“Oh,” I stammered, “Um—okay.”

“We’re good, right?”

He asked the question with wholesome eyes and a hopeful tone, and it sent an odd rush through me from my head to my feet. I wanted to say that we weren’t—not because I had any lingering animosity toward him, but because I yearned for him to grab me. To show me how much he truly believed those words he had spoken, and I could respond in turn. But he didn’t—and I couldn’t harbor any ill will because of his reluctance, for I felt it too. It was a gentle thrum of fear that sat beneath my surface that I was unable to usher away, and it was because of that that I simply nodded to his question.

“Yeah, of course.”

I had nearly whispered it, and as the sentence left my lips, he stood to go to his bedroom. Halfway there, he called back to me:

“Wake me if you need anything.” Liam looked over his shoulder to ensure I had heard him, and he pressed, “Okay?”

“Yeah—okay.”

“’Night, Zo’.”

He turned away from me, and I sighed. “’Night, Lee.”

I was well accustomed to my sleeping arrangements—after all, I had slept on Liam’s couch several times before. So often, in fact, that I had a preferred blanket. It was brown on one side, white on the other, and fuzzy to the point that when I pulled the fabric close, I could feel my fingernails pressing into the plush in a satisfactory manner.

It was quiet. Dark. I had my blanket. I had my pillow from my bed across the hall for an additional boost of comfort. Despite all of this, I laid wide awake as if I had recently chugged several cups of coffee. The caffeine-like high lasted all night, and I rubbed my tired eyes as sunlight began to filter through the blinds.

Knocking sounded at the front door so softly that I wondered if I imagined it. I twisted my body to peek at the entrance curiously, and the noise occurred once more. It was louder. More definitive. And then, it turned to pounding.

I sat up quickly, glancing back and forth from the door to Liam’s bedroom, and called out, “Um…Liam?”

There was no answer. The rapping at the door continued on, and I marched my way to his bedroom, halting my footsteps at the entrance. One glance, and I noticed that he was fast asleep—face up, his left arm draped over his upper abdomen, and shirtless. Blankets were bunched around his hips, and his wide chest rose and fell gently with each breath. I groaned at the sight, the knocking rattled his front door, and I whipped my head to the foyer and back, debating my next move.

“Lee?” It was a whisper, and I didn’t know why I thought that my quiet speaking of his name would wake him when the loud noise from his front door wouldn’t. He didn’t stir, and I called to him again. “Liam!” I heard him grunt, but his expression remained unburdened—his lips softly parted as he slumbered on. “Liam!”

My last iteration of his name came out gritty, as my vocal cords had yet to fully wake, and his eyes flashed open. He pushed himself up rapidly, his gaze bouncing around the room until he landed on me, huffed out a breath, and rushedly asked:

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone’s at your door.”

“Now?” The pounding from his entryway sounded once more at the exact right moment, and he squinted at it as if he were confused, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “Coming!” he announced with enough gumption for it to reach the visitor.

He swung his legs over the side of the mattress, and I rapidly averted my gaze. It was no use, though—the image of Liam standing from his bed with his navy briefs hanging low on his hips had already been burned into my retinas with a soldering iron. He moved past me swiftly and, to my dismay, he didn’t bother to dress himself. I stifled a groan as I watched his hips sway from side to side with every step; the dimples just above the waistband of his briefs calling out for my touch like a beacon.

Liam approached the door, looking through the peephole and muttering a deep, quiet, “God dammit,” before opening it fully. Standing with one hand on the door frame and the other braced against the door, his fingers flexed against the wood as if he were prepared to slam it shut. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

The anger in his voice made an anxious twinge run down my spine, and I crossed my arms as I took a seat on one of the stools by his kitchen island.

“So much for warm greetings,” a man’s voice replied. “Took me a hell of a long time to find you, you know—”

“Yeah, there’s a reason for that,” Liam interjected.

“Why’s that?” the man inquired casually, his voice hitching up high. “Because you don’t want to give me what I deserve?”

“What you deserve?!” Liam exclaimed, and though I couldn’t see his face, I could picture his expression with wide, exasperated eyes. “You don’t deserve shit!”

“Liam?” I called to him quietly, and his hands fell to his sides.

Liam’s dark eyes glanced back to me as he turned, and my silent inquiry of whether everything was okay was answered immediately with an apparent no. His forehead wrinkled with what I could only perceive as confliction, and the man outside the door peered into the apartment. His curious gaze found me, and he spoke:

“Hello—”

Liam interrupted him, speaking my name as if he were about to instruct me to do something, “Zoey—”

“Zoey,” the man repeated my name.

My intestines twisted, though it wasn’t the way he said my name that caused the feeling. It was the picture before me that set me on edge for the man appeared to be an older version of Liam from a different lifetime. He was skinnier than Liam—a faded red t-shirt and jeans hung loose on his body, his hands defiantly set on his hips. His hair was a dusty blonde; his face almost gaunt with the same high cheekbones and wide-set nose. His skin was tanned to a golden hue, and I would have bet money that if he were to have smiled, dimples would appear. He wasn’t smiling, though—his jaw was set in a determined fashion, his hazel eyes sharp.

Liam spoke to him, “Carter—”

“Carter,” he scoffed back. “That’s rich.”

Liam threw a hand in the air. “Well, it’s your name, isn’t it?”

“You could just call me Dad, you know,” the man sneered.

I was well aware of Liam’s strained relationship with his father. My internal fears confirmed, my stomach dropped into my toes and I whispered to myself, “Shit.”

I must have said it louder than I realized, for Carter peeked at me curiously once again.

“Didn’t know you had a girl, Liam,” Carter stated, looking me up and down. “She’s pretty. Hello, Zoey.”

“No, you don’t talk to her.” Liam pointed at his chest. “You talk to me.”

“You want to talk then, let’s talk.”

Carter pushed past Liam into his apartment. Liam closed his front door softly, and I saw his bare shoulders move up and down slowly as he kept his gaze on the doorknob for a moment. He finally let go and spun around, walking past Carter to stand closer to me, as if he could act as some sort of a protective barrier between me and his father.

“We don’t have anything to talk about,” Liam told him. “I don’t owe you anything, Carter, and I sure as shit don’t want you in my apartment.”

“Don’t owe me anything?” Carter responded slowly with a tilt of his head. “I gave you life.”

Liam snorted. “You had an orgasm. It created me. Congratulations.”

“I gave you food. Shelter—”

“The bare minimum to live, yeah. I remember.”

“I cared for you when you were sick.”

Liam held up a hand to stop him. “You never did shit for me. That was all Mom.” His voice faltered on the mention of his mother.

“And look where she is now,” he returned the choice words with a hefty weight. Liam’s shoulders sagged, and Carter added, “She’s in the ground—”

Liam countered angrily, “What does that have to do with anything?!”

“You had potential,” Carter complained. “She knew it. I knew it. You knew it, too.”

“This—” Liam stammered back disbelievingly, “This shit again?”

“Yeah—this shit again. We all tried to get you to go pro—baseball. Football. Ya could’a done it. Made somethin’ of yourself. Supported us.”

“Oh, good God—that was fuckin’ eight years ago, Carter!” Liam exclaimed. “Believe it or not, I’ve moved on from high school. I had one coach tell me I should give a scholarship a shot.”

“And ya should’ve taken the advice,” Carter retorted. “Wasted it away to go to school to, what, teach? It’s a waste of fuckin’ time, you’ve been doing it for almost a decade—”

“Graduating in the fall, but thanks—”

“Took ya long enough—”

“Well, I had to get my shit together for a few years, Carter,” Liam told him snidely. “Had to focus on work for a bit. Save up money.”

“It was the wrong call.” Carter shook his head as he narrowed his eyes at his son. “Teaching probably won’t stick—ya don’t have the brains for it anyway—”

“Hey!” I shouted. “Don’t fucking talk to him like that!”

“Not anything I’m not used to, Zoey,” Liam called back to me and then redirected his attention to his father. “I didn’t want to go fuckin’ pro. I obsessed over it for…years. Thought about what I could’ve done, but even if I had really wanted to go for it, guess what?” He paused before stating, “My body was too fucked up to do it anyway. Sophomore year, my grades were shit and you took a bat to my legs—” One of my hands involuntarily raised to my mouth at his admission, and Liam rambled, “Dunno how you caught me, I was a fast fucker. My right knee still doesn’t work right from that; it goes all…wonky when it’s cold. Junior year, you caught me drinking a beer with some friends at the lake.” Liam pointed at his father as he emphasized his words, “Y’know, ya surprised me that time. Drove me home. Gave me a talk on the porch. Got through all that and then you got me—you had to wait for it by then though, right? ’Cause I was bigger than you. If ya wanted to do damage, you had to catch me off guard.” I felt my teeth clench as Liam noted, “Fucked up my arms when you pushed me down the patio steps.”

Carter pursed his lips together. “Go ahead,” he said in a grave tone. “Bring up all the bad and none of the good.”

“The good?!” Liam returned incredulously, his vocal cords beginning to grate. “What fucking GOOD was there?! Senior year, Mom died.” Silence hung in the air for a beat, and then he said, “You hit me with the goddamn base of a lamp. You remember the one—short. White. Heavy.” Liam gestured at the scar on his upper lip with a wave of his hand, his mouth snarling as he spoke, “Gave me this.”

“Well, you fuckin’ deserved it,” Carter said with purpose, and I found myself balling my hands into tight fists to hold my tongue.

“Oh, good, I deserved to get a split lip and a concussion right after my mother died—”

“You deserved it because it was your. Fucking. FAULT!” Carter emphasized the last three words with a single step toward Liam, pointing at him accusingly with tears biting at his eyes.

Liam’s defensive demeanor left him entirely at those words, the muscles in his back that had been visibly tense going slack as he whispered, “Don’t say that.”

Carter swiped at his eyes quickly, locking his hazel gaze on Liam as he said, “She knew. She knew if you would’ve listened, me and you wouldn’t have gotten into it so much—”

“Don’t,” Liam said through his teeth.

“Hell,” Carter continued, “you remember how she was that day. You’re the one that was there—”

“She was sick, it—it wasn’t like that.”

“Sick?” Carter voiced. “You made her sick. All our fuckin’ fighting, she didn’t want to be here anymore.”

Liam muttered, “That’s not—not true; stop.”

“I have the goddamn note, Liam,” Carter admitted in a hushed tone. “It was you.”

“Carter,” he said his father’s name in a small voice, and nausea rose in my gut with the way that Liam’s shoulders slumped over himself.

“She left,” Carter pushed on. “And then you left. You were our—our hope. We. Needed. Money, Liam. You could’ve gotten us through it all after she left, but you gave us nothing!”

Liam whimpered, “Dad.”

I hopped down from my stool to stand.

“Get out.”

I pointed to the front door and Carter squinted at me curiously as I stomped past Liam.

“That’s real cute—”

“Get out,” I ordered him more firmly.

He spoke around me now, telling Liam, “If you would have just listened—helped all of us like I said you should—she’d be here.”

Liam uttered a soft, “No.”

I whipped my head back to see him leaning against the island. A hand splayed gently across his diaphragm as if he were about to be sick, his focus stayed steady on the flooring. Just like many months ago when I had woken Liam from a nightmare that used to be his reality, he held a far-away gaze, signifying that his mind was in an entirely different place. His shoulders shook as his breathing turned ragged, and Carter pushed on.

“If you would have just done what I told you to, you wouldn’t have had to watch her put a goddamn bullet in her brain—”

Liam groaned as if he had been punched in the gut and his hands went to his face, covering his eyes as he sank down to the ground.

The realization of the traumatic nature of Liam’s mother’s death—of what he had witnessed—dawned on me, and I rounded back on Carter, yelling, “Get the fuck out!”

“I’m not finished here.” I heard more than saw Carter speak the sentence because my legs were moving underneath me so quickly, it seemed as if my brain didn’t even tell them to. It was pure instinct that I wound up in the kitchen, opened one of Liam’s cupboards, snatched the heaviest looking glass that was within reach, and stormed back to Carter. I wielded the glass above my head as if it were a weapon as I walked, and Carter said, “Really?”

I threw it with all the force I had in me. If he wouldn’t have ducked, it would have been a direct hit but, unfortunately, it shattered on the door behind his head. His arms flew up to cover his face as the glass rained down, and my vocal cords strained in my throat as I shrieked:

“GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Carter muttered a slurry of profanities as he crunched through the glass and scurried out the front door. I ran to where he once was, carefully stepping around broken shards on the floor, and flipped the deadbolt shut before returning back to Liam to crouch down to his level. His knees were to his chest, palms pressed to his eyes as if he were trying to erase a vivid memory.

“Liam?” I breathed his name. He made a small, pained noise that was so heart-wrenching, my throat constricted. I coughed to clear it, but my voice still cracked when I reached to touch his hands and called to him again. “Lee?” His fingers were damp with tears, and I tugged at them gently. “Liam, please.” Instead of prying his hands off his face or begging him to respond to me any further, I kneeled next to his side and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. He shifted slightly, his hands falling away as he rested his head on my chest. I sat back, leaning against the island wall, and he went with me. His body shook softly, the evidence from his crying seeping into my shirt, and I whispered, “I got you, you’re fine.”

Carter’s incantation of, ‘You wouldn’t have had to watch her put a goddamn bullet in her brain,’ played in my mind on repeat, and it made me clench my jaw to subdue the urge to vomit. Eventually, it was shortened to, ‘You wouldn’t have had to watch,’ and then, just, ‘Watch.’ The single word chanted in my brain, for it was apparent in Liam’s visceral reaction that it was true.

I sat with Liam’s head on my chest for a long while. So long that the horrid repetitive monologue in my mind had withered down to nothing. So long that I wondered if the minutes had turned to hours, though the exact span of time didn’t bother me in the least. At some point, I had begun to slowly stroke his hair—I wasn’t sure why I had done so. I had never been one to physically comfort another, but the subconscious raking of my nails back and forth along his scalp seemed to be helping ease his anguish, so I continued on. His breathing slowed, his shaking ceased, and Liam finally spoke, his voice raw and full of grit.

“You didn’t have to do all that.”

“Yeah, I did,” I replied. “You okay?” He hummed back a semblance of agreement, and I felt the need to say, “You know that no matter what that fucker says, nothing that happened was your fault.”

“I—yeah. I know, he’s um…he just knows my buttons. I was used to it before—any time he’d figure out where I was, y’know? He’d say he deserves money, I’d tell him to fuck off, and he’d bring up…the usual. All that. It’s been years, though…guess I forgot what it felt like.” Liam cleared his throat and followed it with a deep sigh. “Sent me…somewhere else. Like…like I was there again.”

I didn’t have to ask where there was—with the way that he said it, it was clear that he was referencing the trauma of his mother’s death.

“Is that what that was?” I asked quietly.

Liam nodded and inhaled deeply before stating on the exhale, “PTSD, or so I’m told.” He shook his head. “I dunno. Fuckin’ crackpot therapists all said that.”

I didn’t inquire about the diagnosis, for it didn’t matter. All that was clear was that he was transported back in time for a moment—flashed back to a memory that was so haunting that it damn near caused him to collapse. My throat tightened once again at the thought.

“Are you back now?” I whispered.

He wiped at his face with the backside of his hands roughly and looked up at me, my hand still running through his hair as he said, “Yeah.” His eyes were red-rimmed as he scanned my face and asked, “Um—why did you do that, Zoey?”

“I care about you too damn much to—” I hesitated in what I was saying, wondering where to go with it, instead landing on, “I just care about you, Lee.”

His gaze dove into mine, seemingly trying to determine if I was being truthful or not. I gave him a soft smile, squeezing my hand that remained in his hair to silently convey my sincerity, and Liam’s head bobbed up and down in understanding. He leaned into my touch further, his forehead pinched together as if he were pained somehow, and his focus bounced across my face. Once it jumped from my eyes to my mouth and back again, I inhaled sharply. I found myself subconsciously repeating the motions back to him, and Liam’s mouth parted ever so slightly. He breathed out once as if to steel himself and leaned in towards me, halting only when his nose just barely began to brush mine. He waited there patiently. He waited until I could feel my heartbeat in my throat, and my breath began to shake. He waited until I nodded fractionally, giving him a semblance of permission, and he pressed his lips against mine.

It was soft. Simmering. Slow. So gentle that I felt like I could weep. And then he pulled away.

“Thank you for caring,” he spoke in a breath. Time ticked by as we stared at each other, my hand still entwined in his hair. The large clock that was hung on the wall behind his small dining table clicked away, the sound resonating in my mind as I allowed the dust of what had just happened to settle in my bones. The times that the clock had ticked, signifying another second passed, had become too many to count, and Liam begged quietly, “Please say something.” Both of our breathing ragged, I tightened my hand in his hair and lifted my other to his lip, tracing the scar that resided there with my thumb. He sighed, his breath warm and lingering between us, and he ushered me, “Zoey?”

I had thought before that the fire between us, if allowed to burn, could turn our friendship to ash—ruined to the point that it would blow away in the wind. Though I had begun to crave the scorching heat that it caused me regardless, I was wrong. The metamorphosis of our relationship that was now abundantly clear had, instead, made me feel as though I had turned to glass—and the bonfire that was now roaring inside of me was about to make me shatter. To crumble into a million tiny pieces and, inevitably, allow Liam to put me back together. The thought was daunting, and I couldn’t place the jolt that it sent through my chest as excitement or anxiety.

Because my next words had been taken from me by some unknown force, I pulled him to me, kissing him again to try to express what couldn’t be said. I hadn’t noticed that Liam’s shoulders had tensed until our mouths were melded together and he sagged against me with a low, long hum. Our tongues touched, the entanglement sensual yet not greedy, and I bowed into it.

Even before our last encounter, in the dark recesses of my mind, I had always wondered what his lips would feel like on mine. I had never imagined it to be like this, though. I always assumed that Liam would be the type to take what he wanted with a woman—his size alone made me question if he was domineering or demanding, but I had never allowed the thought to come to fruition. Now, as we had begun to slowly make our way into a horizontal position and his large hands kneaded at the muscles in my back, the imaginary concept dissipated entirely. His touches were light and patient, and it made me want him in the moment all the more.

We laid on the floor facing each other, his grip grazing down the flimsy shorts that I wore, over my thigh, and to the back of my knee. He grasped me there, pulling to hitch my leg up and over his hip and his hand slid back up, caressing me until he slipped under the hem of my shorts, squeezing my backside. He flexed his hips just slightly, enough for me to feel him hard between my legs and I broke our kiss with a quiet moan.

Liam peppered kisses across my jaw and up to my ear, muttering in a sultry tone, “I want you so goddamn bad.”

The admission sent a shiver through me, and I replied in a breathy, “Yes.”

He trailed his lips down my neck and to my chest, and when he reached the soft cotton on the v-neck of my pajama shirt, he gripped me tighter and rolled us both just slightly enough to pull at the hem of the garment and whisk it over my head. Before it had the chance to flutter to the ground, his mouth began to wander. First, he was at my breasts and my ribcage, languidly lowering down until he reached my shorts and tugged at the waistband with his fingers. I angled my hips up, allowing him to pull them down along with my underwear, and I kicked them away. He could only afford a quick glance at the space between my thighs before I wrapped my hand in his hair again and pulled him back to me.

I kissed him like it was a necessity and as he returned the favor, I reached between us. Only the thin fabric of his briefs separated us and I slipped my hand under the waistband, dragging the material down as far as I could muster before he finished the task for me. I grabbed him, pumping up and down the length of his cock slowly and glancing down to view the sight before me. He was well endowed, certainly, but what was more thrilling to witness was what lured my attention back up.

Liam’s head had lolled backward, and he groaned a soft, “Fuck.” His eyes screwed tight for only a moment, his mouth forming the shape of an o that I so desperately wanted to bite, and when he opened his eyes to find me watching him, he stated, “Come here.”

He grabbed the back of my neck, pulling me to his mouth with fervor, and as our tongues touched, I placed my leg over his hip exactly where it was just moments ago and angled his length toward me with a squeeze of my grip. I rolled us to situate myself on top and as I sat up, Liam moved with me. I sank down onto him, our collective gasps at the pleasure of it all dissipating into each other’s mouths, and we began to rock slowly. An arm wrapped around my waist tightly; his fingers gripped at my ribcage as I leisurely moved up and down.

I broke our kiss to murmur, “You feel so good,” in a sweet voice that I only vaguely recognized as my own.

He looked at me with a reverence that I could drink in forever and ushered me back to his lips with a squeeze on the nape of my neck. We remained like that for a long while—just slowly moving against each other, allowing our mouths to go wherever they wished. The gentle passion was almost too much to bear, and I whimpered against every motion we made.

It was when my lower half began to deliciously tighten that I called his name in a wispy, “Liam,” and he groaned, gripping me in a vice to flip us both over.

My legs wrapped around his waist; my feet hooked at the ankles behind him as he drove into me. His embrace around my back never faltered as his hips undulated in and out in a slow, smooth metronome. His strokes were long, his thrusts rough as our pelvises met, and I squirmed beneath him. I grazed my fingertips along his upper back, feeling his broad shoulders flex with every motion. He exhaled sharply as he moved in and out, and when he rested his forehead against mine and moaned, I began to unravel.

“Shit.”

“Zoey,” he spoke in a rush, “I—I’m gonna—”

“Come—” I replied in several breaths, “come in—me—oh.”

“Fuck.”

As I felt myself begin to squeeze around him, he attempted to silence my scream with his mouth. It did little to stifle it, and his tongue on mine only amplified the pleasure that shot through me. The shockwaves through my lower half were almost over, my body a limp mess, when I felt Liam’s grip on me tighten even further. The rumble of his vocal cords reached the base of my throat as he moaned unashamedly into our kiss, and we lowered all the way to the floor. He collapsed onto his elbows, panting, and after a moment he slid off of me and onto his back, a hand splayed across his diaphragm as it moved rapidly up and down.

Peaceful tingles emanated through me, and I watched him lay beside me. Acting off of whatever instinct I had, I reached for him and placed a hand on his chest. My fingertips danced along the scar of the bullet wound on his left shoulder, and Liam looked to me. Though his grin held a lazy look to it, his eyes were hesitant. He shifted himself, resting his hand on the side of my face gently as his gaze searched across it.

There were several questions that I was certain were running through Liam’s mind just as much as mine:

What does this mean?

What do we do?

What are we?

They all would lead to a similar conversation that I didn’t want to consider right now. Though we were laying on the hardwood of his kitchen floor and my right hip bone was beginning to ache from the discomfort of it, I didn’t want to move. It felt as though any straying from the position that we had gotten ourselves into would signify that we needed to discuss what had just happened between us. Liam leaned in to kiss me deeply, I felt it all the way down to my toes, and he pulled away after all too short of a time.

Instead of asking any of the dreaded questions that I had pondered, he mumbled sweetly:

“When do you have work? I can walk you.”

I exhaled softly in relief. “Noon.”

“Okay,” he said the word so quietly that I had to read his lips, and he brushed his mouth against mine once more. “You should get ready.”

Chapter 11

The tense, intimate moment that Liam and I shared was long over. Nearly an hour later, he had seemed to fully decompress, and the knowledge that his upbeat personality was back in place where it belonged brought a smile to my face. Hot water was raining down my spine. The scent of Liam’s shower gel—something called Juniper Ice—filled the air.

I yelled, “Are you sure you don’t want to join me in here?!”

I heard him laugh, his voice becoming louder as his steps echoed into his bathroom.

“You’re fuckin’ killing me, Zoey. You have to leave in fifteen minutes. If I get in the shower, you’ll be late—and I don’t have any Gatorade to rehydrate for what I would do to you in there—”

“Come on, don’t leave me guessing,” I mocked him as I tipped my head back and allowed the water to run over my hair.

“Zoey,” he admonished me in a gravelly tone that insinuated sexual frustration.

I conceded, “Fine, fine. And you don’t have any conditioner?”

Liam’s shower was very much a boy’s shower. There was one bottle for body wash. One bottle for whatever the hell two-in-one shampoo is. A black loofah. And…that was it.

“Why would I have conditioner?” he replied with a snort. “The shampoo’s got it in there already! Two-in-one.”

“Mmkay, we can talk about that later—I’ll get my own stuff from my place.”

“Ya wouldn’t have had to worry about it if you didn’t get so dirty.”

He said it offhandedly with a deepening voice, and I couldn’t help but peek around the navy shower curtain. Liam was waiting patiently for me to finish showering—sitting on the toilet seat, fully dressed in his usual Converse, faded jeans, and a t-shirt. I found his gaze and he bobbled his eyebrows at me, stretching his arms and resting his hands behind his head. The motion stretched the white fabric of his shirt across his chest, and my eyes traced over him slowly. Liam leaned back with purpose, the hem of his shirt riding up just enough to display a touch of the hair that smattered his lower abdomen, and I knew for a fact that he was positioning himself in such a way on purpose.

Though I thoroughly enjoyed the view, I rolled my eyes at his behavior and reached to turn off the shower. I pushed the curtain to the side in one swift motion, splattering the floor with water droplets, and stood before him naked with my hands on my hips. His jaw went slack. His eyelids fell halfway over his gaze, and he sighed as he looked me up and down.

“Yeah, you win that game.”

I smirked, looked to my left and right, and upon not seeing a single bath towel, I requested, “Towel?”

“Are ya sure you need one?”

“I’m cold, Lee—”

He glimpsed quickly at my breasts. “I can tell.”

“Towel,” I demanded with an outstretched hand.

Liam chuckled, reached behind himself to grab a blue towel that he had most definitely hidden on top of the back of the toilet, and handed it to me. When I began to wrap myself in it and step out of the tub, he told me:

“Your phone’s going crazy, by the way.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t checked my phone since the night prior. “Where is it?”

“Couch,” he answered.

I nodded and made my way back to my makeshift sleeping quarters to find the blanket I so adored folded neatly next to my pillow. My phone sat atop it, buzzing briefly to signify missed calls and messages. The texts were displayed on the screen, all from Claire:

Claire 9:30 A.M.: How was your night?

Claire 10:00 A.M.: Our door still isn’t fixed, we should probably call maintenance again.

Claire 10:30 A.M.: Good morning?

Claire 10:35 A.M.: OH MY GOD.

My phone began to vibrate once again in my palm, and upon seeing Claire’s smiling face flash on the screen, I swiped to answer it and held the phone to my ear.

“Good morning,” I greeted her.

Claire hesitated before saying, “Good morning,” in a sweet voice. “You, ah…have work soon, yes?”

“Just finishing getting dressed—”

“Because you were undressed?” Claire asked me accusingly before I could even finish my sentence.

“Um—”

She nearly shrieked, “We heard you through the FLOOR!”

Luke’s apartment being situated directly above Liam’s, the realization that our moment had been heard by all was a hilarity that I couldn’t withhold. I let out a loud, “Ha!” and held the phone against my chest as I ambled back to the bathroom.

Liam remained where he was when I left him—sitting on the toilet seat casually—and he looked at me with a cock of his head.

“What?”

“Claire heard us fucking.”

Liam pressed his lips together tightly as he absorbed my words and looked to his hands that were knit in his lap.

“Oh.”

I squinted my eyes at his behavior curiously, slowly bringing the speaker back to my face before I told her, “Talk later. Liam’s walking me to work in a bit.” I asked him, “You have class?”

He nodded, speaking to the tile, “Won’t be back till late.”

I spoke to Claire, “Can Luke—”

“Yeah, yeah,” she responded, “I heard him. Luke’ll walk you home. All good?”

She must have sensed the apprehension in my voice, for her ever-present inquisition regarding my romantic endeavors was immediately dropped.

“Uh huh,” I reassured her as I watched Liam shuffle his feet back and forth along the tile. “I’ll call you later.”

I hung up and placed my phone on the white quartz counter by the bathroom sink.

“Lee?”

“Get dressed, Zo’, we have to leave—”

“Liam.”

He looked into my eyes and sighed. “What?”

“It’s like you’re a balloon and you just deflated,” I noted. “What gives?”

Liam shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Liam.”

“Okay, fine,” he muttered. “Fucking?”

I felt my eyebrows pinch together. “Huh?”

He exhaled heavily and stood. “Never mind,” he said with a forced smile. “This is dumb.”

He took the few steps to reach the bathroom door, intending on exiting for me to dress, and I reached for his wrist. His walking ceased, and he turned to glance at me with a gaze that suddenly appeared to be tired.

My tone turned gentle. “Lee.”

His eyelids fluttered closed for one long blink, and he spoke quietly upon opening them. “That,” he flicked his hand that wasn’t captured by my grip toward his kitchen, “was not fucking.”

Our playful moment from before had dissipated entirely as he looked down at me with a dark, almost mournful expression. Guilt swarmed me, for I knew exactly what he meant. I stared at a spot on the floor in his kitchen—the spot on the floor in front of the island where we had gotten to know each other in the biblical sense not long ago. I found myself studying it, for it was curious to me. It looked no different. Our naked bodies hadn’t burned a hole in the wood for everyone to see, but I still couldn’t manage to peel my eyes away from it. In thoroughly examining the ordinary space, I could practically see us sitting there as Liam’s raw vulnerability broke me in two. I could feel his lips on mine. Taste his tongue in my mouth. See his warm eyes staring up at me as I took him inside of me. Hear him come with a sensual moan after I had fallen apart around him.

I cursed my usual crass lingo, for he was right. Whatever we had shared earlier this morning wasn’t fucking. The word was entirely unfitting of our actions, for the recent memory was one of ardent passion that had truly shifted my world on its axis. I was, for lack of a better word, wholly bad at this, though…and any response I had to assure him of my reciprocating emotions on the matter was stuck in my throat.

I stammered, entire words never leaving my mouth, and Liam muttered softly:

“If that’s what you think, we’re on very different pages.”

“Not,” I managed to blurt out quickly. “Not what I think.” I let go of my grasp on his wrist, stretched up on my toes, and tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him to me and placing my lips on his gently. “Not what I think,” I whispered against him, and his shoulders sagged as I kissed him again. “Not what I think.” Our mouths worked against each other’s slowly, I released my hand that was holding my towel to touch his jaw, and the material began to slip off of my body.

Liam reached between us and caught it quickly, keeping it wrapped around my chest, and I felt his lips pull up into a slight smile against mine.

“You need to get dressed before I keep you here,” he murmured.

I returned his smile, but only just. “Lee.”

He looked down and his eyes met mine—his warm, almost carefree gaze had returned.

“Hmm?”

“Wrong word,” I admitted, my lungs still feeling as if they were being constricted as I said, “Really.”

He nodded. “Okay.” He kissed me once more, and stated with a single breath, “Get dressed, Zo’.”

“Are ya gonna call Claire back?”

I chuckled at Liam’s question as we walked down the stairs of the complex and into the afternoon sunlight.

“May let that one stew a bit,” I replied.

Liam nodded knowingly at my response. It wasn’t because Claire was all too eager to hear about any of my current affairs. Okay, that was a little bit of it—but only a little. The main issue practically gnawing at the base of my spine was that my situation with Liam felt incredibly raw. Our platonic friendship had, clearly, been blown to bits as we both fell apart around each other, but what had risen from the ashes of the demolition was something that I knew for a fact neither Liam nor I knew how to digest. And that, in and of itself, was delicate.

Sex, I could talk about. Sex, I could rant about all day, hence my amusement at the fact that our early morning escapade was heard by all. Feelings, however…budding relationships…how do they say it in pig-latin?

Ix-nay. Nix. Cancel. All of the above for the conversation that would leave my soul bleeding on the table. And with the way that the progression of my—God forbid I say it—relationship with Liam had been going, I was bound to be left in such a state because there was something about the man that just…shattered me.

“So,” I spoke once again as we made our way down the street. “Class schedule for today?”

“We are back again to The Exceptional Child and Creativity and the Young Child.” The heel of his shoe scuffed the cobblestones once as he walked. “The nap-worthy ones.”

“Ah,” I voiced. “With, um—Kelsey?”

I didn’t stammer because I had nearly forgotten her, though I hoped that it was portrayed as such. The names of the classes had given me a reminder that there was what I assumed to be a beautiful woman ready to sink to her knees and suck Liam’s cock at the drop of a hat. A woman who knew the taste of his skin—could be accustomed to the feel of his embrace—was aware of the way his muscles clench when he comes. I found myself wondering if she saw the same tender look in his eyes as he fucked her, and the thought made me glare toward my feet as I walked.

“Wow,” Liam whispered in an awe-struck tone. “Look at you.”

I allowed myself a quick glance at him and found him beaming a smile so large that his dimples were fully on display.

I replied, “What about me?”

“Well, you look like you’re ready to kill someone. Or spit on a grave.” He narrowed his eyes as if he were judging my expression. “Or both.” I scoffed, and his attention shifted down to his right pocket. “Oop.” Liam reached for his phone, which was giving off a very loud rattle as it vibrated in his grip, and upon looking at the name on the screen, silenced the call and placed it back in his pocket.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“Cassie,” he responded. “I’ll call her later.”

“Why’d you silence your sister’s phone call?”

“Because we’re talking about you and the look you have on your face.”

I ventured hesitantly, “What if it’s about your father? Do you think she knows he came here?”

Liam’s face pulled up into a scowl. “Yeah, we’re not talking about Carter right now.”

“Okay, okay,” I whispered.

“So,” he inquired again, prior gumption returned as if it had never left, “the look on your face?”

I groaned and spat out, “Is she pretty?”

Liam’s eyebrows raised. “Who, Kelsey?” I nodded, and he practically giggled. “Oh my God.”

“Liam—”

“You’re jealous.” He pointed at me. “Of a woman you’ve never met—will never meet, actually, since the summer semester is over in a few weeks.”

“Sorry that I don’t like thinking about you coming down her throat,” I grumbled.

His smile was as wide as ever as he said, “I’ll tell her to fuck off.” I scoffed, and he reiterated, “I will. Really.”

The mental image of him doing so relaxed me to the point that I muttered, “Okay.”

“I’ll tell Sarah to fuck off, too,” he said as he spoke to the sky.

My head whipped in his direction. “Who the fuck is Sarah?”

“Joking,” he told me with a broad grin. “Jealous Zoey is fun.”

“Sure, whatever. Are you going to call your sister back?”

“Yeah,” he replied almost immediately. “I’m sure it’s just ’cause I haven’t gone back to visit in a long time. Used to go like once a month—you know. I’ve, ah,” he groaned, “been busy. School, work I’ve found, all that. And now…”

“Now, what?” I pressed him as his words had trailed off into nothing.

“Now,” he said slowly, “you’re living in my apartment because some dude broke into yours—”

“And, what, you think I need protection?”

He rolled his eyes. “No.” I gave him a side-eye and he whined with a flip of his head toward the sun, “Okay, yes, but only because someone literally already tried to attack you. That’s fuckin’ scary, Zo’, I’m not leaving right now.”

“I can stay with Claire and Luke—”

“No,” Liam stressed the word in such a way that it left no room for argument, and I bit my tongue.

“Okay.”

Zest’s yellow sign hung in the distance, nearly a block away, and our footsteps slowed against the stones below. Liam looked about as if he were searching for something. I was going to question it, but I didn’t get a chance to for he had grabbed me by the wrist. He tugged me sharply to the left, and I laughed as he dragged me behind him.

We were in the alleyway between Zest and the establishment beside it—a tea shop that I had never bothered to enter. He walked me past a stack of boxes, pulled me hard enough that I stumbled, and planted my backside against the brick that spanned the walls on either side of us.

I caught my breath and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Finding a private place to tell you goodbye,” he responded with smiling eyes.

His fingers had woven through mine, my right hand pinned above my head. I looked up to his grip and grinned wickedly, stretching my body to splay against his. The scent of his body wash that we both wore invaded my nostrils, he pulled my waist flush against him so no space was left between us, and he rested his forehead against mine. I hummed happily, the warmth of him encompassing me from all angles.

“I like this,” I murmured in a seductive tone.

“The alley or me?”

I cocked an eyebrow up high. “What do you think?”

“I dunno.”

He said his response with a shake of his head and an almost anxious exhale, and I reached up to place my lips on his. Brief as it was, it scorched through me. Our mouths separated with a smack.

“When are your classes over tonight?” I asked him quietly.

He noted, “Won’t be long after you’re back.” I nodded, and he said, “Have Luke wait with you until I get there.”

I complained, “Lee, that’s—”

“Needed since a guy busted your door open, deadbolt and all, and he could do it to mine too if he knows you’re there?” he asked quickly with an eyebrow arched up high. I sighed against him, and he concluded with, “It’ll be a few minutes. Tops.”

“Fine,” I whispered.

“Thank you.”

His warm eyes showed that he meant it, and he leaned in to kiss me deeply.

I thought back to the moment my back was pressed against the brick outside of Zest’s store walls over and over throughout my shift. The daydreaming, as spicy as I had made it, only made the time pass slower. The eight hours dragged on, and I supposed I had been avoiding it by focusing on the thought of lewd content finally being able to be recreated, but I knew in the back of my mind that I needed to speak with Brenda once more about the mystery man in my life. We were closing up shop by the time the idea resurfaced, and I dragged my feet as we went through the motions. Brenda picked up the few items left in the dressing rooms. I ensured that the scant cash was counted from the register. She turned off the background music that had begun to croon soft piano tunes into our ears, and I sighed heavily as we wandered to the back together.

One hand on her large red purse on the counter, she asked me, “What’s up?”

“I gotta ask you more about this guy,” I stated with a grimace.

Brenda placed a hand on her hip, her hazel gaze turning concerned. “The one that left you the flower?”

The one that attacked me? The one that doesn’t seem to want to leave me the fuck alone? The one that broke into my apartment?

I hadn’t told Brenda about the incident at my apartment, and I didn’t intend to. I held my tongue, erring on whatever side of brevity that I possibly could.

“Yeah…what did he look like, exactly?”

“I told ya, short black hair, brown eyes, crooked nose—”

“Height?”

“Oh,” Brenda thought to herself, “um…hard to tell. Tall, really tall.”

I nodded, for I expected no different. “Was he…muscular? Thin?”

“Hmm—thin, I guess.”

“Any idea of his ethnicity?”

Brenda hesitated before she noted, “These sound like cop questions.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Do they?”

“You gettin’ the police involved?”

I grumbled a non-answer. Considering the officer from the night prior’s reluctance to take action without further incrimination or blaring details of this man’s appearance, I had come to the bitter conclusion that I was more or less on my own until further notice.

“Just trying to figure out who this guy is—I mean, he attacked me in the street.” Brenda shifted nervously on her feet as I added, “And it doesn’t seem like he’s going anywhere.”

Brenda moved her head up and down. “Well, I think the guy was white? Super pale—like he hadn’t seen the sun in weeks.”

“Anything else?” I pressed. “Tattoos, piercings, whatnot?”

She shook her head. “Nah. Looked like a normal guy, ’bout your age. Just walked in here, chewin’ gum, handed me the flower and the note, and left.”

I held back a shudder as the scent of cinnamon gum flashed in my mind.

“Gotcha—thanks, Bee.” A timid knock just barely tickled our eardrums and I exhaled in relief, escape from this conversation a necessity. I voiced, “That’ll be Luke.”

I turned back to make my way to the front door, finding Luke waving at me through one of the glass display windows, and Brenda questioned, “Luke?”

“Protection detail,” I reminded her somberly, my steps clacking against the tile until I reached the door and allowed him inside. “Hey—thanks for walking me. I just have to grab my things.”

Luke waved away my thank you as if to say, ‘No problem,’ stepping inside and observing the store curiously.

“Nice shop,” he noted as the door shut behind him.

“Yeah, yeah, we like it,” I replied as I rushed to the back to retrieve my purse. Brenda appeared from the doorway with reddened ears and a shy glance toward Luke and I chuckled. “Brenda, Luke; Luke, Brenda.”

“Hi,” Luke greeted her with a genuine smile and a wave, his grey eyes pinching as his nose scrunched up with a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice-to-meet-you-too-bye!”

Brenda rushed out her reply, scurrying past Luke and out the door before either of us could say anything else on the matter of their brief introduction.

Luke watched the door close behind her, blinked once, shook his head, and looked back to me, bewildered.

I laughed, Brenda’s ever-entertaining behavior around men a welcome distraction. “Yeah,” I told him, “Bee’s a little shy around good-looking men.”

His eyebrows rose as he pointed a finger toward his chest. “Am I—”

“Oh, save it,” I instructed. “Ya may not be my cup of tea, but you’re a lot of people’s.”

Luke stood a bit taller, beamed a smile at me, and murmured, “Ah, okay.”

I snickered at his reaction to my offhanded compliment and snatched my purse from the back, turning off the lights as we went, and we were on our way.

Luke was always a pleasure to be around. Our interactions were casual—friendly; and his sarcastic flair was historically a joy to ingest. One thing that I had noticed in the past but never fully comprehended, however, was how similar he looked to his brother.

It was the differences that I always took in—Luke’s brown hair was cropped short and most likely styled with the help of gels and creams while James kept his chin-length and product-free. The stubble on Luke’s face was tidy—James’ facial hair had grown over the past few months to a scratchy beard. Jay was large. The muscles combined with the tattoos on his arms gave off an intimidating presence, and Luke, though he was clearly in shape, had a lean build to him that somehow matched his more introverted personality.

The similarities, though—it wasn’t until this moment that I noticed how striking and obviously related the Turner brothers were. The eyes, of course—they shared the same grey eyes. If James hadn’t broken his nose so many times in his younger years, his would have the same slim shape as Luke’s. Luke smiled sympathetically at me when the sound of our clogging steps began to ominously echo down the street, and the gesture pinched his face in such a way that it reminded me of James.

I wasn’t sure if it was guilt that coursed through me, for James hadn’t crossed my mind since Liam had spoken his name the night before. I pondered the emotion to myself until we were one block down the road without a word said, and I finally voiced what was running through my brain.

“Is this awkward?”

Luke chuckled. “Huh?”

“Escorting the girl home that called it off with your brother,” I returned.

“Ah, that,” he replied, thrusting his hands into his pockets.

“Did, um—did he talk to you?”

Luke glanced at me hesitantly. “About what? I mean, he’s, er—worried.”

“Worried?”

“About this whole…situation.”

“He knows?” I returned disbelievingly.

“Yeah, he knows,” Luke scoffed. “I told him—kind of a big deal, no?”

“I mean he knows and didn’t say anything to me,” I murmured, the guilt that had burrowed its way into my chest twisting into something far beyond annoyance, but just shy of pissed. “Like you said, kind of a big deal, no? He didn’t even fucking text me. I know we’re not on the best terms, but is he that much of a bitter old man?”

“Oh.” Luke paused. “No-no, that was me. He was actually gonna call you, but I—” He caught the side-eye that I gave him and faltered in his words, “um—told him not to.”

My anger, if I could call it that, faded away. “Why?”

“You have a lot going on—James and Liam, throw in a stalker that you don’t know—was trying to save you the emotional distress.” He glanced at me thoughtfully. “I know you’re not fond of it, anyway.”

“Oh.” In hindsight, I supposed that James contacting me would have been a bit of a roller coaster on top of everything else. I began to speak a version of a thank you, but Luke continued on with:

“Plus, Jay has a lot going on too.”

I raised a single eyebrow. “Does he?”

“His story to tell; not mine.”

I huffed out a breath. “Yeah, okay. So, what does he know about…” I waved a hand at myself. “All this?”

“Everything?”

“Everything?”

“Not gonna hold back details, Zoey,” he admonished me. “Made Jay feel better to be more in the know.”

I quickly grumbled, “Yeah, yeah, fine.”

“Any more ideas on who this guy is?” Luke questioned.

“According to Brenda,” I started monotonously, “he’s tall, our age, white, thin build, dark hair and eyes, a crooked nose, and zero other defining features.”

“A run-of-the-mill twenty-something-year-old white dude,” Luke muttered.

“Uh huh, not exactly revolutionary information.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure more out soon—”

I held up a hand to stop him from speaking. “I know. Don’t want to talk about it.” Luke nodded, the silence became all too much, and I felt the need to ask again, “So…is this awkward?”

Thankfully, Luke laughed, glancing at me with reassuring eyes. “It’s not awkward, Zoey.” Though I could tell that he was sincere, I itched for conversation—anything to steer the subject away from where it could potentially veer and keep my mind from focusing on the eerie sound of our walking against the cobblestones. Thankfully, it was only a few more loud footsteps when Luke spoke again. “So…you got slapped. What’s the deal with that?”

I laughed gently. “Oof.”

“Was it that bad?”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “I’m surprised I didn’t get a shiner.”

“Jeez.”

He had murmured more to himself than to me, and though I could tell he was curious, he didn’t press the matter any further. I was grateful for the lack of insistence and for whatever reason that, along with the promise of entertaining banter, cleared my mind of any remaining unpleasant thoughts. I launched into a retelling of the slap heard ’round the world in vivid detail and Luke listened intently with widening eyes, well-placed laughter, and four-letter-worded replies until we were walking up the stairs to the complex. I ended the tale before it reached any detail of Liam’s lips on mine or the thought of such, and began to fish through my purse for the key to Liam’s apartment. I found it, unlocked the door, and allowed us both inside.

I set my belongings on the kitchen island, Luke sat at one of the bar stools, and I cocked my head at him curiously.

“Don’t you have to get back to Henry’s?”

“In a few,” he remarked with an apologetic smile. “Liam said he wouldn’t be long.”

“He told you to stay here?”

“Yup.”

I recalled the brief conversation that Liam and I shared in the alleyway next to Zest and my acquiescence to his request for Luke’s presence until he returned back home.

I questioned, “Did he not think I would ask you to hang around?”

Luke chuckled. “Nope. Was he right?”

I sighed. “Maybe.”

“Of course,” he muttered.

“What am I supposed to do, have you guys babysitting me for the rest of my life?” I asked him.

“Just for a little?”

I laughed, albeit a bit sardonically. “Until what?”

He shrugged, and I groaned. Instead of arguing about the concept, I dug through my purse to grab my phone, swiped a handful of times to find Liam’s number on the redial list, and selected it. It was half a ring before he answered, and his tone carried an undercurrent of anxiety that he attempted to mask with a casual flair.

“Hey, you make it back?”

I exhaled softly through my nose, for the apparent nervousness that he showed in those few words gripped at my chest.

“That I did,” I replied.

“Luke with you?”

“At your request, yes.”

I had intended to say far more than that, but hearing his initial tone of voice had caused me to take pause. And when Liam spoke again, my plans on the matter were obliterated entirely.

“You should tell him to get outta there.”

At the mention of my obvious safety, his tone was suddenly gruff. Husky. A sound that I had never heard come from Liam’s mouth, and it sent my heart jumping to my throat.

“And why is that?” I questioned, my voice unintentionally dropping down an octave.

“Well, I’ll be back in a minute—just parking. And I’ve been…distracted. All day.”

I teased him softly, “Don’t tell me it was because of Kelsey.”

Luke’s body tensed on the barstool beside me, no doubt straining his ears to give Claire the shred of gossip that I know she desperately craved.

Liam laughed a throaty laugh. “No, no,” he replied, “not her. Just dirty thoughts.”

“Is that right?” I cooed.

“Feeling like I’m intruding on something here,” Luke interjected at my tone, but I paid him no mind.

“Mhm,” Liam hummed as the sound of shutting a car door reached my ears.

I ventured to ask, “And is there a star of the show in these thoughts?”

“Your legs around me.” I heard him take a large breath and exhale it slowly. “Me, inside of you.” I bit my lip at the thought, and he continued, “You against a wall somewhere.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “And, now I’m hard.”

My smile stretched across my face. “See you in a few.” I pulled the phone away from my ear as I ended the call, setting it on the kitchen island and telling Luke, “You can get back to work.”

Luke nodded and just as he was shimmying himself off of the bar stool, the front door swung open with a gusto with Liam’s arrival. Liam tugged the strap of his tan messenger bag over his head and dropped it to the floor. His eyes locked with mine, and he took purposeful steps past Luke, muttering a quick, “Thanks man, see ya later,” without a glance in his direction, and grabbed either side of my face to yank my lips to his.

My happy, “Oh!” was let out in a gasp, and my knees went weak as his tongue brushed against mine.

I was barely able to hear Luke utter a disgruntled, “Good God, Liam,” as he walked away from us and called out a general goodbye.

Liam moved one hand from my jaw to wave at him absentmindedly, I giggled as the door clicked closed, and we were left alone. I felt him smile against my lips, and he muttered:

“Hi.”

“Hi,” I whispered back.

Liam’s grip moved down to my back, his hands gliding over my backside and stopping when they reached my upper thighs. He nudged the fabric of my dress out of his way, his touch radiating into my skin, and he lifted me up. I cradled his face, pulling his lips to mine as he walked me toward his bedroom. We shared soft kisses until he planted me against the wall just inside the door. He pinned me there with his hips, one of his hands found its way into my hair, and he bit my lower lip, grazing his teeth over the skin and sucking briefly before he let go.

“Fuck,” Liam groaned.

The sound of the curse was so carnal that I returned the word right back to him in a quiet moan, and he pulled my mouth to his with a ferocity that echoed what I was feeling in my bones. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle. It was searing. The deep rumbling between the two of us as our tongues tied together spurred us on further, and I grasped at his shoulder blades as his fist tightened at the roots of my scalp to the point of delicious pain.

“Take off your dress.”

It came out as a plea, and he grasped me once more with both of his hands by my thighs so I could oblige, pulling it over my head and throwing it to the floor. He was at my neck then, placing his lips to the soft spots there before nipping just hard enough to leave a gentle sting.

“Ah,” I sighed. “Yes.”

Liam pushed me further up the wall, his hands tightening on my behind as he raised me, and he moved his face to my cleavage. He laid open mouthed kisses on the unlined cup of my bra over my left breast, the sensation of warmth from his tongue through the material making me whimper, and then he took the lace between his teeth and pulled his head downwards to expose me.

“God.” He licked the swell of the underside all the way to my nipple and treated the right side in the same fashion.

I moaned at the lavish treatment, letting him take his time with me before I said, “Put me down.”

He lowered me to the floor slowly, dragging his lips over my chest and to my mouth again. My shoes touched down and I stepped out of my underwear. I kicked them aside along with my shoes and broke our kiss to kneel before him. I brushed a hand up the long, apparent firmness between his legs and grabbed the fastening to his jeans, pulling the zipper down, wrapping my fingers around the waistband, and I tugged. They fell to the ground, freeing his erection, and as I took it in my hand and looked up at him, I found him staring down at me. He reached behind himself and pulled his shirt over his head, the rippling of his abdomen and the muss of his hair a vision from below.

He brought a hand down, cupping the side of my face, and I moved my grip forward and back. I watched as he took in the sight of me, his mouth ever so slightly parted as his breaths turned shallow. I touched my lips to the crown of his cock, sucking the tip briefly before I angled him upward and dragged my tongue on the underside of the shaft from base to tip.

“Fuuuck.” Liam drew out the profanity in a long groan, and when I took him completely in my mouth, feeling the resistance at the back of my throat and pushing further, he hissed a breath through his teeth, whispering, “Oh my God.” I sucked him languidly, my hands gripping his buttocks to pull him closer, until he tugged on my hair and rasped, “Get back up here.”

I stood and he all but threw me up against the wall. His elbows hooked underneath my knees, he pushed into me, and I let out a drawn-out moan. He caught my opened lips in his mouth, pumping into me with long, exquisite strokes as our tongues touched once more.

I mewled into his mouth, “Harder, Liam.”

He damn near growled, the tantalizing noise alone making me gasp, and he thrust into me with a reckless abandon that caused me to shriek.

“Say my name again,” he urged in a lust-filled baritone, “I fuckin’ liked that.”

“Liam!” It came out in a high-pitched wail as my lower half was already beginning to tense.

“Fuck, yes.” He threw his head back as he cursed, his mouth back to me in an instant and swallowing the noises that I cried out with every movement he made. My cries turned to begging, my limbs desperate to hold on to something as the tight coiling within me threatened to snap me to bits. His rhythm relentless, my nails scratching at the sides of his neck as I held him to me, Liam gritted out, “I want to feel you come.”

His words brought me right to the edge and kept me dangling there. My heels bounced against his ass as he drove into me and I danced on the precipice, screaming as I balanced there, waiting to fall off the edge.

“Please!”

It erupted from what I believed to be the depths of my soul. It felt as though I would fall when the pleasure became too much and I lacked the ability to support myself, my body struggling to stay afloat as I gripped wildly at any part of him that I could touch.

“I’ve got you,” he breathed out. “Come for me.”

As if my body were a slave to the command, I came. His name stayed on my lips like a deranged chant that started off hoarse, echoing off the walls, and ended as a weak, mousy, small iteration that could barely be heard.

The erotic sound that came forth from him was one that I knew I would seek out again and again—a loud, guttural, groaning, “Oh,” that stretched on into eternity. He continued to move through his orgasm, slowly pushing in and pulling out of me until his moaning ceased.

My head lolling on his shoulder, his breaths came heavy in my ear. His lips touched the side of my face, and I felt a corner of my mouth pull up ever so slightly. He carried me to his bed, setting me on the edge of his mattress as he lowered me, and my smile morphed into a frown for I was previously very much content with remaining in his arms.

His touch lingered against my back as if he didn’t want to remove it as he stood before me, my eyes level with his chest, and I kissed the area softly. Starting on his right and trailing my way over, I pushed myself to my knees and raised up to brush my mouth against his left shoulder’s scar tissue. It started as a pink gash along the bone and ran all the way to the joint, a perfect circle of smooth flesh situated in the middle depicting where the bullet had gone through his body. I kissed it all, and I ended with his lips.

His fingers, which were grazing me lightly on my lower back as I explored his chest, moved up to the side of my face then, and his thumb brushed my jaw as he hummed out a happy noise. Our lips separated, but only just, and I muttered against his mouth in a near slur due to exhaustion from the day and my post-coital haze:

“’M’sleepy.”

“Mmm.”

He sounded tired as well, and our following conversation was delightfully similar to a caveman and woman discussing their sleeping arrangements.

“Couch?” I asked.

“You?”

“Mhm.”

“Mmm-mmm,” he replied in a dissatisfactory hum. “Bed.”

“Me?”

“Mhm.”

“You?”

“Couch.”

Liam, of course, knew that I didn’t care to sleep with men. In an odd, reverse way, it made my chest warm knowing that he wasn’t going to press the issue and ask me to sleep with him. His offer to sleep in his bed while he took the couch in his own apartment, however, did not sit well with me. I pushed away from his chest and looked up at him with a pointed gaze, my one-syllable responses falling to the wayside.

“You don’t even fit on the couch, Lee.”

He sighed, though the smile remained in his eyes. “I just—”

“Liam.”

“Okay, okay,” he returned, “fine. Off to the couch, you go.”

Chapter 12

I did sleep on the couch. However, my slumber only lasted for a few small stretches of time.

At approximately one o’clock, I woke to kisses trailing down my bare stomach, and not long after, all clothing was foregone and Liam’s head was buried between my thighs. It was a sensual ravaging—the darkness only allowing for me to witness the shadow of his head nuzzling my most sensitive area. My lack of sight and the quiet of the night made for an erotic display; the only sounds that graced our ears being our moans of pleasure. Mine rang out first as I came on his face, holding his head between my legs with a prayer on my lips. His occurred shortly after as his thighs shook and he shot down my throat, releasing a gravelly rumble from above.

He left me to return to his bedroom then, both of us with sleep-tinged, satisfied, wicked grins stretched across our faces. I dozed off only to wake to the most recent memories of our entwined bodies, and I roused him by grazing my tongue over his neck, my naked body leaning over his. His hands found me, the light touches memorizing the curvature of my breasts, back, and behind, and I climbed on top. Our respective releases approached us slowly—we were in no rush, and though it began as lazy rocking into each other’s bodies, it evolved into nails scratching. Teeth biting. Muscles quivering and contracting. Deep groans pleading for our impending implosions that called out into the dawn of morning. The sky was pink when we were finished, and I returned to my makeshift bed to sleep for whatever remaining hours I had left.

I dreamt of hedonism. Of the way his tongue feels on my skin. Of the noises he makes when he’s inside of me. And then I woke for the final time that morning. I grumbled, for it was far less sleep than I needed, but I was unable to drift off any longer. The lights surrounding me were on, the blinds to the outside all raised, and the world was awake. I reached to the side table behind me, grabbed my glasses, and threw them on. Liam was sitting just beyond my feet at his small, circular dining table which was dwarfed even further by his size. His legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles, and he was dressed for comfort in a grey hoodie and flannel pajama pants, lifting a mug of what I presumed to be coffee to his lips. His eyes caught mine, and he greeted me happily.

“Good morning.”

“Morning.” My voice was raw and scratchy.

He chuckled. “What, are ya tired?”

I stretched my arms overhead, and they were deliciously sore. “Are you?”

“Uh huh.” A beaming, freckle-stretching smile broke across his face.

I laughed softly at his expression. “You got any more of that coffee?”

He pointed to the kitchen island, and I sat up to allow my eyes to follow his finger, finding his French Press nearly full. My instinct was to bounce up and grab myself a cup but considering that my clothing had been removed during the night, I was starkly naked underneath the blanket that I kept wrapped up to my neck. I searched for my pajamas around me, yet they were nowhere to be found.

“Looking for something?” he asked, his eyebrows bouncing up and down suggestively.

I sighed, though I wasn’t truly frustrated in the least. “Where are my clothes?”

“In a safe space, away from you.” He joked, “They kept getting ripped off so…y’know.”

My brows raised. “Are you looking to get an eye-full?”

He was a dog panting at the sight of a treat held just out of reach, nodding so hard that I wondered if his brain rattled in his skull. “Oh yeah.”

I mocked him with, “Perv,” and his grin broadened as I threw the blanket aside and strutted to the kitchen boldly to prepare my coffee.

He exhaled, letting out a content, “Ah,” as his eyes traced the lines of my body from my head to my feet. I reached on my toes to grab a mug from the cabinet to the right of his stove, and when I walked back around the island to reach the contraption that contained the dark liquid I so desperately needed, I saw that his gaze remained on my ass as I moved. I cleared my throat loudly, and he glanced at me salaciously as I filled my mug.

He told me, “I put your creamer in the fridge.”

I set the French Press down, walking briskly to the fridge in disbelief and chuckling when I opened it and saw the orange container sitting pretty in the side door. I looked back to Liam, holding the bottle up, and noted that his dark eyes had now moved to my breasts.

“My eyes are up here,” I admonished him, pointing two fingers to my face.

“Are they?”

I snorted, shaking the container in my hand and hearing the liquid slosh within—it was full. “When did you get this?”

“A long time ago.” He stated with a shrug, “We always have coffee at your place; never opened it.” I nodded as I unscrewed the cap, and he noted, “Check the expiration date.”

I did so, found a date printed for mid-August, and was thankful that I still had a few weeks to spare. I poured a generous amount of creamer into my mug and walked to sit across the table from Liam, my bare cheeks pressed against the wood of the chair. I casually crossed my right leg over my left and took a sip.

“You aren’t going to ask where your clothes are?” he questioned with a lopsided smile.

“I am cold,” I quipped.

He glimpsed at my hardened nipples, allowed me to take one more tentative taste from my cup, and stood. Liam began to waltz into his bedroom at a tortoise’s pace, snickering to himself all the way.

It felt so very domestic, our casual interactions, and I pondered the reality of why this wasn’t bothering me. I supposed it could have been because Liam and I had already developed a rapport that let us be happy with each other’s existence, regardless of the circumstances. It could have been because I had slept over at his apartment many a time before, and this time was only different in the fact that I was currently naked and that we had explored each other’s bodies a multitude of times during our supposed sleeping hours. Or, it could have been that I actually wanted it. This. A relationship. Not only that, but one with a blend of our friendship that we’d built together and an intimacy that only appeared to be growing. The feeling called to me on a level so deep that I awoke in the night to seek him out—not just the pleasure, but his mere presence. His touch. His embrace that felt caring.

The thought struck me dumb, and I frowned into my mug as I took another sip.

I wasn’t forced to linger on the thought for long, though, because the front door began to unlock itself from the outside, the knob twisting until the door creaked open.

I jumped. Warm coffee spilled on my tits. I cursed as I set my mug on the table, working to cover my most treasured bits, and a woman appeared in the doorway.

I rewound the incident in my brain as if my mind were an old VHS. I metaphorically paused the tape at the moment that my posture froze, and I stopped trying to cover my nether regions because there was a woman in Liam’s doorway. A woman who had a key. A pretty woman, at that. A woman with doe-like brown eyes and a light dusting of freckles on her cheeks. A young woman. A woman with pin-straight, chocolate-brown tresses that trailed down to her waist. A woman whose midriff was exposed, a tiny belly ring catching my eye as it peeked out between her high-waisted pants and short white tank.

If I weren’t so flabbergasted by how beautiful she was, I would have reacted more appropriately. Perhaps by saying, ‘Who the fuck are you, and why do you have a key to Liam’s apartment?’ Or, maybe, ‘Get the fuck out,’ because surely Liam wouldn’t have given the key to his apartment to a woman aside from me…right?

“Oh, fuck,” Liam’s voice erupted from his bedroom, and he raced to thrust my pajamas into my arms. “Fuck-shit-fuck-sorry—”

“Liam,” the gorgeous woman’s voice was husky, speaking to him in a chastising manner as she flicked a hand toward me, “is this why you haven’t been calling me back?”

I shook my head rapidly, her voice snapping me back to reality, and I set my mug on the kitchen table with purpose.

I spoke, waving at my naked body, “This?”

Liam stated quietly, “Get dressed, Zo’,” and then redirected his attention to her. “What are you doing here?”

The way that he spoke the sentence set me on edge. He was now standing in front of me to shield my nakedness from her as I slowly pulled on my pajamas, and I could tell from his tone alone that his expression was one of…awe? Perhaps just simple surprise? Though, if that were the case, it was certainly a pleasant one at that.

“As I said,” she told him, “I called. You ignored. The fuck, Liam?”

Liam rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been busy.”

“I can tell,” she returned with a raised brow.

“Uh—Liam,” I called to him now that I was fully dressed, and his head turned to me, carefree and oblivious to my obvious concern until I pressed, “Wanna elaborate?”

He cocked his head to the side. “Elaborate?”

“Pretty girl let herself into your apartment,” I noted through clenched teeth.

She stated with a laugh, “Is she going, or…”

“Oh, fuck.” Liam waved his hands between the two of us before speaking to me, “No, no—this, ah—Zoey, it’s not what it looks like—”

“Zoey?” the woman asked, her dark eyes now alight with what appeared to be understanding. She asked Liam, “Like—Zoey, Zoey?”

“Yeah, hi, who the fuck are you?” I snapped.

“Okay, okay,” Liam spoke down to me quietly. “Zo’—Cassie.” He pointed to the woman, and my stomach dropped to my toes. “Cas—Zoey.”

Cassie—sister. Cassie is his sister. His little sister, with whom I was now sharing one of the worst introductions of all time.

“Hello,” she greeted me with a more genuine wave and a smile—and what a smile it was. Her teeth were straight and white, but not unnaturally so. The grin caused her eyes to pinch into happy little slits. Her nose scrunched up in such a cutesy manner that I briefly wondered if I was bisexual as she stated, “Clearly, I’m here at a bad time.”

Her joke came with a lopsided smirk that embodied what I had seen on Liam’s lips time and time again, and I laughed for I suddenly realized why I found her to be so goddamn attractive.

“Ah—hi,” I responded to her. “Er—” I gestured toward my now fully clothed chest. “Sorry, um—”

“I barged in on you,” she reminded me. “Nice tits, by the way.”

Her comment disintegrated the ice that had settled on the room, and I laughed.

“Yeah, I do tend to get that,” I remarked.

She strode toward us with long steps, black high-top shoes leading the way until she reached her brother and held out a fist.

“Out of the friend zone, nice,” Cassie quipped.

Liam rolled his eyes heavily, ignoring his sister’s fist as he said, “I wasn’t friend zoned.”

“Sure, you weren’t,” she returned, still holding her hand up and waiting for Liam’s knuckles to tap hers.

“Been talking about me, then?” I looked to Liam with a raised brow, and he shrugged as he threw me a shy smile.

“Respectfully, guys, I can’t wait here all day,” Cassie noted, and I chuckled, bumping my fist to hers. She beamed at me, saying, “Thank you,” and glanced at Liam. “I like her.”

Liam smirked. “Uh huh. So…you drove five hours to see me because I didn’t call you back?”

His tone was skeptical, and she returned in a cringe, “My roommates may have kicked me out.”

“Cassie,” he whined, “when did that happen?”

“Two months ago.”

“Two months ago?” Liam replied disbelievingly.

“You would’ve known that if you called me back,” she argued.

He exhaled softly, looking her up and down with a forlorn expression. “Where’ve you been living?”

She smiled broadly at him. “Nearby.”

Liam’s eyes widened. “Nearby? How close is nearby?”

“Just north of Salem.”

“You moved here and I didn’t know about it?!” he exclaimed in an odd tone between exasperation and glee. “Cas, I would’ve helped you move all your stuff, I—”

She laughed. “I didn’t really have stuff; I just drove up with my clothes.”

“No furniture?” Liam asked, his hands now on his hips.

“I bought all new stuff at a store in Roanoke,” she replied with a bob of her shoulder.

His eyebrows flew up. “That sounds expensive.”

She waved off his comment with a flick of her wrist. “My new job pays well. Managed to get some buff guys that work there to deliver it all for me—”

“I’m a buff guy,” Liam countered. “Ya could’ve left me a message or something.”

“Ah,” she grumbled and held up an index finger, “first off, I paid for those guys ’cause they were nice to look at. I don’t want to look at you.” Her face screwed up in mild disgust as she said it, and I chortled. “Secondly,” Cassie held up a second finger. “I didn’t want to tell you that I moved here over a message.” She gestured at his still-awestruck face. “Wouldn’t have wanted to miss this.”

Liam closed his mouth, sucking on the inside of his cheek briefly before letting out an amused breath through his nostrils. He reached an arm out, strung it over her shoulders, and gave her a brief squeeze.

He laughed as he told her, “Welcome to Salem, then, I guess,” and took a step back. “You want coffee? Tell me about your new job—new place—”

“Coffee, yes. The rest, later,” she replied.

Liam began to make his way to the kitchen, grabbing Cassie a black mug from the cabinet beside the fridge. Just as he began to pour into the cup, she dragged her legs to the chair that Liam was sitting in previously and slumped down with a thud. As there was only one additional seat at the kitchen table, I sank onto a bar stool at the island, and Liam sat to join his sister.

He set the mug down for her, I noted that it was black—just as Liam drinks it—and she took a large sip. She smiled at the taste and set it down carefully.

“So, did he come here too?”

Liam’s cheerful expression fell away immediately. “What? Who?”

She rolled her eyes. “You know who, Liam, who else would I be talking about?”

“Carter?” Liam asked, and she nodded. “He came to see you?”

“Uh huh, ’cause he knows I have money,” Cassie remarked bitterly. “I assume he found you too?”

Liam’s jaw clenched. “Yup.”

Cassie kicked her legs out and crossed them at the ankles as she glanced my way.

“From the look on your face, you’ve had the pleasure of meeting our father?”

I snorted, feeling my expression twist up at the thought. “A pleasure, sure.”

“He do anything to you?” Liam questioned her.

Cassie shook her shiny brunette head. “Nah. Slammed the door in his face once he admitted he had me fuckin’ followed.”

“Followed?” Liam asked, and I felt my body stiffen at the word.

“Mhm, said he couldn’t find me,” she replied. “Which, he couldn’t, ’cause I left town and even if he had a phone like a normal fuckin’ human being, I would’ve blocked his ass by now.”

“Back up—what do you mean, followed?” Liam pressed.

“I mean, he showed up saying something like, ‘Oh, you owe me for bringing you into this world,’” Cassie spoke in a raspy voice that, I assumed, was meant to be Carter, and then switched right back to her own tone, “And I was like, ‘Um, no I don’t, get your raggedy ass out of here,’ and then he said,” her raspy voice returned, “‘Ya left me high and dry, my guy took weeks to find you.’”

“His guy?” Liam sneered. “What guy?”

Cassie snorted. “I don’t fuckin’ know, someone he paid to find me.” She sipped at her mug. “Some creeper in the shadows, trackin’ me down.”

At the last sentence, the color drained from Liam’s face. “What?”

“I know. He complains about having no money, tries to force us to take care of his ass, and then he spends whatever he has on—”

“Did you ever see him?” Liam crossed his arms over his chest.

“Huh? No, no—never even knew about it until Carter mentioned it.”

“No weird packages delivered to your place?”

Cassie tilted her head to the side. “Ah, no. Why?” Liam glanced to me and then back to his sister. The tension in his gaze was so palpable that Cassie pushed herself upward to sit at attention. “What’s going on?”

Liam sighed loudly, reached for his coffee, and appeared to be considering his words as he took a rather large gulp. He took his time in setting the mug down, his face scrunched together as if he didn’t want to speak on the subject at all, and I took the liberty of announcing:

“I have a stalker.”

Cassie’s pretty face whipped to mine. “A stalker?”

“Been leaving me anonymous roses,” I grumbled. “With little notes.”

“Oh. Well, that’s creepy,” Cassie remarked.

Liam narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re leaving out the part where he tried to rape you in the street.”

I shifted the weight on my sit bones from one cheek to the other at his blunt phrasing, and Cassie’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh—what the fuck?”

“I was getting to that part,” I said with a groan.

“And that he broke into your apartment,” Liam continued, his gaze stuck on mine. “Two days ago. Like I said—we’ve been busy.”

“Fuck,” Cassie muttered, looking at me before she said, “That’s a lot. Are you okay?” I nodded, and she asked, “Did you call the cops?”

Liam rolled his eyes and brought his mug to his lips once more. “Don’t get me started on Randy.”

“Is Randy a cop?” she questioned, and Liam looked at her with a quick glare. She ventured, “Randy is…a useless cop?” Liam exhaled heavily at her question, and she nodded in telepathic understanding. “Got it.”

“He basically took a bunch of notes and said to let him know if anything progresses,” Liam complained, gripping the handle on his mug tightly.

“Well, I don’t exactly have a good description of the guy, I don’t know what he’s supposed to do with that,” I reminded him.

“No?” Cassie looked my way. “You didn’t get a good look at him?”

I shook my head. “Only one who actually saw him was my coworker—nothing she said is ringing any bells and he just sounds like…I dunno, a regular-looking guy around our age.” My phone rang from the couch. I pushed myself to stand, ambled over to it, and told Liam with a wave of my hand, “Catch her up, go ahead.” I answered my phone without looking at the caller ID. “Hello?”

“Child of mine,” a woman’s voice crooned.

I smiled, the sound of her a distraction itself that was warm and welcome, and caught Liam’s nervous glance as I said, “Mom.”

He continued to murmur quietly to Cassie as they sat across from each other, and I turned away from them, walking slowly back and forth in front of the couch as I conversed with my mother. I could practically see her eyes, bright green like mine, rolling at me sarcastically as she spoke.

“I’m beginning to think you’re starting to ignore me, dear.”

“I’m not ignoring you,” I laughed. “I’ve been busy.”

Yes, I’ve been preoccupied with an assault from my aforementioned stalker and a budding something with my best friend whom I have yet to mention to my mother because he’s a guy and, well, she knows me.

“Yes, I’m sure you’ve been too busy for a five-minute phone call,” she scoffed jokingly, continuing on without even taking a breath. “Despite how very hurt I am at you ghosting me—”

“You know what ghosting means?”

“I’m up with the times, dear—like I was saying, despite that, I was thinking you’d want to come visit.” I heard the gentle sound of a mug against granite, and I could easily picture her. Long, blonde hair gathered in a large clip that rested atop her head, I knew she was sitting at the kitchen island’s bar. She was drinking chai—not coffee. She abhorred coffee. Her phone most likely sat on the counter in front of her on speaker, and she spoke to it whilst waving a hand about madly. “You know,” she pressed, “show your beautiful face to the two people who raised you. Lovingly. For eighteen years.”

“Yeah, yeah.” My childhood home was a place that I was always able to find comfort in, and the thought was remarkably appealing. Considering the stress that had rapidly been placed on my shoulders, getting out of town for a few days sounded…right. My next words all but fell out of my mouth. “I’m off work today and tomorrow, actually.”

I turned once again as I paced, noticing that Liam and Cassie’s conversation appeared to have died down. Liam watched me from where he sat, tilting his head in silent question, and I waved him away.

“Bit of a drive for a dinner and a sleepover,” my mother noted, “but I’ll take it.”

“I’ll take another day if I can swing it,” I replied with a shrug, as the thought of a change of scenery made the time to drive all the way to Ogden, North Carolina irrelevant to me. “See you for dinner?”

“Sounds like a plan—you’ll bring Claire?”

“I’ll ask her.”

“She’s welcome to bring the boy if she’d like; he was nice.”

Claire and Luke had tagged along for my last visit home. Luke had met my parents which, admittedly, was as if he were meeting Claire’s parents, and it had gone swimmingly. I was certain he would be more than amenable to another trip.

“I’ll let her know,” I said.

“Alright, well,” my mother responded with a sigh as if I were being a gigantic burden, and I could see the twinkle in her eye already. “I should probably get cleaning—you gave me very little notice, really.”

“Uh huh—bye, Mom.”

“Bye, dear.”

“Your mom?” Liam asked as I ended the call.

“Yeah—turns out, I’m going to dinner.”

“Oh.” The gears visibly turned in his mind. “Ah—where?”

“Back home,” I clarified.

Liam hesitated in his response, setting his mug on the table with a soft clunk. “Is now the best time to be going on a road trip by yourself?”

Cassie pressed her lips together and looked to the floor.

I remarked, “Claire and Luke will probably tag along, I won’t be alone.”

The anticipation of getting out of town running through me with a gentle thrum in my veins, I began to tap on the front of my phone to call Claire. I held it to my ear, and after the first ring, Liam announced just loud enough for me to hear:

“I don’t think you should be going anywhere right now, Zo’.”

I sighed at the tense expression on his face.

“Morning,” Claire spoke in my ear.

I groaned. “Let me call you back.”

“Er—you called me.” She returned quickly, “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes, everything’s fine—”

“Zoey.”

My name came out of the speaker in a rigid fashion. It was laced with stress and anxiety, and it further proved why I needed to leave town, even if it was just for a day or so. Everyone who surrounded me had begun to walk on eggshells at the mention of anything out of the ordinary due to the threat that was now looming over my head. I thought of it again as a dark cloud—a building storm that was currently off in the distance—and, unfortunately, we didn’t have a meteorologist on hand to determine when the thunder would boom and the lightning would strike. It was natural that we were all anxious. I was anxious. However, I needed to be anything but…and that was why I wanted to announce a loud fuck you to the current situation that I had at hand and bound off to my hometown. Perhaps it would give us all some breathing room.

“Un-bunch your panties, Claire, I’m fine. I’ll call you back in five.”

I clicked the red x on my phone’s screen to end the call and lobbed it onto the couch.

“I’m going to see my parents.”

The finality in my voice made Liam press his lips together tightly, clearly unsure of an immediate response as he was well aware of the tone that I had used. It was the one that I utilized when my foot was down, and there was little, if anything, that could be done to convince me otherwise. I crossed my arms over my chest, and he huffed out a breath.

Liam stated quietly, “I should go, too.”

“To—to my parents’ house?” I returned, incredulous.

I had not added bringing a boy home to meet the ’rents on my list of to-do items for the upcoming days, and I didn’t intend to—even if that boy was Liam. My parents had met a grand total of zero men who have been involved in my life directly, and though my icy heart had begun to thaw as of late, the idea of a man being integrated into my immediate family made me want to chuck my melting heart directly into a deep freezer for it to live the remainder of its days.

“No,” Liam responded as quickly as humanly possible. “Uh—no.” Cassie’s eyes bounced between the two of us rapidly as Liam continued, “I mean that I should go to North Carolina, too. I, um—think I need to pay Carter a visit.”

“Liam,” Cassie tried to argue that notion, but Liam held up a hand to stop her words.

“He had you followed,” Liam retorted sharply, and Cassie sighed as he stated, “Zoey is being followed—well—a hell of a lot more than just being followed. I can’t just fuckin’ sit here knowing that he could be involved, I have to talk to him.”

“These seem like different situations, Lee,” I told him gently.

“Yeah,” Cassie added insistently, “I’ve had zero creepers. Really.”

“Well, thank fuck for that,” Liam muttered. He asked me with raised brows. “What if Carter knows who the guy could be? Randy,” Liam said the police officer’s name with a sneer, “may have been almost useless but he was right, there’s gotta be a connection somewhere and we may have just found one.”

Cassie held up a hand. “Wait, wait, what other suspects are you considering here?”

She looked between us, and I shrugged. “We don’t really have any—”

“Which is why I need to go talk to Carter—”

“Neither of you have pissed anyone off lately?” Cassie inquired.

“Yeah,” I spoke slowly, “the guy doesn’t seem pissed, it seems like he wants to forcibly make his way into my pants, so…”

“That could be a scare tactic,” Cassie quipped. “Roses and notes—creepy scare tactic. Attacking you in the street—creepy scare tactic. He could just be getting back at you for something. Or someone else is putting him up to it.” She paused. “Or the whole thing is just making him hard—”

“Cassandra,” Liam admonished her with an angry interjection.

“Er,” she glanced at her brother apologetically, “either way—like I asked…piss anyone off recently?” Her reiteration of the question made my gaze snap to Liam’s, and she murmured, “Feeling like I’m missing out on something here.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “Um—just a woman who slapped me—”

“A woman slapped you?” Cassie leaned forward as she spoke. “Why?”

“That’s a long story we don’t need to get into,” Liam told her quietly.

“Someone,” I looked at Liam pointedly, “pulled off a fuck-and-run a few months back and she did not take it well.” Liam groaned as I continued, “She was on his ass; I pretended to be his girlfriend—”

“Pretended?” Cassie interrupted me.

I stuttered, “Ah, I—um—”

“Not the time for that, Cas,” Liam remarked in a high-pitched voice.

“And then she smacked me,” I concluded rapidly, shifting the conversation with, “Other people we’ve pissed off…”

“Kelsey,” Liam noted.

“Who the fuck is Kelsey?” Cassie asked with a pinched brow.

“Do you want to take this one?” I asked Liam with a smile.

He grumbled, “No.”

“No need,” Cassie spoke to Liam, “I get it, you’re a whore.” She looked to me with a wide grin. “All whoring done before you two started doing whatever the hell this is,” she gestured between the two of us grandly, “I’m sure.” I chortled, Liam smacked a hand to his forehead, and she asked, “Anyone else have you guys on their shit list?”

I stated in a sigh, “James.”

“Who’s James?” she inquired curiously.

I grimaced. “Long story…ex…thing.”

Cassie asked, “Potential suspect?”

I snorted at the insinuation. “Jay’s harmless.”

She looked back to her brother in silent confirmation, and he nodded. She muttered, “Okay…anyone else?”

“Nope,” I said. “Just—”

“Carter and whoever the hell he’s been working with,” Liam interjected. “And, we’re back to why I need to go to North Carolina.”

I sighed. As much as I hated the idea of Liam confronting his father, his reasoning was too solid to ignore—it gave us a route of questioning for this gigantic mess that I desperately needed. However, I wasn’t entirely certain if his vehicle was up for the ride.

Liam’s car was a small, gold-colored thing that was decorated with rust. Neither the air conditioning nor the heater worked. Despite its four-doored nature, the back seats were only accessible by folding down the front. On top of all of this, I had never seen a day in which the check engine light was not shining brightly on the dashboard. And, weeks ago, the car had begun to emit a noise that could only be described as a grinding ratatatatata-tat-tat-tat when Liam would press his foot on the gas pedal.

I asked gently, “Will your car even make the drive, Lee?”

Liam shook his head and looked at his sister with pleading eyes. “Cas, can I take your—”

“Nuh uh,” she stopped him before he could even finish the question.

“Why not?” Liam whined.

“Because I have a job all the way in Roanoke to drive to!” she exclaimed. “Five days a week. Sometimes six. I only started a month ago and, unlike you two, I’m not looking to piss people off everywhere I turn.” Cassie offhandedly reached into her pants pocket and glanced at her phone. “Jesus—speaking of.” She stood abruptly. “I gotta run. Liam,” she pointed to her brother, “If you can stand it, try not to kill Carter while you’re back home, ’kay?”

Liam grumbled, “If he’s looped in with all this shit, no promises there.”

Cassie bobbled her head from side to side as if she were considering the lesser of two evils.

“You make a fair point,” she noted quickly. “Buy me a beer when you’re back? Or call me if you need me to bail you out of jail, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, sighing as if the latter were a possibility. “I will.”

Cassie strolled past me, whispering a quick, “Later, Zoey, nice to meet you—stay outta trouble,” as she walked, and she was out the door.

Just as the door shut, Liam began, “She’s a little…”

“Detectivey?” I finished for him.

“Likes to question,” he noted with a cringe. “Sorry.”

I shrugged, for it somehow didn’t bother me in the least. “She’s nice.”

“Yeah,” he returned with a soft grin. “She is.”

“So…” I voiced, “you need a ride, then?”

“That cool?”

“You’re only a little further south than my parents; no big. Where will you stay?”

“Uh,” Liam pondered to himself, “I hadn’t gotten that far; I normally stay with Cas. Motel, probably.”

I raised a single eyebrow. “Can you afford a motel?”

“A cheap one for one night, maybe two,” he replied, “but yeah.”

“Mmkay—let me call Claire back.”

I returned to snag my phone from where it landed on the couch earlier. I found Claire’s name under Recent Calls and selected it. The ring barely even sounded.

“The fuck, Zoey?!” she berated me.

Being thoroughly exhausted with the stress of the now and the tense moods that surrounded me, I joked:

“I thought I told you to un-bunch your panties.”

Liam reluctantly chuckled, grabbing his mug once again.

“It feels like we’re at DEFCON 5 here since we can’t even sleep at our own apartment, and you tell me to un-bunch my panties. Sure. That makes a whole lot of fuckin’ sense!”

“DEFCON 5 actually is the lowest threat level,” I told her casually. “You’re thinking of DEFCON 1—”

She scoffed, “Oh, fucking bite me.”

I heard Luke’s voice behind her, “Breathe, baby, we’re all fine.”

Claire sighed, and I heard her mutter, “Fine.”

“Are you and Luke down for a road trip?”

“Um…we’re both off work for the next two days, but—”

“Want to come to my parents’ for dinner tonight? Stay the night, get outta here for a bit?”

“I’m sorry?”

“To my parents’ house,” I reiterated. “It would be a quick trip—”

“I fucking heard what you said, Zoey,” she snapped. “Talk about the worst timing in the world, though! We should be staying put. Y’know—figuring out who’s following you?”

“Yeah,” I replied in a breath, glancing at Liam as I spoke, “we may have a theory on that.”

It was clear that, regardless of how little he heard from the other end of the line, Liam understood Claire’s line of questioning. Though he was tense before, at my last sentence, his nostrils flared. His jaw clenched so tightly that I could see the muscles flex. He took a last sip of his coffee and stood.

He murmured, “I’m gonna go pack.”

Not a glimpse back to me, I watched him amble to his room and Claire voiced a quick, “Oh?”

I huffed out a breath. “I’m not entirely convinced, but we do have a small inkling.”

“Go on.”

Uncomfortable prickles at the base of my neck irked me, I scratched at them to ease the itch to no avail, and spoke a vague retelling of Carter’s impromptu visit, his admission to Liam’s sister, and the potential connection of it all. The only detail that I withheld being Liam’s shared vulnerability inevitably expressed in the sensual clashing of our bodies, Claire listened quietly. All I could hear was the occasional, whispered profanity for the grave nature of the situation was apparent.

It was no secret to Luke and Claire that Carter and Liam’s relationship was…estranged. They were only privy to scant details that were mentioned in passing over the past almost-year, but it was not lost on either of them that any mention of Carter would be one that could legitimately incite violence.

“Liam’s father?” Claire nearly whispered.

Luke exclaimed in the background, “I’m sorry, WHAT?”

“Worth a shot to see if he knows anything,” I returned, adding in a morbid mumble, “Or if he’s behind all this.”

Claire asked, “Liam can’t talk to him with a quick phone call?”

Aside from the thought that this conversation was a serious one that felt necessary to be done in person, Cassie’s brief mentioning of Carter’s lack of a cellular device rang through my mind.

I stated gruffly, “Doesn’t sound like it. Anyway—I’m driving Liam down in a bit…he’s staying in Southport and I’m having dinner with my parents for the night. Interested in a trip?”

“Erm,” I heard her presumably press the speaker of her phone to her chest. “You wanna go to the Chris’s for dinner tonight?” Claire had always lovingly called my parents The Chris’s as their first names are Chris and Christine—it was an endearment that I had grown to appreciate. I wasn’t able to hear Luke’s response. I only heard the rustling of her speaker as she moved the phone back to her ear. She spoke softly, “Yeah, we can be ready whenever.”

We exchanged goodbyes that were far from casual, the tension in the air ever-present as I hung up the call. A shiver ran through me, the feeling remained, and I prayed that the sensation was anxiety rather than a forewarning. Liam caught my eye from his bedroom, a backpack slung over his shoulder as he flashed me a tight smile that only barely lifted his lips, and I shuddered once again as I sensed the latter.

Chapter 13

I was grateful that I had packed enough of my belongings to avoid venturing back to my apartment. Our lingering conversations from the morning were enough to send me into a tailspin, and to visit the space that had recently been violated would have been an unwelcome one, to say the least. We met Luke and Claire in the hallway between apartments 2A and 2B, all of our bags in hand, and I noticed that our door had been mended. It looked as if the incident in 2A had never occurred, but the restlessness that the entryway gave me was still nestled deep within me.

“Maintenance finally showed up?” I asked Claire.

“Oh, er—not exactly.” Her eyes shifted about, avoiding my gaze.

“What do you mean not exactly?” I pressed.

She replied in a high pitch, “I’ll tell you about it in the car.”

“You didn’t tell her?” Luke inquired in a soft admonishment as he looked down at her. “Claire.”

“Didn’t tell me what?”

I glanced to them both, and though it appeared that neither of them were intending on answering the question, they wouldn’t have gotten the chance to. The freshly repaired door opened from the inside, and James stood in the doorway.

His sudden presence made me jump, and I clutched at my chest. “Jesus, fuck—what are you doing here?”

“Y’all are loud,” he spoke in a grumble.

His tone matched his appearance—his grey eyes almost sunken into his face from what I assumed was lack of sleep, James was more disheveled than I had ever previously seen him. Though his complexion had always been light, he was pale now. He leaned against the door jamb, his arms crossed over his chest, and I had to blink away the memory of my teeth biting the inked skin on his forearms.

The brief thought faded away immediately when Liam muttered a quiet, “Why?” that I assumed only I was able to hear, and he shuffled his feet against the concrete beneath him.

I nearly whispered, “Jay?”

James’ gaze finally found me. “Hey.”

“What are you doing in our apartment?”

“Fixed your door.”

“I—uh, thank you,” I stammered. “Again, why are you here?”

A corner of his lip pulled up, but only slightly. “You’ve asked me that before.”

The memory of his recent presence beside me as I slept was an unwanted one, and I exhaled heavily. That, on top of Liam squirming beside me and averting his eyes to the ground, sent me to a confused, tormented headspace that I wished to flee from immediately.

I whined, “James.”

James held up his hands in defense and murmured, “Sorry,” but the smirk written on his lips showed that he didn’t mean it in the least. It melted away as he stated with a sigh, “I’ve had a bad week…and so have you. Are you okay?”

I nearly winced, as the last thing I wanted from him was sympathy. Iciness, I could deal with as it felt deserved. It damn near felt needed because I was unaccustomed to feeling as though I had wronged someone whom I had grown to care for, but…sympathy? Kindness? That, I couldn’t handle.

A miserable noise quietly left my throat, and I could see all eyes on me in my peripheral vision as I responded, “Fine.”

I wasn’t fine. I knew that—I was certain that everyone around me knew that—but there was no point in announcing that I could feel my sanity hanging by a thread. I was far more comfortable with grasping at that single string with everything I had in me and carrying on with my life as I still knew it with a smile on my face, after all.

“No, you’re not.” James’ light eyes were somber, and he asked, “Do you know any more about who this guy could be?”

I grumbled, “I don’t want to get into this; I’ve been at it all goddamn morning.” James’ head bobbed up and down in understanding, and I reminded him, “You didn’t answer the question. Why are you in our apartment?”

A sardonic flair appeared in his expression. “I mentioned the bad week, yes?” I nodded, and he sighed loudly. “I needed a place to stay. Despite the break-in, this is a better option than my car.”

“Why—what happened to your place?” I asked with a curious cock of my head.

“Oh, you mean Allison’s place,” he told me bitterly.

“Your ex-wife?”

“Mhm—loose ends in the divorce that I thought were tied up. You know they favor women, right?”

I looked at Luke and Claire, searching for a smile or a hint that he may have been joking.

I found neither.

I voiced, “What are you saying? You’re—”

“Officially divorced after going through the process for almost two years and homeless,” he finished my statement for me.

Luke interjected quietly, “You’re not homeless, Jay—”

James snarkily retorted, “The house isn’t mine, it’s Allison’s. The furniture isn’t mine, it’s Allison’s. The nice TV that I had to basically beg her to let me buy isn’t mine, it’s Allison’s.” At every mention of her name, he threw out a dramatic hand and his tone turned gritty. “I’m fuckin’ lucky she wasn’t able to take my car.”

The reasoning for his ragged appearance, which I had initially believed to be related to my existence, splayed out before me with every sentence, and my eyes widened as I absorbed it all. Once I was sure he was finished, I inquired:

“When did that all happen?”

“Final decisions were made yesterday,” he replied.

“Jay,” I groaned. “You never said—”

“Didn’t think it would turn out that way; I didn’t think it was worth mentioning at the time,” he returned. “So, anyway—considering your place was up for grabs with the door being busted up and you and Claire not wanting to be inside of it, I was told,” he pointed to Claire, “to stay here for the time being.”

I nodded, not knowing what to say with the exception of a muttered, “Sorry.”

He smiled, but only just. “I’ll live—eventually. Like I said,” he whispered, “bad week.” James rubbed at his tired eyes, glimpsed all of our bags in hand, and asked, “Are we all going on a trip?”

“My parents’ house—felt like getting out of here,” I admitted.

“Oh,” he nodded, looking at Liam with a quick glimpse of hatred, and asked, “All of you?”

Liam remarked, “Just, er—tagging along for the ride.”

Claire interrupted, “That’s not all that’s happening, Zoey—”

“Something-something also tracking down a stalker,” I trilled off quickly as I gave Claire a hard stare. “I am tired of talking about it—and we should get going.”

I spoke to the group, there were general noises of agreement around me as everyone spoke a quick goodbye, and I allowed the others to lead the way.

“If you guys need anything,” James called out, and I turned my head to see him looking at me with a soft gaze, “call me. Seriously.”

I let out a gentle breath through my nostrils. “Okay.”

His mouth pulled up at the corners, and he told me, “I’ll hold down the fort here—keep an eye out for flower deliveries; all that.”

I mouthed, ‘Thanks,’ he shrugged in a way that silently said, ‘Of course,’ and then James closed the door behind him.

I moved to find Claire at the top of the stairs, slowly making her descent away from us and no doubt eavesdropping. I caught up to her, quickly reaching her side, and elbowed her sharply in the ribs.

“Ah!” she yelped, jumping away from my attack. Luke and Liam, both halfway down the stairwell, turned to look at us with raised eyebrows. Luke’s arms were stretched outward for a split second as if his immediate thought was that Claire had slipped and it was his responsibility to catch her. He folded his arms back by his side with a smirk when the reality of the situation dawned on him, and Claire snapped, “What the fuck, Zoey?!”

Both men continued their path down the stairway, and I retorted, “What the fuck? You couldn’t shoot me a text that Jay was living in our apartment?! When did this happen?”

Claire rubbed at her ribs. “Last night, late—he was at Henry’s. And I figured you had a lot on your mind—what, are you not okay with it?”

“Huh? No, I—if he needs a place to stay, he can stay for a bit, but we do plan on moving back in at some point, so…”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“What do you mean?” I replied quickly at her hesitant tone of voice, and she shrugged. I ushered her, “Claire, what do you mean?”

“Okay, easy,” she held up a hand as we stepped into the sunshine, her red hair glowing in the daylight, and we began to walk to where my car was parked. I eyed the yellow paint about two blocks away, and she said, “I’m just saying that I don’t mind staying at Luke’s.”

“You do realize that I can’t afford that place on my own, right?” I admitted. “And once Jay leaves and I’m ready to be back there, if you move out, I’m—”

“Please, don’t act like you don’t have money,” Claire argued. “You can afford the place if you want to; you have plenty. And I’m not moving out!”

She exclaimed the last two words loudly, and Luke looked over his shoulder to catch her eye. He flashed her a large smile, and continued strolling along.

“What the fuck was that?!” I retorted, and I just barely heard Luke’s laughter up ahead. “Don’t fuckin’ laugh!” I yelled at Luke. “You’re on my shitlist too, Lukey—ya couldn’t have told me your brother was crashing at our place?!”

Luke spun around, walking backwards as he said, “It hadn’t happened yet when I talked with you! Don’t blame me!” He turned to walk forward once again, and I rounded on Claire.

“Do not tell me you’re moving in with him right now—”

“I’m not moving out!” she retorted. “Though, it has been mentioned.”

“Claire!”

“I’m not going anywhere, Zoey,” she reassured me. “It’s just a trial run for now—thanks for the support, though.”

I chewed on my tongue. “Sorry. Y’all are happy, I’m happy for you—you know that.”

She smiled at my incredibly brief apology, and because I knew that she understood the cause of my outburst, I didn’t need to expand any further.

Claire remarked a quick, “I know.”

“For future reference,” I told her, “Ninety days’ notice would be acceptable.”

“Ninety days?”

“Claire.”

“Okay, okay,” she acquiesced. “Ninety days, you got it.”

“Speakin’ of notice, again, a little heads up would’ve been appreciated with Jay,” I chastised her. “I said I couldn’t see him anymore like…days ago, Claire. Days. It feels weird—”

“Oh, please,” she replied in a hushed tone, “Weird is that Luke and I barely got any sleep from hearing you and Liam all. Fucking. Night. You’re lucky Jay isn’t sleeping on Luke’s couch and that he has an entire hallway for a buffer; he would’ve gotten a front row ticket to the goddamn show otherwise.”

The odd guilt at being in James’ presence dwindled away at the mention of the show. My mind snapped away from the topic at hand, replaying the events from the night over for me. I smiled wide as I entered a hedonistic haze.

I cooed, “I liked that show.”

“Zoey.” I bobbled my eyebrows at her, and her gaze shot skyward. Claire pressed lightly, “So—how is living with a boy?”

I groaned, “Gross, Claire.”

“What?” She laughed. “It’s what you’re doing.”

“Don’t say it like that,” I complained.

“Like what?”

“Like…Liam’s a boy that I up and decided that I needed to shack up with,” I griped.

“Is Liam not a boy?” she asked. “Man. Whatever verbiage you’d like.”

I felt my nose scrunch up in distaste. “No. He’s…not a boy. Man. I mean, he is, he’s just…Liam. I dunno. I’m crashing on his couch for a while until this gets all sorted out, it’s not—”

Claire chortled loudly enough for Liam to curiously crank his head back to us. His steps never stopped, his dark eyes locking with mine for a brief moment in a similar fashion to how Luke had done previously with Claire. Unaware of his name on our lips for he was too far away to hear it, he smiled at me softly and carried on a quiet conversation with Luke.

“You are not still sleeping on his couch,” Claire ventured with a wide-toothed grin. I replied with nothing but a side-eye, and she laughed.

I reminded her with a scolding voice, “I don’t sleep with men, Claire.”

“Oh, is Liam men now?” she asked me with an all-too-knowing smile. “Thought he was just Liam?”

I sighed, my car and the men beside it within single-digit steps, and I muttered, “Yeah, he is.”

Our drive passed slowly.

Luke and Claire sat together in the back seat, at times speaking to each other so softly that I couldn’t make out their words. Whatever they spoke of, it looked to be of a loving sentiment with gentle smiles and nods of understanding that were followed by a canoodling that made me loudly gag at them from the driver’s seat. They ignored me, of course.

Liam relaxed in the passenger seat as I drove, chuckling at my remarks about Luke and Claire’s oh-so-adoring behavior as he rested a hand behind his head and closed his eyes. I watched him every so often, oddly entranced by his carefree expression. His plush lips were pulled up into a soft smile, his head tilted toward the sun that shined through the window. It glinted off of his blonde hair and heated his face to the point of raising a slight blush to his cheeks.

I was pleased that the drive was long enough that he could escape the stressful hell that we had recently been placed in. I knew that upon our arrival to his hometown, Liam’s mood was bound to shift dramatically as he was taking it upon himself to confront Carter, and I smiled as I observed his easygoing nature, shifting my focus back to the road as we drove down the highway.

My phone rang from the cup holder between Liam and me, and I reached for it. The caller ID showed unknown, but I answered it anyway, quietly speaking a greeting into the speaker.

“Hello?”

“It’s about time we spoke again…where, oh where did you run off to?”

The man’s voice was lilting and chipper, but it held an undertone of darkness beneath it that made me shift in my seat uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry?” I returned.

“Are you being coy with me?” he asked. “That’s not like you.”

I murmured, “What?” in a mousy tone that made Liam’s head turn to me.

I kept my eyes on the road, though I could tell that he was looking at me with intent. I tried with all my might to keep a soft grin on my lips or a casual expression on my face, but it was no use because although the number on my phone was declared as unknown, it was dawning on me that the male voice was not. I prayed that I was wrong, hoping that my anxiety was imposing an assumption on me, and he spoke again.

“Was my message not received? Was I too subtle?” the man questioned me, and I tried to assess the grit in his tone. I was unable to respond as I had matched the sound to one that I had heard in the past—one that forced me to remember the scent of fake cinnamon and the feeling of my body being held against the ground. “Does your silence mean that I’ve gotten under your skin as much as you’ve gotten under mine?”

My breath started to shake, and Liam called to me, “Zoey?”

I stammered a bevy of um’s and ah’s into the speaker, exact words never coming to my mind. The memory of my recent encounter with the man who had pinned me to the ground and made known his desire to force himself upon me was ripe in my brain, the thought replaying until I could feel the coolness of the stones against my cheek. I shifted my grip on the steering wheel, and it brushed the scrape that had yet to heal on my palm.

“Hmm,” the man hummed in what sounded like delight. “I like that—knowing that I’m on your mind. I was there before we even met, though—wasn’t I, Zoey?”

“I—what are you talking about?” I asked in a whisper.

“Zoey?” Liam had now sat up beside me as he said my name. My eyes flickered to the rearview mirror, and I found that Luke and Claire had done the same, both watching me with concerned gazes.

“I could see you looking this way and that down the street,” the man noted. “Before you even knew I existed, you sensed me as I watched you.” His voice deepened, “And when I knew I needed to be more bold—to make myself known—I could feel your pulse hammering in your throat when I had you underneath me. You were quiet. I liked that.” He emitted a noise akin to a quiet moan, and bile rose in my throat. “I like that I can affect you like that—”

I finally found my voice and spat, “Shut the fuck up.”

Claire spoke from the back seat, “Whoa, whoa, Zoey, what’s—”

“Zoey,” Liam ushered me, “what’s going on; look at me.”

“There she is,” the man cooed in my ear. “You’re normally such a loud little thing. You were loud with James.” I gasped, his mentioning of James hitting me in the gut. “The sex sounded good,” he continued, muttering in a voice that chilled me through, “It’s not like that with Liam, though…is it, Zoey?” My breath rattled, the fear that this man had instilled in me blossoming further at the sound of Liam’s name. “You…you call his name like it’s a goddamn prayer. It’s…desperation. It’s so…emphatic. It’s like I can feel you coming.” He moaned again, the sound sexual to the point that I wondered if he were touching himself, and I cringed. It turned my stomach sour, and though it made me want to yank my phone from my ear and chuck it as far away as I possibly could, I couldn’t find it in me to do so. Instead, I listened in horror as the sound of moist skin-on-skin filtered through the speaker. “Is your heart pounding now?” He whispered, “You can’t run forever. I’ll find you—I’m going to feel your heartbeat from the inside.”

His words along with the increasing speed of the wet, schlicking sounds in the background made me retch, and I saw Liam’s body flinch at my reaction in my peripheral vision. He spat out something along the lines of, “Fuck this,” and reached to tear the phone from my grip.

Saliva pooled in my mouth, and I snapped my head over my right shoulder to check my blind spots. All lanes clear, I jerked the wheel to steer to the side of the road, slammed on the brakes, and just as Liam was speaking a coarse greeting into my phone, I was putting the car in park. My seatbelt was off, Liam glanced at my phone with a pinched expression as it appeared that no one was on the line, and I opened my door with just enough time to fully exit the vehicle, take two steps forward, and vomit on the pavement.

It splattered below me, Liam’s voice called to me urgently, and my stomach turned again. I heaved once more, emptying the remaining contents of my stomach, and I breathed slow and heavy—in and out, thrice—until I was certain that the action wouldn’t be repeated. I spat on the concrete, my hands on my upper thighs as I exhaled heavily.

Liam’s touch was on my upper back, rubbing back and forth as he muttered, “Jesus, Zoey, what was that? Are you okay?”

I wiped my lips with the back of my hand and straightened up to find Liam staring at me wide-eyed. I swallowed, my mouth coated in the bitter taste of bile, and I just…looked at him. Any response I had was simply gone. I wasn’t okay. I knew I wasn’t okay, but all I could discern was an odd sensation of numbness that was pouring over my brain like molasses, smooth and slow. It covered me like a blanket until Liam could stand my silence no longer and he gripped both of my biceps tightly, shaking me to wake me to reality.

“Zoey, please.”

The way that he pleaded cut the thread that was holding me together, and suddenly, the numbness that I had briefly imposed upon myself disappeared. My breaths came in a staccato—short, quick bursts that had no regular rhythm as they left my lips—and what seemed to be a fist had thrust directly into my chest and squeezed at my heart. The grip remained strong, prevailing through the gusts of wind in my lungs, and the sensation spread from my sternum outward in a hot, bursting wave that threatened to crumple me.

I placed a hand on my diaphragm and whimpered, “Fuck.”

“Breathe, Zoey,” Liam instructed me quietly, and prickles spanned from the base of my neck up to the sides of my face.

I glanced to the ground, feeling my breathing approach hyperventilation, and I spoke between exhales as I began to feel faint, “I need to sit.”

“Okay,” he replied in a soft tone. “Let’s just get back in the car and—”

I shook my head rapidly. “Claire and Luke, I—I don’t—don’t want…”

Not a word said, Liam guided me forward with a hand on my back, away from the car, and to the right. The soles of my shoes touched gravel, and then grass, and I sank to the ground. He went with me, sitting in a similar fashion with his legs bent before him, and his touch brushed up and down my back.

“Are you dizzy?” he asked gently. I nodded, and he murmured, “Head between your legs, Zo’, you’re good.”

I followed his instruction, a car door slammed, and Claire’s anxious voice trilled, “Zoey, are you—”

I muttered a weak, “Go away, Claire,” that was only loud enough for Liam to hear.

Liam called back to her immediately, “She’s fine!”

It was apparent—to me, at least—that he knew that I was anything but. I thoroughly appreciated the lie, as the air still felt as though it was being sucked out of me.

Claire yelled, “What happened?!”

I focused on the blades of grass beneath my feet, and my shoulders shook with my unsteady breathing.

“We’ll be back in the car in a minute; just getting some air,” Liam told her.

“Okay, but what—”

“Claire,” he bit back at her in an uncharacteristically sharp tone. “A minute. Okay?”

I didn’t hear her acquiescence, but her steps patted along the pavement, and the car door opened and closed once again.

“Thank you,” I said in an exhale.

“You’re good,” he reiterated. My skin was damp with a sheen of cool sweat, and there was no doubt that Liam could feel as such considering that his hand was still grazing its way back and forth over my shirt in a comforting manner. It stuck to my skin, but I paid it no mind. He said, “Just breathe, Zo’. In.” he inhaled slowly, “and out,” he let the breath go.

I attempted to replicate his methodical breathing, and failed as a shuddering, “Fuck, sorry,” came from me instead.

“Shh,” Liam shushed me quietly. “In,” he whispered again upon his inhale.

I tried once more to copy his actions and fell short, only to be met with further words of consolation. It took three more iterations of breathing exercises for me to calm myself enough to speak properly. When I finally reached that point and noted that my hands, which had gone numb, were regaining their feeling, I coughed loudly to clear my throat.

“Okay,” I mumbled. “Fuck—okay.”

Liam let out a long breath himself, and his hand stopped its motions across my back, landing on my waist and remaining there. He squeezed me with his fingertips, and I glanced his way. His dark eyes were pinched, the scar over his lip crooked up as his mouth just barely upturned in a manner of sympathy.

“Okay?”

My cheeks heated, my vulnerability from the last few minutes hanging in the air like some sort of poisonous gas that was threatening to choke me.

“Sorry,” I told him quickly.

“Sorry?” Liam replied, “I’ve been there. You don’t have to tell me sorry.” I thanked him with my eyes, not my words, as I recalled the various times that I had seen him in a similar state—head between his legs or resting on my chest as he took deep, methodical breaths in an attempt to wrestle his own demons. I nodded, and he said, “You know I have to ask, though.”

I sighed, reaching down to tug at the grass beneath me and ripping a few blades away from the ground to tear up between my fingers. I didn’t have to ask what he meant by that—it was clear that he was referencing who was on the other end of the phone.

“It was him.”

Liam’s jaw clenched tightly, and he asked in a sharp tone, “How the fuck did he get your phone number?”

“Didn’t exactly ask,” I murmured.

“Shit—yeah, okay. What did he say?”

“He knows that I’m not in Salem—or in the apartment, I dunno.” I took a large breath in, felt my lungs expand with it to the point of near-pain, and let it out. “Said he’s heard us—me.”

Liam looked to me in question, asking me with narrowed eyes, “Heard you?”

I replied in a barely audible, “Having sex. Don’t, um—don’t know how, he must have just been around the complex? You know how thin the walls are.”

Liam’s gaze widened to the point that his eyes were almost bulging from his skull.

“Oh,” he said the word in what sounded like a grunt.

I tugged at the grass that I held in my grasp, ripping it into tiny pieces and letting it fall to the ground.

“I, ah,” I hesitated, deciding on the most pertinent details of the events from moments ago, and stated, “pretty sure he was jacking off.”

Liam’s body went still, his eyes focused on the ground beneath us in a murderous glare that could have set the earth ablaze.

Each word clipped and carefully selected, Liam asked, “Did he say anything else?”

The exact sentences that the man had spoken rang through my ears as if they were being screamed at me, but I ignored it for his turn of phrase was neither here nor there—I wouldn’t allow it to be, anyway.

“That he’ll find me.”

The expectant look on Liam’s face proved that he knew there was more to that, and he pressed, “And?”

“And…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. “What do you think, Lee? He wants to finish what he started.”

A visceral noise caught in his throat and he said, “Okay, I can’t let you go to Ogden without me, Zo’.”

The desperation in his tone struck me. I had always been able to take care of myself, and I desired to be a woman who stands on her own, but the feeling of security that his touch brought me as we both sat in the grass on the side of this god forsaken highway knew no bounds. I had just finished emptying my stomach onto the concrete and ensuring that there was little to no air in my lungs mere minutes ago and, somehow, I felt safe. I wanted with everything in me to say that I didn’t need a man by my side for protection or reassurance…but as I had thought earlier today, I reminded myself that Liam wasn’t a man. Well, he was—but he was Liam.

My Liam.

And yes, the thought of having him with me and inevitably introducing him to my parents had made me want to rip my heart from my chest. To see it beat in my hands and confirm that it was real—to relish in the feeling for just a moment before I doused the organ in liquid nitrogen to reverse the melting that I had recently become accustomed to—but I fucking couldn’t. I couldn’t stop the thaw. The burn was, simply, too ravaging…and I was a puddle at his feet.

Liam sighed heavily. “I—I know it’s not like you’ll be alone; you’ll be with your family and Luke and Claire…and you’re probably hundreds of miles away from where this guy is. I know that, I just—”

“Stay with me, then,” I suggested quietly, realizing that his rattled off rationale was one to subdue my usual aversion to romantic closeness.

He glanced my way. “At your parents’ house?”

“Yeah,” I replied.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” he muttered. “Let me come because I want to, I mean.”

“I’m not; I want you there.”

I truly meant it, and the way that his expression softened just enough to mask the prior anxiety and rage in his eyes settled any of my unease on the matter.

“Okay.” He looked me up and down, squeezing at my waist once with his fingers. “You ready to get back in there?”

I looked back to my car to see Luke and Claire watching us, their heads hovering over the center console. When my eyes met theirs, they threw themselves back into their seats.

I exhaled. “No—but I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Nope,” he returned, pushing himself up to stand and brushing the dirt off of his jeans. He extended a hand to me and I took it. He jerked me upwards, and I bobbled to my feet. He examined my stability, leaning back to observe me properly, and asked, “Good?” I nodded, and he breathed out, “Good—I’ll drive.”

Chapter 14

The admission of my unexpected phone call to Luke and Claire went as well as I could have expected—which was, of course, not well at all. The initial hysteria of the moment eventually died down, the importance of seeing if Liam’s father knew anything about the man remained, and we carried on our way. After two more hours of our drive to clear our minds, I insisted that regardless of how pressing the matter at hand was and how urgently Liam wanted to confront Carter before arriving at my parents’ house a mere hour away, we all needed food—and I needed breathing room. So, with that thought in mind, we were strolling down the boardwalk in Liam’s hometown, Southport.

The marina in Southport was busy. People were bustling in the few surrounding shops and scattered about the town, happily chatting as sunshine rained down and the salty scent of the ocean hung in the air. A restaurant specializing in fish tacos sat right on the water. An a-frame sign sat on its blue wooden porch, inviting in all patrons who desired beer, tequila, fresh fish, or all of the above.

The cheeky drawing on the sign depicted a drunken fish taking a swim in a shot glass, and Claire snorted in laughter when she saw it as we were walking in search of our lunch. We all ambled inside, the distraction of a decent meal after the long drive welcome, and though the panic was still attempting to cling to my brain, I managed to push it to the wayside as we all smiled and enjoyed each other’s company.

Well, everyone except Liam. After we were long-finished with our lunch, Liam sat beside me with his food hardly touched, his back ramrod straight as the waitress returned to us.

“Are you sure you don’t want a box?” the bubbly teenager asked as she batted her lashes in his direction.

“What?” Liam glanced to her, to his plate, and then back again. “Oh. No, I’m good.”

She nodded, picked up the remainder of the plates before us which almost looked to be wiped clean, and then asked, “Anything else for you guys?”

“Ah,” Liam placed his napkin on the table, “you guys want to chill here for a bit?”

The relaxed atmosphere had allowed the drama to settle to the back of my mind, and the idea of delaying the inevitable was an enticing one. More than enticing, really…but it was a nonstarter. As lovely as it sounded to allow the reality of the now to disappear for just a little while longer, there was no use in procrastinating.

The ocean air blew, filtering its way through the open windows in the establishment and into my hair, and I sighed.

“We have shit to do,” I noted somberly.

“You mind if I take your car?” Liam asked. “I’ll just go; I won’t be long.”

I squinted my eyes at him. “I’m sorry?”

“Stay here,” he muttered down to me. “Have a drink. Relax for a little.”

“You want to go see Carter alone?” I replied incredulously.

Liam’s head bobbed up and down. “He lives maybe ten minutes away—”

I smiled sweetly at the waitress who was lingering at our sides. “Give us just a minute.”

“Alrighty!” Tense moment unrecognized, she bounced away.

“I was planning on going with you for this,” I murmured.

“Um,” Luke leaned forward to speak up, “we all were planning on going with you for this.”

“What are you guys gonna do?” Liam spoke to Luke and Claire, “Stand there and watch while I ask Carter a few questions? There’s no need.”

Claire began to argue, “Liam—”

“I don’t want you or Luke there,” he stated plainly, and Claire promptly shut her mouth. He added, “I don’t need your help. I’ll swing by and pick you back up when I’m done.”

His tone was insistent—uncharacteristically demanding—and Luke and Claire both sat back in their seats, pressing their lips tightly together in defiance, but saying no more.

“Okay,” I spoke, “well, I’m going—”

Liam chuckled, the sound biting and harsh. “No.”

“Liam.”

His returning, false smile was forced. “I’m not gonna crash your car, Zo’, I promise.”

“You and I both know that it’s not about my car, Lee—”

“And I don’t need you to navigate, this is my neck of the woods, remember?”

“Liam.”

“Liam,” Claire interjected gently, understanding that his upcoming interaction with his father was a nerve-wracking one, “I get me and Luke hanging back, I do…but it may be important for Zoey to be there…what if she has questions to ask him?”

Liam sighed loudly, glanced at me with an exhausted gaze, and asked, “Do you have questions for Carter?”

“I mean, none that you don’t have, but—”

“Then you have no reason to be there,” he stated. “Ya don’t need to show up so you can, what, chuck something breakable at his head again if he’s being…the way that he tends to be?”

Claire’s eyes went wide, for I had purposefully omitted that particular detail when I described the altercation with Carter earlier in the day.

She inquired rapidly, “You did what?”

I sneered, “I missed.”

Luke grumbled, “That’s unfortunate.”

“And nothing like that needs to happen again,” Liam pressed.

Luke said bluntly, “I disagree.”

Liam ignored everyone’s insistence and stood, saying, “I’ll be a half hour—tops.”

He stuck his hand out for me to give him my keys, and I narrowed my eyes at him. Instead of handing over the keys to my car, I pushed myself to stand as well.

I grabbed my purse from the back of my chair and spoke to Luke and Claire, “See you two in a bit, yeah?”

They both nodded as if they expected me to say no less. I turned my head back to Liam, and when he rolled his eyes, I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Zoey,” he spoke my name on an exhale.

“You wanna do this here?” I challenged.

Liam sighed once more. “No.” He glanced at Luke and Claire, “See you guys in a few.”

They murmured quiet goodbyes, and Liam grabbed my hand to lead me out of the restaurant. My eyebrows unintentionally raised at the gesture, but by the time he was pulling me along and squeezing my fingers with his, I felt them lower. We weaved between tables, our steps clunking against the salt-stripped wood floor until we reached the patio. There were patrons having pleasant conversations filling the area, and Liam quickly led me to the boardwalk. He stepped to the side, allowing the flow of traffic to walk around us, and dropped my hand.

His expression was hesitant. “Zoey—”

“If you’re about to tell me to stay with Luke and Claire, you’ve officially lost it.”

He exhaled heavily. “You really don’t need to do this. I don’t need you to see however this conversation is gonna go.”

“So, you have lost it,” I remarked. “Good to know.”

“I’ll just see if he has anything to do with all this, you can have a good quick visit with your family, and then hopefully we can drive back home with a better idea of who this freak is.”

“I know the plan, that’s not the point.” I spoke in a hasty whisper, “The last time you talked with your father, you wound up having a panic attack on your kitchen floor.”

“I remember,” he grumbled as he glanced to the ground. “Not my best moment, but kinda my point. Ya don’t need to see anything else if this whole talk goes to shit.”

“News flash, Lee—I want to be there for the moments when you’re not at your best.”

He looked at me, then. I mean, really looked at me—investigated my face—dove into my eyes to determine my sincerity. I watched his shoulders sag as his expression softened at my admission.

“You really mean that, don’t you?”

I huffed out a breath. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“I know,” he replied. “It’s just that you’re the type of person that normally shows people how they feel instead of actually saying it.”

His observation was astute. At any point when I was unable to speak the words that were truly on my mind, I would typically cover them up with something crass or clam up as if I were suddenly mute.

“Well…I’m saying it now,” I told him quietly.

Liam’s gaze was thankful, and he whispered, “Okay.”

“Okay, we’re going, then?”

He nodded, a hint of a sad smile on his lips, and we began to walk once more. The back of my right hand brushed with his as we strolled along, and I entwined my fingers through his. I heard him hum a contented sound as he brushed his thumb back and forth over my hand. I most certainly could have played off my gesture as an urge to comfort Liam in the moments leading up to what could be a stressful encounter, but I knew in my mind that was only a partial truth for the action soothed me. Though I wasn’t the one that needed it at the moment, I had solace in my bones. I gave his hand a gentle squeeze, he mimicked the movement, and I relished in the rush.

His touch had only left me for the brief moment when we entered my car. Liam had taken the driver’s seat with one hand on the wheel and the other clasping mine, and we drove in silence. It wasn’t until I noticed that we were leaving the city limits when I spoke up.

“I thought Carter was in Southport.”

“Just outside,” he clarified quietly.

I nodded, we continued our silent trip, and mere minutes later, Liam was turning off of the highway. He followed the road until it reached a dead end. A right, a left, and another right later, we hit gravel. Tires crunching through rock, he let go of my hand when he passed a sign that read:

Cherry Hills Village

Both of his hands gripped the steering wheel, and he rubbed the leather as if to busy his mind as we passed large oak trees on either side of the path. Small mobile homes were situated strategically throughout the greenery—some as close as a few feet from the next home, some hovering above the ground on cinder blocks, some with a car out front and some without. The vehicle slowed as we approached a slender, brown-sided home. There were wide, uneven steps along the front that led to a wooden patio. The handrail on the left side of them appeared to be long broken, the material hanging by the nails and drooping to the ground. Though the trees were lush and green, there were brown, deteriorating leaves scattered about the steps and porch. We slowed to a stop beside a white car, and Liam shoved the gear shift into park.

Staring at his hands that still remained on the wheel, he bitterly announced, “Home sweet home.”

He appeared to be reminiscing rancorous memories, and I assumed aloud, “You grew up here?”

“Yup,” he replied. “Hope you’re not expecting me to show you around the place; we’re getting the fuck out of here as soon as possible.”

Because it was obvious that he was hesitant to leave the car, I spoke up, “I always assumed that you liked your home.” He looked to me with brows pinched together, and I clarified, “Any time you came back to visit, you seemed like you were excited—happy.”

“Not here,” he stated quickly. “Seeing Cas, staying at her place—yeah. Here…no.” His line of sight shifted to the porch, and when I followed it to find Carter standing in the doorway with an agape jaw, he groaned, “Okay, let’s go.”

His seatbelt was off and he was out the door before I could even register his words. By the time that I moved to follow him, he was taking creaking steps onto the patio and I raced to catch up. Carter remained standing with the entrance to his home ajar, limbs limp by his side as he watched Liam stomp up to greet him. He looked him up and down, and Liam’s steps stopped when he was within an arm’s reach of his father.

“Liam,” Carter nearly breathed his name, shock still etched on his face at the sight of his son. “What are you—”

“Did you fuckin’ hire someone to follow Cas?”

Liam spat out the sentence as if it were coated in acid.

The surprise fell from his face, the realization of the cause of Liam’s visit clear as day, and Carter grumbled, “Of course. You’re here because of Cassandra.”

I tentatively stepped up to the patio, standing behind Liam as he retorted, “Well, I’m not here for you if that’s what you thought. Answer the question.”

“Yeah,” he replied simply, shrugging with both of his hands up by his head and then letting them fall to his thighs. “I did. She skipped town; I have a right to know where my daughter is, don’t I?”

“You use that same guy to find me, too?” Liam asked, his hands on his hips as he stared Carter down.

Carter rolled his hazel eyes. “Yeah.”

“Zoey,” Liam spoke my name, pointing behind himself to gesture towards me. His voice nearly shook as he asked, “Did you pay someone to follow Zoey?”

Carter shifted his weight on his feet to look into my eyes, and he smiled. Dimples appeared on his cheeks, and my chest wrenched at the sight.

“Hello, Zoey.”

“Carter,” Liam snapped.

Carter crossed his arms. “Thought I had a right to know what’s goin’ on in your life.”

Liam’s body stiffened. “So, you did?”

“I did—what of it?” He leaned a shoulder against the door frame, evaluating Liam’s reaction with morbidly curious eyes.

“You’re fucking insane,” Liam muttered. “What are you trying to pull, here? Are you trying to fuckin’ scare me into doing shit for you?”

Carter’s head tipped to the side. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“Good God,” Liam sneered at him, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if Carter’s face was spattered with spit from Liam’s irate words. “It doesn’t matter, I don’t give a shit about the reason anymore, you just need to fucking call him off.”

“Call him off?”

I squinted at him. Carter’s admission chipped away at my will to hold my tongue, and I spoke with little to no regard for the repercussions of my words.

“Do you need another glass thrown at your skull? Would that make the words clearer for you?” I glanced to my left and saw a smattering of small rocks that were overgrown with weeds below the patio. “A rock would do the job, right? If I find one sharp enough, I could give you a much needed lobotomy—just don’t fucking duck this time.”

Carter scoffed, speaking to Liam with bright eyes, “She’s got a mouth on her.”

“Uh huh,” Liam replied rapidly. “Answer the goddamn question, Carter, can you—”

“I haven’t talked to the guy in weeks, there’s no calling off to do,” he mentioned.

I scowled at his response. “Then why the fuck isn’t he going away?”

Liam added, “And who the hell is he?”

Carter’s eyebrows raised, wrinkles forming deep in his forehead. “Sounds like I need some context.”

“No,” Liam piped up. “Ya don’t.”

“Well, it feels like this is some important information for ya, here, Liam…valuable, even—”

Liam bit back, “If you even start to ask for money—”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I spat. “You want money, Carter?! I’ll give you some money if ya tell me who this guy is.”

Liam’s head snapped to mine. “Zoey—”

“No, Lee, I will. I don’t give a shit if you’re trying to reap the rewards of this goddamn hellhole that I’m in, Carter. Ya fuckin’ want context? A man was following me—from your orders, yes?”

Carter nodded, and began to reply in a quiet, “Yes,” but the word was cut off from my impending response.

“Good,” I sneered. “Glad you’re following along. I’m not gonna explain the entire goddamn soap opera that this has been, but long story short, I don’t really care for the fact that this guy tried to rape me and he’s just fuckin’ itching to finish the job. Ringin’ any bells for you?”

“He did what?” Carter returned, his eyes wide.

“Attacked me,” I clarified. “Left me notes; broke into my fucking apartment. I don’t know what you asked him to do, but—”

Carter stood up straight. “No, no—that wasn’t my guy—”

Liam interjected, “I need you to be honest for once in your goddamn life.”

“Do you really think I paid for that?” Carter asked, horrified.

“Well, ya already had all of us followed—”

“Liam, I’m not a fuckin’ monster,” Carter retorted.

“No, just a narcissist with both physically and mentally abusive tendencies,” I stated as I crossed my arms. “That’s all.”

“Okay,” Carter held up a hand to me, “easy, now—”

“Yeah, we’re past easy,” Liam snapped.

“I met with someone, I paid him, he gave me your addresses and some shit about what you do every day,” Carter insisted. “That’s fuckin’ it.”

Liam asked, “Why should I believe that?”

The question hung in the air, and I clung to it until I took in the sincerity on Carter’s face. He was aghast. His bronzed face held a pallor to it, and he glanced to the sky as he thought to himself regarding his response. He looked back to us with not guilt, but sympathy, his gaze pinched in such a way that it exaggerated the crow’s feet by his hazel eyes. My anger toward Carter because of who he is—what he had done to Liam and how I’d seen him behave—remained. Even with what little time I had experienced with the man, I loathed him. In my opinion, his actions in the past were unforgivable and no amount of blood relation to Liam could mend that thought. However, he finally spoke to both of us with an air of desperation:

“What good would I have to deny it? To…to do all that just to hide it from ya?”

And I really, truly believed him. There would have been no point to that—for if Carter was the driving force behind the man who was threatening me…if he were doing all of this to get back at Liam, he would have wanted to boast about it. To tell Liam that he needs to get with it, otherwise the man will remain in my life. To hold the actions that the man could perform above Liam’s head, or, rather, around his neck like a noose. But he wasn’t…and he was right. There was no use in denying it.

I glanced at Liam to find him shooting a scathing look at Carter.

“Liam?” I muttered his name, and though he didn’t look at me, I knew he was listening. “I think he’s telling the truth.”

Liam clenched his jaw, eventually letting out an exasperated exhale, and grumbled, “Jesus.” He pinched the area above the bridge of his nose as if he had an oncoming headache and said, “Okay, okay—fine. Carter, do you have the guy’s phone number?”

Carter shook his head, sadness written on his face, and he remarked, “Used a burner, so that’s long gone. Only sets up meetings if you write him and pay in advance.”

“Okay…aside from how sketchy that sounds,” Liam remarked, “with all the shit this guy gave you, you have no idea—he didn’t say anything about—anything like this shit with Zoey?”

“No.” Despite the strained nature of the relationship that Liam held with his father, Carter’s response was shockingly sorrowful. His tone conveyed that he wished he could help, his hands on his hips as he spoke, “You talk with the cops?”

Liam scoffed. “Yeah, we talked with the cops.”

Carter questioned lightly, “They can’t get the rights to look through the security cameras at your place?”

“Our place doesn’t have security cameras,” Liam spoke what had run through my mind.

“Well, yeah it does,” Carter said. “My guy said there was. I even saw one when I was there.”

Liam and I both froze, Carter’s lighthearted admission slowly sinking in until we both muttered in unison, “What?”

Liam added on, “Where did you see that?”

“Ceiling by the stairs; your side of the hall—tiny thing ’bout,” Carter held up a hand, touching his index finger to his thumb to signify roughly the size of a quarter, “this big.”

Liam watched him, and upon only seeing what I did in Carter’s expression—which was blaring, outright honesty—his eyes widened.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Liam muttered, looking to his father before saying, “but if that thing’s still at the complex, then…thank you.” Carter’s eyebrows raised, and Liam quickly stated, “I am not saying we’re good. I’m saying thank you for not being a shitty person for once.” He turned to face me, blew out a long breath, and said, “We need to get that camera.”

“And destroy it?” I asked. “If it’s his, it would give him less of an idea of where I am, but—”

“No, no—to see if there’s any way to look at what it’s recorded,” Liam corrected me rapidly. “We have no idea how long it’s been up there…or why it’s there, or if this guy even put it up or not, but it could have caught him breaking into your place if it has a good angle of your door.”

“Oh.” My reaction to his quick reasoning came out in a short gasp. “We could see who he is.”

Liam nodded, relief flooded me, and he repeated my words with a small smile, “We could see who he is.”

Our goodbye to Carter was practically nonexistent. With a short wave and something along the lines of, ‘We have to go,’ Liam and I were jogging back to my car with haste to spread the knowledge that we had just obtained. He took the driver’s seat, shook out his hands, and we were off.

I said, “I should call off meeting with my parents—get back to Salem faster, see if there’s any evidence to bring to the police—”

“There may be a better option than that,” Liam replied quietly—almost reluctantly.

“What?”

He sighed. “Call James.”

Chapter 15

My car had just finished rumbling through gravel, the sound dissipating as we hit pavement, when my phone’s dial tone ceased, and James spoke in my ear.

“Hey.” His tone was clipped—hesitant. “All good?”

The question was laced with an obvious concern, and I sighed as I stated, “Hey…yeah, all good—are you home?”

At the sound of my non-panicked voice signifying that no one was actively dying, he joked, “By home…you mean the streets? Or your place?”

I blew out a breath through my nostrils, unable to find the will to let out a full laugh. “I mean my place, Jay.”

“Yeah, yeah—what’s up?”

“I have been told that there may be a camera in the hallway.”

“A camera?” he repeated back to me. “Like…a security camera? Luke told me the complex didn’t have any.”

“Luke told you that?”

“I asked when he told me about everything—”

“Oh,” I paused, “yeah, no, um—not put up by the complex. I don’t think so, at least.”

“And, what, you think the guy put it up there?” James inquired with an edge to his voice.

“Dunno. Maybe—that’s all I got right now, though.” I recalled Carter’s description of it and stated, “It’s on the ceiling by the stairwell on Liam’s side of the hall—can you look for it and—”

“I’m like five steps ahead of you. Get camera, find footage, got it,” James replied quickly. I could hear his rapid footsteps and the unmistakable sound of my front door opening, and he asked, “Any idea what it looks like?”

“Small—maybe the size of a quarter?”

There were a few beats of silence, a handful of times where James was muttering so quietly to himself that it came across as incoherent, and then, finally, he whispered:

“Motherfucker.”

His curse sent my heart racing. “Did you find it?”

“Yup.” James grunted as if he were stretching his limbs and then said, “Can’t reach it, though. You got a step stool inside?” Before I could respond, he quipped, “Who am I kidding, of course you would own a step stool.”

“Is now the time for short jokes, Jay?” I snapped.

Liam rolled his eyes heavily and glanced to me as he murmured, “We all like joking about how short you are, but did he find it?”

I nodded, James’ soft laughter came through the speaker, and I told him, “Kitchen pantry, against the wall.”

“Okay, okay,” James spoke quietly. “There it is.”

I waited patiently as he assumedly made his way back into the hall. The blinker clicked away as Liam stopped at a stop sign, waiting for oncoming traffic to abate so he could turn as he tapped his fingers against the wheel to a beat that had no rhythm.

“One sec, let me set you down,” James said, and a dull thud sounded through the phone. Silence greeted me, and Liam murmured:

“Any time now, Jay.”

Shortly after Liam’s anxious muttering, we were turning to the left and on the road once again, and the sound of a door shutting quietly just barely tickled my eardrum.

I finally heard James once more. “That is a very tiny camera.”

My chest lurched. “You got it?”

“That I did.” His voice had a studious tone to it, and I could picture him holding the camera—however it looked—between his fingers; turning it to the left and right and squinting at it curiously. He groaned, and I heard my couch complain with the stress of his weight. “No fuckin’ clue how to work this thing.”

“Well, I don’t know how to work it—is there an off switch?” I thought aloud.

“Oh yeah,” James replied. “Already switched the ’lil bugger off.”

“Put him on speaker, Zo’.”

Liam focused on the road as he spoke, speeding up to just beyond the limit on the highway as he changed lanes. I obliged, setting the phone down in the cupholder between the seats as per usual.

“You’re on speaker, Jay,” I announced.

“Yello,” James called out.

“Just me, man,” Liam responded.

James let out an apparent, loud sigh. “Hi, Liam.”

His tone made me squirm in my seat, and Liam glanced to the ceiling briefly, awkward tension radiating from him at the sound of James’ annoyance.

Liam asked, “What, ah—what does this camera look like?”

“Like a…little cube. About an inch wide?”

“What about a name—brand name, whatever, any text on it?” Liam pressed.

“Liam,” James crooned his name sarcastically, “I’m not dumb. If there was a brand name on it, I would have googled it by now to get the manual on how to work this thing.”

Liam exhaled heavily. “Little buttons aside from the off switch?”

“A charging port, which I do not have the cord for, obviously, the thing was basically mounted on the wall.”

“Nothing else?” Liam voiced, “Something to click, an opening to pull it apart, anything?”

“You sell cameras for a living, Liam?” James retorted. “I thought you were going to school to teach…something-something save the children—”

I chastised, “Jay.”

“For the love of God,” James continued in a dramatic whisper, “won’t anyone think of the children?”

“James!”

“Fine, fine—sorry—there’s a little seam that I could try to pry open, but I don’t wanna break it. Why?”

“’Cause it sounds like a nanny cam,” Liam stated. “Took a class that went over security stuff, they were mentioned.”

James muttered, “And your expertise says…”

“That there could be an SD card in it.”

“So?” James responded. “I don’t have anything to plug an SD card into to read what’s on it…I could go to a store and find something for it, but—”

“I do,” Liam clarified.

“You do?” I asked with an eyebrow peaked high. “Why?”

Liam quickly told me, “Long story, school shit, stuff was on an old phone that had an SD card, didn’t want to lose anything.” He asked James, “You got a computer with a USB port?”

“That I do,” James replied.

“You know that light fixture in the hall?”

“The sconce?”

“Uh huh—I have an extra key to my apartment in there,” Liam noted. “Reach in and find it, go to my closet, there’s a blue duffel bag with a bunch of old school stuff in it, you’ll find the card reader in there.”

“Mmkay.” I heard James sit up once more, grunting as he pushed himself to his feet. “Going now—what’s it look like?”

“Like a flash drive,” Liam responded.

“On it. I’ll start looking through what’s been recorded to see if I can find anything on this thing.”

I quietly announced, “Thank you, Jay.”

“Oh, please, of course,” James returned with a sincere murmur.

“We’re going to just drive back,” I told him. “Skip seeing my parents—”

“Why?” James inquired.

I huffed out a breath, as my answer seemed obvious. “Well, if you find anything, I want to get it as soon as possible—bring it to the police.”

“I’ll do that,” James insisted.

“Oh—Jay, no, you don’t need to—”

“I said I wanted to help, Zoey,” he argued. “This is me helping. Luke told me that you were talking with a cop before?”

“Randy,” Liam said, “yeah.”

“’Kay, well…text me whatever I need in case I find anything.” James gently demanded, “Go have a good time at your parents’ house. You looked stressed to hell this morning—”

“Understatement of the year,” I grumbled.

“Yeah,” James replied. “I know. Go relax for a night.”

“Jay—”

“Stop arguing with me and go. Relax, Zoey,” James pressed. “Even if you did come back now, you wouldn’t make it back till, what, nine at night? Ten? That’s pointless; I’ll let you guys know if I see anything before you’re back.”

His point was well-made, and his persistent insistence to help with what would be a one-man-job in looking through footage of my doorstep made me sigh a breath of relief.

I nearly whispered, “Okay.”

“Okay?” James asked in clarification.

“Yeah,” I told him. “Okay.”

“Thank you,” he murmured in a grateful tone. “Talk soon.”

Liam was tense behind the wheel, and the line clicked off without an official goodbye. He drove with intent, and I watched him as he focused on the road. His grip squeezed the wheel. He leaned forward to check his blind spot on the right-hand side even though we didn’t need to change lanes. He cleared his throat—roughly. Far too roughly, in my opinion, and I found myself staring him down, contemplating the purpose of his tension.

“Liam?”

“Uh huh?”

“What’s wrong?”

Voicing the question aloud was pointless, but I did it anyway. I was certain that the emotions I was feeling regarding James’ well-intended demands were radiating throughout the car. I was more than grateful for his assistance, of course, but the lingering feeling of what I supposed was guilt sat deep in my chest.

Liam glanced at me with a single, thick eyebrow raised. “Jay cares about you.” I shrugged in response, and he pressed, “He does.”

“Sure—maybe he does.”

“He definitely does, Zoey.”

“Does it matter?”

He considered my question for a beat, and then finally replied, “No—I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” I asked. “What, are you…jealous?”

I didn’t say it in an accusatory tone in the least, but Liam appeared to take it as such. His blonde head bobbed backwards in surprise, and his lips pulled up in a grimace.

“I’m not fuckin jealous, Zo’.”

“Okay, okay.” I held up my hands in a weak defense. “What, then?”

Liam groaned, “This is stupid; we have other shit that’s way more important right now.”

“Yeah, other shit that’s basically just up in the air until Jay finds anything on that camera,” I reminded him. “So…what’s up?”

He looked to me hesitantly, and then asked, “Do you not…I dunno…care?”

“About Jay?” I returned.

“Yeah,” he stated in an exhale. “About Jay—’cause it doesn’t matter to me if he does. Hell, I get why he does. It’s impossible to not care about you—you’re fuckin’ you.” I felt heat rise to my cheeks at that admission, and he continued with, “But the other way around? I…I dunno.”

His unease made me want to immediately spit out a no. I wanted the answer to be no. My life, regarding the men that had woven themselves into it, anyway, would feel a hell of a lot simpler if that answer were no. It wasn’t, though, because I did care about James. However, my desire to be closer to Liam overshadowed that feeling entirely—and just because it was overshadowed didn’t mean that it was a feeling that was able to be entirely ignored.

“I do,” I muttered. “Care about Jay, I mean.”

Liam narrowed his eyes at the road before him, let out a grunt that came forth in a gritty, “Ah,” and muttered, “fuck, that feels bad.”

“I—I can’t just immediately turn it off since there was something there between us, but I told him I couldn’t do it with him anymore,” I reassured him, for his anguished tone clenched at my heart. “I told you that—I want to be with you.”

A jolt of shock ran through me at my last sentence. I hadn’t intended to speak it—hadn’t even realized it was on my mind—knew that the thought existed, but had buried it deep within me for the mere idea was so foreign that it frightened me.

“Be with me?” Liam nearly whispered.

Though we had most definitely crossed the line into what could be defined as relationship territory to others more comfortable with the term, the boundaries had not yet been clearly labeled between us. Our respective reluctance to that type of closeness with the opposite sex had made us both dance around the subject with expertly pointed toes and spinning pirouettes. And, yes, our minds had been otherwise occupied with the threat dangling above our heads—but now that the threat appeared to be in queue for potential extermination, the question, ‘What are we?’ hung between us.

And I had, seemingly, answered it. Blurted it out. Admitted my thoughts before I could even gauge whether or not Liam wanted the same…and there was no use in denying that any further.

We were well within the town of Southport again, slowly driving back to the restaurant. Liam caught my eye in a nervous glimpse as he steered through a lot near the boardwalk, searching for an empty spot to park. I finally nodded in response to his question, and the anxiety in his gaze was erased. His mouth pulled up into a soft smile, and his feelings on the matter at hand were ever-clear—there was no need to speak them aloud.

He turned the wheel, slid my car into a small space between two vans, and looked back to me as he shoved the gear shift forward. Clicking the button to release his seatbelt, Liam leaned over the center console and placed his lips on mine. My body sagged, I placed a hand on his neck to keep him near me as he began to pull away, and our mouths moved against each other’s softly.

His lips eventually left mine, and he muttered in a voice that had turned breathless, “We gotta go get Claire and Luke.”

I sighed, “Do we?”

The deep chuckle that he let out brought a grin to my face, and he replied, “Yep—and I need food.”

“Is your appetite back?” I asked sweetly. He nodded, and I stated, “Well, let’s go, then.”

Our walk back to the restaurant was wildly different than our earlier stroll. We went down the same area of the boardwalk. The weather was delightfully consistent, with a gentle breeze and sun showering over us. We held a loose grip on each other’s fingers as we stepped along, every so often squeezing in a similar fashion to how we had done previously. Those things were nearly the same, yes. The aura that surrounded us, however, had shifted to a bright, sunny vibe that caused us to walk with our shoulders held high, and it was far too short of a time until we approached the restaurant yet again.

Luke and Claire sat at the same table, eyeing us curiously as we happily made our way back to them. We sank into our respective chairs, Liam’s fingers tightly closed on mine once, and he let me go.

“Were the fish tacos good?” he asked the group with an upbeat tone and a wide, Cheshire grin. “They looked good—think I could get some to-go?”

Luke squinted at him with a morbid curiosity, and Claire’s red head bounced between the two of us multiple times before her baby blues finally landed on me.

“Why is he so happy?”

“Found out there’s a camera in the hallway of our complex,” I told her with a smile.

“What?” Luke spoke up with wide eyes. “No, there’s not—”

“We’ve already been over this, Lukey-Luke,” Liam stated. “Long story, but there is.”

Claire shook her head quickly. “What—what about your father, what did he have to say—”

Liam held up a hand, effectively cutting off her words, and he moved his focus to the waitress who had returned to the table.

“Hi,” Liam crooned at her with a freckle-stretching grin. “Can I get some tacos to-go?” The girl nodded, pulled out her notebook to write down Liam’s order, and he rapidly fired off a list of four different à-la-carte tacos. She scribbled them on her pad, skipped off to place his order, and Liam announced, “I am fuckin’ starving.”

I laughed softly at his usual chipper candor, thrilled that it had made its return, and Claire interjected once more in a ramble:

“I—back up, why are we feeling better about this situation all of the sudden? Liam, did your father do anything? Say anything? Whose camera is in our hallway? Do we even know if it’s there for sure? I mean, I haven’t seen one—”

“Baby,” Luke spoke to her in a quiet voice. “Easy—one question at a time.”

“Ah,” I began, “Carter did plenty—had someone keep tabs on Liam, his sister, and me—”

Claire interrupted with a well-placed, “That motherfu—”

“However,” I stopped her, “he doesn’t seem to be doing any harm and he also told Carter about the camera he saw in the hallway at our place, so…seems unrelated.”

“Oh,” Claire replied with a dawning realization, “so you think the guy planted a camera? Have you seen it? Of course, you haven’t, we’ve all been here—”

“You’re ahead of yourself, baby,” Luke murmured.

“Er—one, maybe, we don’t know. Two, no, we have not—but Jay has, and he’s trying to get any footage off of it now.” I reached for the half-full lowball glass in front of Claire and brought it to my face. “Is this alcohol?”

“Yes, but—”

I sipped the clear liquid without a further thought, and upon the blunt taste of salt and stinging tequila hitting my tongue, I spat it back into her cup.

“Jesus, Claire—”

“I was gonna drink that,” she complained. “Thanks for the backwash.”

“Are you drinking fuckin’ straight tequila with a salted rim?” I asked, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Is that basically a gigantic shot? Fuck me, that’s strong.”

“Good God, you’re like a hummingbird with ADHD. One subject at a time, Zoey.” Claire complained.

I squinted my eyes at her, for she was the one who was asking several questions at once not a minute earlier. I pointed at her chest, stating with a voice that was strained due to the burn of an alcoholic beverage, “Pot,” I moved the finger to myself, “kettle.”

She sighed heavily, “First of all, it’s a tequila soda…I think they accidentally rimmed it with salt because they started to make a margarita out of habit or something—I’m not hating it, doesn’t matter. You’re such a wimp when it comes to alcohol that’s not laced with sugar. Thank you for spitting it back into my glass. To the actual important subject at hand—you talked with Jay and he’s looking through this camera?”

“Uh huh,” I replied. “I will send him the case number Randy gave us a few days ago…” I fished my phone out of my jeans’ pocket and did so immediately, and once the message to James with a long string of letters and numbers was officially sent, I set my phone on the table with the glass face down. “And he said if he found anything, he’d bring it to the police before we get back.”

“Oh,” Claire thought to herself for a moment, “so…we can relax for tonight?”

“Yep,” I replied to her with a smile. “And if Jay finds anything like we’re expecting him to, this all may be behind us soon.”

Luke tossed back the remains of what looked to be a lager of some sort, set the glass back on the table, and asked, “So, now what?”

“Dinner and crash at my parents’ place; drive back first thing in the morning?” I voiced to the group, and they all nodded in somewhat of disbelief.

I didn’t think that any of us actually believed that we would make it to a casual, relaxed state in this entire mess. Though I had been actively seeking it out, I didn’t believe that I even expected to achieve that sort of solace. But, as we all slowly gathered our things and Liam awaited his doggy-bag filled with no less than a pile of tacos, I could tell that the sentiment was felt amongst us all.

We sauntered back to my car, and it wasn’t long before Liam was interrupting the jovial silence as we drove down the road. He spoke once he finished his second to-go taco as he sat in the passenger seat beside me.

“Hey Zo’?”

Crumpling the foil that it came in, he tossed it into the brown paper bag that sat at his feet and reached for a third. I smiled as he unwrapped it, slightly turning the wheel as I followed signs for Highway 140, and replied:

“Yes?”

“What should I introduce myself as?”

I unintentionally jerked my grip as I steered to the right, a car behind us honked angrily, and Liam splayed his napkin-laden hand on the window to secure himself in his seat.

Claire snorted loudly from behind us and as Luke cleared his throat, I whipped my gaze to meet both of theirs in the rearview mirror. Luke’s eyes met mine briefly, and he darted his focus all around, all the while blinking as if our glance at each other was entirely by chance. Claire, however, had raised a single brow in challenge as if to say, ‘Well, the man asked you a question, Zoey. Go ahead—answer.’

“To, um—to my parents?” I asked Liam.

“Uh huh.” He took a bite of his blackened fish taco.

“Er—”

“Hi, I’m Zoey’s boyfriend?” Claire offered.

Liam coughed loudly, dropped the taco back into the foil in his lap, and pounded his chest with a fist as he attempted to clear his throat.

I shrieked, “Claire!”

Luke laughed, speaking more to Claire than myself and Liam, “Hi, I’m the guy that’s been screwing your daughter.”

“Oh my God,” Liam hoarsely muttered to himself, throat stripped but finally able to speak, and craned his neck to glare at Luke. “What the fuck, man?”

“What?” Luke returned in a guileless tone. “They’ll be thinking it.”

“Luke!” Claire admonished him, though her giggle at his comment softened the blow.

“Why did you have to say that?” Liam whined. “I wasn’t worried before, but now I am.”

Luke smiled devilishly. “I’m on edge from lack of sleep—which, coincidentally, is your fault. Revenge is so sweet.” He continued offhandedly, his voice alight with humor, “Just tell them that you’re not very big on semantics, but she’s living with you for the time being, so…y’know…whatever that means.”

“I—do we have to talk about that?!” Liam questioned the entire group nervously.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I reassured him. “They’re not gonna ask and it’s beside the point because it’s temporary,” I stressed the last word, narrowing my eyes at Luke and Claire in the rearview mirror, and then placed my gaze back on Liam. “You’re Liam—just introduce yourself as Liam.”

Liam wrapped up the remainder of his meal and threw it into the bag, groaning, “God dammit, Luke.”

I checked my blindspots around me as I changed lanes, and then reached to grab my phone from the cup holder beside me.

“Okay, speaking of, I should probably give my mom an ETA. Let her know we have one more for dinner.”

I selected her number on my call history and set it to speaker. Instead of a typical ringing, we were all blessed with the sound of Sir Mix-a-Lot making bold claims regarding his anaconda and whether or not it would be pleased with a bunless lady.

“Is that a fucking ringback tone?” Claire asked in disbelief.

Luke stated, “I thought they discontinued those.”

“Chris has her ways,” I told them both.

“My loving daughter!” My mother announced herself through the speaker in such a way that I could see the smile in her eyes. “You’re late.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I replied. “We’re a little less than an hour out.”

“Sounds good!” she trilled. “You got the redhead with you?”

“Hello, Chris!” Claire called from behind me.

She sighed wistfully. “My stepchild, so happy you’re coming. Did you bring your play thing?”

“My play thing?” Claire chuckled.

“Yes, dear—grey eyes, fluffy hair, model-ish type face—you know.”

“My hair is not fluffy,” Luke said.

“Fantastic—hello, Lukey,” my mother greeted him adoringly.

“Did you tell her to call me that?” Luke asked me in a groan, and I laughed as I shook my head no.

“So, one hour away?” she repeated my words back to me. “Beds are ready. We can chat on dinner when you’re in. I was thinking pasta…or pork…I can’t decide, but I do have a great meat I could use for a bolognese—”

“About that,” I chimed in. “We have one more with us.”

“Did you pick up a homeless person off the freeway again, dear?” she joked. “I keep telling you to stop doing that; it’s not like the birds you used to rescue and nurse back to health when you were a child.”

Anxiety abated for the moment and tickled pink at the prior sentence my mother had spoken, Liam murmured, “You rescued birds as a kid?”

“Ah, hello deep-voiced mystery man!” Chris exclaimed. “She did—I cannot stress how many dead birds ended up in our home because they didn’t pull through, my God.”

“Mother.”

“What? It’s true. We’re lucky we didn’t contract some sort of bird-to-human virus at some point—anyway. Who’s the tagalong?”

“Ah—Liam. I’m Liam.”

“Liam.” She tested his name before saying, “I’ll get another bed ready for you, I take it you’re not just staying for dinner?”

Liam rushedly insisted, “Oh, um, no—I can take a couch. Or the floor. I’m not picky, er, Mrs. Sheffield—”

“Mrs. Sheffield,” Chris returned incredulously. “My God, the manners. It’s Chris, dear, and don’t be ridiculous. Zoey, where did you find this one?”

“I’ll see you in a bit, Mom,” I sidestepped her inquisition. “Bye.”

“Yes, yes, bye everyone!”

There was a general hum of an adieu by the remainder of the car, and the line clicked silent.

I muttered to Liam, “My mom’s a little—”

“Exactly like you?” he finished my sentence with a lopsided smirk.

“I’ve been told,” I replied with a smile, satisfied that his humor was intact. My phone buzzed in my hand, and upon a quick glance, I saw that it was James. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” All three voices spoke in unison to my muttered profanity.

“Nothing, nothing, it’s Jay,” I replied, handing my phone to Liam so I could focus on the road. “Read it for me? All I saw was his name.”

Liam looked to the screen in his palm, narrowed his eyes for but a moment at the preview of the message as if he were struggling to read it, and then sighed.

“He said that he got the card reader at my place—”

“Card reader?” Claire inquired.

“SD card in the camera; I had a reader for it to plug into a computer to see any footage that’s saved on it; Jay was going to get that at my place,” Liam told her quickly. “Anyway—just said it’s taking forever to download it all, but he’ll update us later.”

I let out the breath that I had begun to hold, we all gave him a collective nod, and I felt the four of us sit back in our seats. The expectation of any news on my horror film of a life put on hold once again, we continued our drive in a silence that was far less comfortable than it was mere minutes ago. I swallowed at the anxious lump that had formed in my throat, willing it to abate. The sensation persisted long after Liam’s announcement of James’ message, for it seemed that the only thing that would be able to dull the endless murmur of the memory of the man moaning in my ear was time.

Chapter 16

The view was beautiful this time of year—it was always beautiful, really, but there was something about the summer that just made the area more… lush. We drove through the spacious streets as we wound through the town, the sprawling green lawns well-manicured and the houses ostentatious. The real estate all backed to a small lake that was tucked away, the late afternoon sun gleaming off of the water, and Liam peered out of the window of my car in an awestruck, glassy-eyed gaze.

“What’s with the McMansions?”

“McMansions?” I returned to Liam.

“You take some sorta crazy shortcut or what? Don’t you normally have to pay to get into areas like this?” He craned his neck to view the properties around us. “We’re gonna get kicked out, Zo’.”

I knew the neighborhood well, for it was where I was raised.

“We won’t get kicked out,” I chuckled. “This is where my parents live.”

“Huh?!” he exclaimed, turning his head to me with disbelieving eyes.

“My parents live here,” I stated again. “I grew up here.”

“You’re rich?”

I laughed. “I’m not rich. My parents have a comfortable amount of money.”

Liam exclaimed, “That’s what rich people say, Zo’!”

“Mmkay, take a breath, Lee.”

“Take a breath,” he muttered. “Take a breath? How am I supposed to take a breath? You’re loaded.”

“I am not loaded.” I clarified once more. “And neither are my parents—”

“Save it, Zoey, your parents are loaded,” Claire stated.

My parents’ home came into view, their driveway a winding road through azalea bushes on either side that bloomed in a vibrant pink. I drove slowly up the path, stopping when I reached the wooden doors of the garage and putting my car in park. Claire and Luke began to gather their things, and as I glanced to Liam and saw him anxiously picking at stray fibers on the worn spots on his jeans, I announced quietly:

“Meet you guys in there in a second.”

Claire met my gaze in the rearview mirror, nodding as they filed their way out of the back seat and closed the door behind them.

“Lee?”

“Uh huh?”

“You’re freaking out.”

His shifty eyes landed on me and stayed there, silently apologetic. “I don’t know what to do with this,” he admitted softly.

“With meeting my parents?” I asked.

“I’ve never met anyone’s parents before, Zoey,” he noted. “I mean—guys in high school, whatever, yeah, but—”

“You seemed to be fine with the idea earlier—”

“I was—am. Am fine with the idea…but this,” he waved a hand around at what surrounded us, “is…a lot.”

“Liam,” I attempted to console him, “none of this makes a difference.”

“Zoey—”

“It doesn’t. Really.”

“You know where I grew up—”

“Yeah,” I replied quickly, “I do, but—”

“But?” he interjected with more purpose. “But I’m trailer park trash, Zoey. This—”

I gasped, and Liam silenced himself at my scathing look.

“You called yourself what?” I snapped, and he chewed on the inside of his cheek anxiously. “Get the fuck out of here with that,” I scolded him sharply.

He tried to clarify, “I just mean—”

“Nah, Liam, you’re not defending that,” I spoke, and he closed his mouth, looking to his hands in his lap. “No one,” I enunciated each word carefully, “in this house,” I pointed towards the front door that was just beyond the garage, “Gives. A shit. About where you’ve lived. They may ask, but no matter if you tell them that you grew up down the goddamn street or if you mention a low-income area or if you said that you didn’t have a home at all or if you said that you were raised by fucking wolves, they wouldn’t care.”

Liam twisted his hands together, continuing to focus on them as he murmured, “You really think that?”

“I do.” I tried to catch his eye to no avail and requested more gently, “Look at me.” He sighed quietly and turned his head, his expression somber. I asked, “Are you good?” He finally nodded, and I quipped, “Good. ’Cause if you pull that card again, I’m tossing you out on the street.”

Gentle appreciation shined in his eyes, and he murmured, “Okay.”

His lips curved in a barely-there smile, and it crooked the scar over his lip in such a way that my desire to grab his jaw in my hands was unstoppable. I did so, leaning toward him as I yanked his mouth to mine in a rough kiss that mimicked my anger at his recent self-portrayal. I pulled away from him abruptly, his jaw moved against my right palm as he brushed his lips together, and I ordered him in a tone that was far softer than I had intended:

“Now, get the fuck inside.”

His smile widened, and he obliged.

We walked past the garage, through a small arched iron gate, and I heard Liam whisper a quiet profanity to himself as we entered the courtyard. It was a square-shaped area, about thirty feet across, edged by the gate we walked through and the outer walls of the house. Our steps sounded softly on red brick. To the right, there was a small vegetable garden that spanned the entire edge. Vines grew up the large, irregular stones, the greenery weaving its way upward in a pattern that followed the grout. The remaining space in the courtyard contained a well-used wicker sitting area that was situated around a circular fire pit. Two logs were placed in the center—they were almost completely burnt, and I assumed that they were left over from the night prior. The windows along the stone walls of the house were open, the lighting inside bright as the sunshine reflected off of the light-yellow paint in the kitchen. Luke and Claire’s happy voices emitted from the openings, mingling with my mother’s. To the left was the front door—a heavy, arching entrance with espresso colored wood and a large, antiqued door knocker that sat a few inches above my eye level.

I beckoned Liam to follow me as I strolled past the windows and toward the entrance.

“A comfortable amount of money?” he whispered disbelievingly down into my ear.

I shot my gaze skyward, grasped the handle, and pushed the door to let us inside, announcing our presence with, “Hello, hello!”

There was a wooden shoe rack to our right along with a spot on the wall with hooks to hang coats, and Luke and Claire’s respective bags were placed on the floor. I marched past it all, following the hallway to the hum of voices, and found them all gathered in the kitchen. The island was large, and the granite dark. Four bar seats were along one side—two of which, Luke and Claire were leaning against casually. The cabinetry mimicked the color of the front door, almost as dark as black coffee, and they spanned the walls behind the island. Beyond that, the lawn leading to the dock on the lake was visible through the window above the sink. The sunlight from the courtyard shined through the open panes to the right, lighting up rectangular spots on the hardwood floor.

“Hey there!” my mother greeted us from the stove on the left, nearly bouncing past Luke and Claire. Her blonde hair, as usual, was up in a clip. I looked to the face that I knew I would resemble in several years to come, and smiled. She wrapped her arms around me and gave me a brief squeeze before stepping back, placing her hands on her hips, and observing my appearance. “How was the drive?”

I shrugged. “You know—long-ish. Not bad.”

“Good, good,” she muttered, turning to face Liam who was silently standing to my right. She flashed him a broad grin. “Liam, right? I’m Chris.”

He returned her grin, though it was a bit weak. “Nice to meet you.”

She looked him up and down for a moment so brief that I could have imagined it—no doubt questioning his presence in my life and how significant it was.

“Likewise, dear,” she replied, pointing a finger at him. “Pasta or pork? I’m taking votes.”

I breathed out a quick sigh of relief at her lack of questioning about our relationship.

“Um,” Liam looked down to me as if I would give him my own opinion before he would share his.

“Oh, don’t ask her,” she told him with a scoff. “Guests get to choose; she has no say.”

I argued, “Hey, I’m a guest, too.”

She waved a hand in my direction, dismissing my comment without even glancing my way. “Sure, you are, dear. Liam—pork? Pasta?”

A smirk had risen to his face at her naturally sarcastic behavior. “Pasta?”

“Ooh, you broke the tie—pasta, it is.”

“Where’s Dad?” I questioned.

“Y’know, it wasn’t my turn to keep track of him,” my mother replied, walking just past Liam to yell around the corner and into the living room, “Chris!” There was a murmuring of my father’s voice from the opposite end of the kitchen. She turned on her heel, muttering, “Be right back,” and strolled past me and Liam, then Luke and Claire, and walked down the hallway to the left of the island that led to a dining area and their master suite.

“Both your parents are named Chris?” Liam asked curiously.

I chuckled. “Yup. Guess I never mentioned it—Chris and Christine. Want me to show you around?”

Liam exhaled softly. “Lead the way.”

I slowly walked Liam through the property. Showed him all six bedrooms including where my mother had slated for him to sleep for the night. Ambled with him in the backyard, the view of the lake reflecting the orange-tinged sky as we stepped along. Introduced him to my father who, in typical Chris fashion, greeted him with a stiff smile, evaluated Liam with narrowed eyes beneath his glasses, and gave him a curt handshake.

My father was far shorter than Liam—about five-foot-nine to Liam’s six-foot-three. A man who enjoyed the great indoors, my father was pale, blonde like the rest of us, slimly built, and enjoyed a good pair of khakis. He was, to say the least, nowhere near intimidating. However, Liam practically took a step backward underneath my father’s scrutinizing gaze, and I saw what I could only describe as the fear of God in his chocolate eyes.

I snorted as my dad walked away from us, his narrow shoulders bobbing along as he bounced on the pads of his feet back to the house.

“Does, ah—does your dad not like you being around men?” Liam asked gently, focusing on my father leaving us and rapidly returning to the house.

I shot him an inquisitive glance. “You know I haven’t brought men home.”

We strolled through the grass, headway for the kitchen to join the others, and Liam shrugged.

“Yeah, I know.” He held up his index and middle finger, pointing them both at his eyes as he noted, “He’s just got this look.”

“Yeah,” I stretched out the word, “that’s just how he is.”

“Just how he is?”

“It takes my dad a bit to open up; I wouldn’t take it personally. He comes across as a grump to about…ninety-eight percent of people until you get to know him better,” I noted, and Liam hummed as if the thought were intriguing to him. I asked, “What?”

“So, you take after both of your parents, then,” he muttered with a smile.

I shoved his shoulder, and he laughed as I returned, “Oh come on, I don’t do that!”

“Oh, yes, you do,” Liam replied.

“You’re telling me that I was like that when we first met?” I challenged. “We were friends within, like, two seconds flat.”

Liam tapped on his chest. “I’m the two percent,” he said with a broad grin.

I rolled my eyes as hard as I could manage, though I knew that there was some truth to his words.

There was still no significant word from James. He had texted, of course, to alert us to the non-news that there were hours upon hours of footage depicting a near-still image of my front door. I tried not to let that thought diminish any relief that I had obtained in the past few hours. It was difficult to do so—but not impossible, for the world that I had slipped away to was one that set my mind at a blissful ease.

We ate pasta in the dining room. My mother opened a bottle of red wine. We made idle chit-chat about our jobs. Luke and Claire told their most riveting tale from behind the bar which, thankfully, had nothing to do with the slap incident. I mentioned Brenda’s forgetfulness when it came to, well, anything, to which my mother replied, “That does happen after you have kids. Thanks, by the way.” Liam had gained enough confidence by the end of our meal to briefly mention his last construction job, stated that people tend to speed by on the highway as you work, and quipped that it makes you fear for your life as he took a rather large sip of wine. Chris—my mother, Chris—asked if he’s always worked in construction, Liam mentioned his school curriculum, and my father actually smiled when Liam said that his major is in elementary education.

The hours passed. I helped my mother with the dishes. She quietly whispered in my ear, asking, “So, the blonde boy is important, yes?” I shot her a glare that told her not to pry, and she muttered something along the lines of, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

We all inevitably wandered to our own beds—Luke and Claire bunking together and Liam and me separately, and though I was laying under plush blankets that would have kept me plenty warm by the end of the night, I lacked the comfort that my childhood bedroom typically provided. I had spent nearly an hour tossing and turning, unable to sleep as I itched for a supplemental source of warmth. Nothing would do, though, because the problem wasn’t that I was cold. It was that I was yearning for a body—a very specific body…and once I came to that conclusion, it didn’t take me long to get up from my bed and walk into the room that just so happened to share a wall with mine.

I opened the door and before I could even see him, I heard that he was already snoring softly. I walked on the pads of my feet so as not to wake him, eyeing him as he snoozed. The room was cold, the fan above cranking away at a rapid pace, and the ivory quilt on the bed was pulled all the way up to his shoulders. He laid on his left side, his mouth open, quiet breaths wisping through his lips, and he looked so comfortable that I almost considered leaving altogether. Almost.

I lifted the blanket with care, climbed in, and buried my head in his chest. The hair there scratched my cheeks, I smiled at the sensation, and I trailed a hand over his waist and to his back. The intoxicating smell of him along with the comfort of his presence, a comfortable bed, the quiet ambiance of a running fan, and my tired eyes was a combination that proved to have an effect on me that was so satisfying, it was dizzying. I nuzzled into him once, squeezed my grip on his back briefly, and as I relaxed my arm, his slow breath hitched. His entire body flinched as he came to, and I chuckled gently.

Liam hummed, wrapping an arm around me, and he let out a happy sigh. His fingers grazed along my back, brushing underneath my top, and I stretched into his touch.

He muttered in my ear, “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

The husky way that he said it made a slow heat settle between my thighs, and I couldn’t help but laugh softly in return. As enticing as the insinuation behind his words was, it wasn’t what I was intending to do in the least.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

I looked up to him, and he trailed his nose from my forehead down to my cheek, kissing the side of my face with smiling lips.

“No?” he asked, his voice full of a sleepy grit. “Kinda hard to fool around if I’m sleepin’.”

“I wasn’t planning on that,” I admitted quietly.

Liam stilled for a moment, and then pulled away from me to glance at my expression.

“Wait, wait,” he leaned back, throwing an arm overhead to reach for the lamp on the bedside table, and turned it on. Ambient light flooded the room from the small bulb, and Liam looked at me, perplexed. “What d’you mean, you weren’t planning on it?”

I exhaled. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Weirdly enough,” Liam joked, “I’m not a mind reader, so…ya kinda have to.”

“I came in here to sleep.”

His eyebrows flew up. “Well, now I’m awake. You wanted to sleep with me?” I nodded into his chest again, unable to look into his questioning eyes, and he mocked me in a gentle, adoring tone, “First the I want to be with you comment, now this—what, are ya goin’ soft on me?”

I muttered a, “Maybe,” that was almost entirely muffled by his skin on my lips. I kissed his pectorals a few times and asked, “Are you?”

He looked down to me, silently beckoning me to angle my face to his with his lack of a verbal response. His dark eyes held a contented gaze, and his mouth crooked up in the tiniest of grins.

“Is it not obvious?” he whispered, and I shook my head. His nose brushed against mine, and my eyes fluttered closed at the feel of it as he murmured, “You’re my home, Zoey. I’m a hell of a lot more than soft for you.”

His quiet confession whilst being tangled in his arms hollowed me out—cracked my chest open—carved his name on my insides. And though there were moments in which I had felt as though my feelings for Liam were lost within a burn that I couldn’t suppress, they paled in comparison to what was currently roaring around me. I was gone. It went against everything that I had ingrained in my individualistic fuck men mentality that I had built for myself over my entire life, but I knew. I knew that I loved Liam Cohen.

I brought my hands up into his hair and pulled his face to mine, our lips brushed together, and as I felt his vocal cords rumble in his throat in a satiated hum, I pondered if I had, in fact, turned to ash. Singed past the point of recognition only for me to blow away in the wind—and I found that even if I had, I wouldn’t have cared. Our tongues slid against each other’s as the kiss deepened, and, having willingly accepted my cremation of sorts, I moved against him greedily.

Liam pulled away from me with a wry smile, noting in a single breath, “Thought you wanted to sleep.”

I dragged my mouth to his neck, his five o’clock shadow gloriously scraping against my lips as he tilted his head back.

I rapidly replied, “Change of plans.”

I nipped at his pulse point, his hum vibrating through his skin and onto my mouth, and his hand grasped at the material of my shirt, tugging it gently upwards in a silent suggestion to remove it. I begrudgingly took my mouth away from his neck, sitting up to pull the top over my head. I threw it to the floor with every intention of doubling back to once again feel his heartbeat tickle my lips, but I didn’t have the chance to. Our roles were quickly reversed, and Liam was now working his way down my neck with his tongue. I tangled my hands in his hair once more, ushering him to the spot between my clavicle and my throat. I sighed, and he lingered there until my hips were rocking forward and back with the expectation of a friction to appease me.

His mouth traveled down to my breasts, trapping my right nipple and trailing his tongue over it languidly.

“Lia—”

I had begun to moan his name, but his hand was promptly placed over my mouth. His dark, heavy-lidded eyes glanced up at me.

He whispered with a wicked smile, “Don’t wake the house, Sweets,” and went back to work.

I laughed softly. The endearment matched Liam’s persona somehow, and, because I knew that he did see me as sweet when so many others didn’t, I found it settling over me like a warm blanket. My initial chuckle turned to a tremble as Liam tugged at the waistband of my shorts, moving them just enough to place his hand against my clit and circle it gently.

The, “Ah,” that burst from me was muffled, and his grip squeezed at my jaw.

His fingers entered me, stroking me in a come hither motion that made my eyes roll into my head, and he moved his lips from my nipple to my ear.

“Does that feel good?” his deep voice rumbled, and I nodded. He bucked against me in time with the thrusting of his hand, his erection hard against my hip, and I groaned into his palm. He cooed, “Shhh,” and removed his fingers from me.

I whined a quiet, “Come back.”

He brought up the two fingers that were glistening with my arousal and placed them in his mouth, eyeing me with a scorching gaze as he sucked at them. Truthfully, I could have come from the sight of that alone, and the look on his face showed that he was well aware of my appreciation of the gesture. Smug, the corner of his lip pulled up in a lopsided, pleasure-induced grin, and his wet fingers moved down to his briefs, yanking them away.

I pulled my left leg out of my shorts and bent my knee over his hip, Liam angled himself toward me and touched his forehead to mine, and when he pushed into me, both of our bodies froze. The pleasure of the action was intense, as it usually was, however at the moment that we joined, the bedframe creaked loudly—so loudly that the concern of being heard was a valid one.

“This won’t work, will it?” Liam breathed.

I chuckled, “No.” I wiggled my hips, we both inhaled sharply, and I suggested, “Wanna move this party to the floor?”

He smiled, nodded emphatically, and we began our rapid relocation to the ground. I hopped off of the bed and kicked my shorts to the floor, Liam snatched the ivory quilt and laid it over his shoulders as if he were wearing a makeshift cape, and when we reached each other again, our naked bodies smacked together. We stood at the foot of the bed, Liam draping the quilt over both of us as he wrapped his arms around my shoulders, and he groaned a quiet noise as I kissed him deeply. We sank down, I straddled his hips, and I took him inside of me as we both sat on the rug beneath us.

Liam let out a gritty, “God, Zo—”

I cut off his words with my hand on his mouth this time, repeating his prior gesture back to him, “Shhh.”

His eyes smiled, and he kissed my palm. Our bodies writhed together, a leisurely tempo that made me want to stretch against him and bury my head in his neck. There were longing glances of our heated eyes, fiery touches grazing each other from hip to head, and our delicious motions never stopped.

Liam kissed the space behind my ear and whispered, “I think I like you best like this.”

The full force of my voice taken from me, I breathed jokingly, “On the floor?”

He reached up with his blanket-laden hands, brushing either side of my face, and replied in a serious tone, “No, just…like this.”

Like this. Intimate. Slow. I understood the sentiment entirely, for our gentle motions had worked both of us up to the point that we were borrowing each other’s breath. The air was hot between us, rushing from one of our mouths only to be sucked in by the other’s in desperate, soft gasps. Each movement that we made turned to one that I craved with my entire being; his fingers gliding along my back then reaching up to tug at my hair, his palpable yearning sounding in my ears in a quiet moan as I kissed his face and neck, our respective shuddering as we knew that we were both close to the point of no return.

I mewled, “Yes—just like this.”

He whimpered beneath me, the sound strangely primal, and our bodies continued to rock together—no faster, no slower—until we were vibrating. Our names were called to each other with barely audible mutterings, and when I watched him silently come with a look of desperation in his gaze, I felt it. We had never said the words, but I felt my love for him reflected back to me in his eyes. My insides convulsed, I bit his neck to stop my scream, and he held me to him tightly as we both spiraled down.

For quite some time, our collective panting breaths were the only noise in the room. I rose and fell as his chest moved, unsure if it was his rapid pulse or mine that I could feel thrumming through my cheeks as I buried my head in the crook of his neck. It all slowed, eventually, and then it was simply silent. We remained still for so long that Liam’s grip on me had loosened. I wondered idly if he had fallen asleep, and I pushed myself up off his chest to peek at his face.

He grinned lazily, blinking a few long, slow blinks as he looked up at me.

“Hi,” he whispered.

I smiled, returning just as quietly, “Hey.”

“Not to ruin this,” he murmured, “but I think my ass is going numb.”

I felt my shoulders shake with a silent laugh. “I have to get up, too.”

He chastised me softly, “Don’t tell me you’re going somewhere, I was promised that you’d be in bed with me.”

I squeezed his jaw in my right hand, the shadow of facial hair prickling my palm, and I planted a brief kiss on his lips.

“Bathroom,” I clarified. “And water—be right back.”

Liam nodded, and I stood. Keeping the quilt on his shoulders, he took a few bumbling steps to where his boxer briefs had landed, stepped into them and pulled them on, and all but fell back into bed on his front with a grunt and a loud creak of the mattress. I chuckled at his exhausted behavior, quickly dressed myself, and tiptoed out of the door with only one glance back at his smiling eyes.

My feet padded against the hardwood, my jelly-like legs bringing me straight past the living area and into the kitchen. I reached into the cabinet to the right of the sink overlooking the lake, stretching on my toes to grab a tall glass. I filled it from the tap, drank it quickly in just a few gulps, and the glass made a hollow noise as I set it back down in the stainless-steel sink. I stared out into the night, entranced by the way the water rippled under the moonlight.

A touch caressed the back of my neck, and I felt my mouth pull up in a gentle smile. Warm fingers traced their way up, wrapped around to the side of my face, and just as I was allowing my head to loll into the palm spanning my entire cheek, I gasped—because it wasn’t Liam.

Liam’s hands were calloused—not to the point that his skin was rough, but they held enough of a grit to them that I could feel the texture on my skin. I regularly relished in the soft scratching when he would trace his fingers along my spine or over my shoulders. This touch, however—it was soft. Far too soft.

And it clasped over my mouth in the blink of an eye.

Chapter 17

One would think that the specifics of a traumatic event would be burned into the victim’s brain. That’s what had happened any other time that I had encountered this man, after all. This was…well, this was different. There were bits and pieces—snippets of the interaction that I had just experienced which were remarkably vivid, as expected. The remainder, however, seemed to have been erased.

The beginning, I remembered.

He had approached me from behind, clasping his hand over my mouth to ensure that I wouldn’t scream, and while I did gasp at the realization that it wasn’t Liam caressing the back of my neck, I had otherwise frozen. I didn’t know how he had gotten into my parents’ home, and I didn’t have the ability to ask for my limbs and vocal cords had locked themselves in terror.

“Found you,” he whispered in my ear, and I focused on my breathing—in and out, in and out. “So quiet for me,” he crooned. “You know just what I like.”

I could see his faint reflection in the window, and though his appearance was unfamiliar to me, the description that I had obtained of him, vague as it was, was apt. He was tall—so tall that my head just barely reached his chest. Slim. Pale. His hair was black and short, and he was looking down at my horrified expression with a Cheshire-like grin. Obscure as the picture of him was in the glass, I could still make out the large darkened circles under his gaze. One could assume he was tired considering his pallor, but his eyes—his eyes were so wide that I could have been convinced that there was glue on his lids holding them open. It was the stare of a man who had lost his sanity, and though I had wondered time and again why he had chosen me in this grand endeavor of his, I had never thought to question his grip on reality until now.

The realization was a heavy one that turned my stomach to stone, sinking it to my toes for the man behind me was, without a doubt, deranged. The consideration of why he was so hellbent on finding me and stealing what he could from my body—of where he came from and how he was here—was moot. The glimmer in his eyes was the definition of psychosis. And that, in itself, terrified me to the point that my breath was taken from me because if that were truly the case—if this man, whoever he was, had just…lost it—there may be only one way to stop him. The thought chilled me through, and I shook in his grip.

It’s then that the memory becomes fuzzy. I know what I did, of course, but I’m still unsure as to how I acted so quickly. The knives were to the left. I remember the metallic sliding of the blade against the magnet on the wall. I thrust it behind me, felt little to no resistance, and moved in a rapid sawing motion until the man hissed a breath through his teeth. That was all playing in my mind on repeat. The rest turned to little second-long clips—a highlight reel, if you will—until he had me pinned to the ground.

I had escaped his initial grasp, that much was clear. I sprinted into the living room and through the door that led to the dock. My bare feet were cold on the grass. I made it ten rapid paces out into the night and I was tumbling down—whether I had tripped or he had forced me down, I don’t know. My right cheek broke my fall, and he was behind me once again, a hand pressing on the back of my neck with enough force to make me wheeze.

I drew in a large, ragged breath, ready to let it loose into the still air in a gut-wrenching scream, and he tsked me, “No, no-no, baby. You won’t want to alert your friends—your parents—Liam. You belong to me, now, love…and I can kill anyone who gets in my way.”

I think I cut him with the knife again. I think I felt him clutch at his ribcage and loosen his hold on me as he fell to the side. I think I heard him call me a bitch. All I knew for sure was twofold. The first was that as the man steadied himself on the ground, I witnessed the grasp of his thin fingers around a small, black gun, and the second was that I was running again, and he wasn’t on my tail.

And now, I was here in the wooden shed behind the tree next to the dock. I was shaking, though I wasn’t cold. My pajama shorts were ripped. The scrape on the right side of my face burned with a vengeance. I was dirty, patches of moist soil and grass stains clinging to my skin and clothing. I was obscured, at the very least. Hidden, for now. My legs ached because I couldn’t find it in me to sit—instead, I was crouched low to the ground, huddling in the shadows because I was waiting. Expecting him to return. Knowing he could find me again, yet unable to run because I would be exposed.

My fingers gripped the handle of the knife so hard that my knuckles ached, and I held the blade out in front of me in an act of self-defense. The shed was small. So small that even I had little room as I squatted in the corner next to fishing poles and tackle boxes. As much as my mind was buzzing with the odd, toxic mix of adrenaline and fear, I still attempted to map out my next actions. The first idea was to launch at him blade facing out when he would inevitably find me. Another was to wait here until it appeared that the threat was no longer, race back to the house and lock all the doors, alert Liam, Claire, and Luke about what happened, and call the police. It was a good option—a sensible option—but the man’s voice in my ear saying that he would kill anyone who gets in his way was grating. And then, because his voice continued to ring over and over in my mind, there was the consideration that I should give in.

Give up.

I mean, we tried. All of us—Liam, James, me…Claire and Luke, even. We really did try to make sure that my life wouldn’t come to this. To me waiting for the inevitable, whatever that may be.

It all seemed irrelevant now—all of our feeble attempts at my salvation—because I could hear the deep clunking of steps against the wood of the dock. The sound rattled in my ears. Drowned out the faint noise of the lake lapping up onto the shore. I rested on the tips of my toes, grasping the knife and ready to force myself forward with a tackling stab, and what I knew as fear—fear for my life—twisted into an amalgamation of relief and horror as the voice that belonged to the man on the dock called to me quietly.

“Zoey?”

The breath left my lungs in a rattle as Liam’s anxious call of my name reached my ears, and I dropped the knife. It fell to the ground with a dull thud, and though the sound of him calmed me enough to drop my weapon, the realization that Liam was now out in the open—out in the open with a man who had threatened his life and several others—out in the open with a man who had a gun—hit me with a nauseating pang to my chest. And while the idea of my stalker leaving my lifeless, used-up body in a place where it would inevitably decay into the ground was horrifying…the notion that the man would go through Liam to do so terrified me to the point that I felt my bones shake beneath my muscle. I slapped a hand over my mouth, for I had begun to whimper with every exhale, and I heard him again—this time with a rushed, hopeful tone.

“Shit—Zoey?” He was so close now that I could hear his heavy breathing—sense the panic in his exhales as the air left him in ragged gusts—and then the door to the shed eased its way open. Liam stood before me, a knife held loosely in his right hand and the whites of his eyes gleaming in the moonlight as he took in my appearance. He moved quickly to kneel in front of me, resting the blade on the floor with a metallic clack against my own. “Jesus Christ.” He touched either of my upper arms gently with shaking hands.

“Liam,” I spoke with a gritty voice, “Shit, you can’t be here.”

Liam’s gaze bounced about, enraging further by the second as he quickly took in every dirt splotch—every ripped bit of fabric—every scratch on me.

He spat out, “Was it him?” My head bobbed up and down in response, and he snapped, “Where is he?”

I shook my head. “Don’t know. Took off—you have to—”

He spoke rapidly, “I saw blood in the kitchen; where are you hurt?”

“I, um—fine, I’m fine.” Somehow, I forced my stammering to the side and rushed out, “He has a gun, we have to go.”

“Fuck, okay,” he replied, his eyes nearly bulging from his skull. He offered me a hand, and I took it. “Can you run?”

I nodded, and he pulled me to my feet. I swayed, Liam steadied me with a hand around my waist and a rapid, concerned glance up and down my body, and then he quickly reached down to grab the knives. He handed me my own, grasped me by my left wrist, and led me back out into the night.

We jogged in a crouch, low to the ground as Liam pulled me along. Step by step, I cursed the cicadas. I hadn’t noticed their obvious presence while I was by the water, but now that we were yards away, their buzzing damn near drowned everything else out. They deafened me, and as intently as I listened for the pounding of footsteps, it was no use. My pulse choked me, beating in my throat, my next full breath only taken once we were within the safety of the inside.

The door to the living room shut behind us, and I locked it with a trembling flick of my knife-laden hand. I heard Liam draw the air around him into his lungs with just as much desperation as I did, and he yanked me to him. Standing on the ornamental rug in front of the couch, the knife that I had been holding fell out of my grasp and onto the floor beneath me with a clunk. Liam crushed me with his embrace, his blade fell to the rug as well, and his hands splayed wide across my back. One arm around my shoulders and the other encompassing my waist, his large body enveloped me, his grip digging into my skin through my clothing. He held me so tightly that I could feel a subtle tremble with every one of his exhales, and he spoke to me quietly from above.

“You didn’t come back to bed, so I went to look for you…it—it looked like a knife was missing from that strip on the wall; I saw the blood on the floor—what happened?”

My breath still slowing, I faltered when I said, “Grab—grabbed me in the kitchen.”

Liam’s hold on me finally subsided, and he took a step back to look at me once more.

“The blood?” he asked.

“Not mine,” I whispered, and Liam’s face whipped from the torn spot on my pajama shorts to look into my eyes, the slightest glimmer of relief within his. I repeated myself, “Not mine, Lee. His.”

He glimpsed both of the knives on the floor and blinked a long blink. “You stabbed him, then?”

I tried to recall the amount of resistance that I felt when I was thrusting the blade behind me and I exhaled, “Not enough, I think I barely got him.”

“Did he—did he touch you? Please, tell me he fucking didn’t.”

The words rasped through his throat in a plea, and my breath shook at the notion. Liam appeared to be seeing in only shades of red, and I breathed out:

“No.”

His entire body sagged. “Fuck, thank you,” he murmured. “Why do you look like this?”

“I fell—er, he pulled me down—I don’t know,” I told him. “He’s…he’s crazy, Liam—he had this look on his face like he’s just…insane. On drugs or some shit, I don’t know—said I belong to him—”

He spat out, “You don’t fucking belong to anyone.”

The sentence rang in my brain like a church bell. Resonated under my skin in a blissful buzz. And my reply should have been, ‘No, the fuck I don’t,’ but I found myself thinking in a knee-jerk reaction, ‘Except you.’ I said neither, for the much more pressing matter at hand left my lips instead.

“Liam, he’ll kill you. He said he would.”

My voice quavered as I spoke it, and Liam clenched his jaw so tightly that I could see the muscles flex. He moved a hand up to my face, brushing the scrape on my cheek gently.

He chose each word with care. “I. Will. Kill. Him. First.” Liam’s gaze had turned crazed, but his tone was oddly calm as he continued, “Do you understand? He will be gone. I want to see him fucking. Bleed.”

I stared into his eyes, the boiling anger and raging sincerity clear within them, and I just…nodded at his admission. I wanted with everything in me to say that I would kill the fucker myself. After all, as if I were living within some sort of fucked up prophecy, it did seem as though it were destined that either he or I would die at this point. I was, as I have said many times in my life, a woman who stands on her own two feet. An independent woman. But hearing Liam’s confession…Liam, the man who can’t even utter a bad thought about another—Liam, the one who, despite his upbringing, acted like he wouldn’t even hurt a fly—Liam, who was looking at me with a glimpse of insanity in his eyes—Liam, who was truthfully admitting that he was ready to kill. Willing to kill.

Fuck.

His dark admission, for whatever reason, swaddled me like a baby. Gave me a comforting touch that was not a desire, but a necessity. Any response I had caught in my throat and, all too soon, I heard the quick padding of feet against hardwood. Liam flinched slightly at the noise, we both glanced to see Claire rushing her way to us, and he begrudgingly let me go.

Claire almost bowled me over and, as her arms were thrown around my neck, the stinging lemony twang of a disinfectant reached my nose.

“What-the-fuck-happened?” Claire asked in a hoarse whisper that no doubt insinuated tears behind her eyes.

I found myself gently placing my arm around her waist instead of cringing away from her hold on me as I usually would.

All I could find in me to mutter back to her was, “Why do you smell like Lysol?”

“Cleaning blood off the kitchen floor. Liam—” Claire took a large breath, and then let it go. “Liam told us you went missing…he and Luke went to look for you, I—I didn’t want your parents to see it all, so I started cleaning.”

I looked to Liam from over Claire’s shoulder and asked him weakly, “You woke them?”

He nodded, and Luke’s hushed voice filtered into the room before we could even hear his steps in the hallway.

“Oh, thank God.”

Liam asked him, “You lock the front door?”

Luke’s steps halted once he reached us all. “Yeah—there’s a little more blood in the driveway. It looks like he took off in a car.” He glanced to me, his grey eyes alarmed. “Jesus, I thought he took you...how—how did your blood get all the way to the driveway? Are you okay?”

I exhaled heavily, and Liam responded for me, ignoring Luke’s initial question and answering the latter with a quiet, “No, she’s not okay. She got away this time, but it’s pretty damn clear that he isn’t going anywhere.”

Claire released me, her red-rimmed eyes wide as she looked across my face and ushered me, “What happened?”

The protection of the house and presence of others aside, the recent memories in my mind—or what was left of them—replayed, and I felt as though my breath left me for I felt anything but safe. My line of sight drew me over Claire’s shoulder, through the hallway that led out of the living room, and scant lights that had been illuminated lit up the view of the kitchen. All I could see was the reflection of the man behind me in the window overlooking the lake…his face eerily smiling down on me…his grip over my mouth…the cool scent of soil as he held me to the ground.

Concerned that my words would leave me altogether as they usually do, I rattled off, “He grabbed me in the kitchen; I cut him and ran.”

Claire’s gaze shifted down to the knives that now laid on the floor beneath us and she murmured more to herself than anyone else, “You cut him.” She allowed her own words to sink in, blinked heavily, and said once more with an alternative inflection, “You cut him…how did he even get inside?”

“No idea—door could have been unlocked for all I know,” I replied.

“Shit, it was his blood,” Luke stated in an exhale. “Claire cleaned up any evidence that he was here—”

“There’s still some on the knife,” Claire noted, pointing to the floor where it laid alongside the one that Liam had grabbed. “If we call the police, we could show them that as evidence—”

“Evidence that she stabbed him,” Liam interjected. “What good’s that gonna do to bring it to the cops? Let them know that Zoey cut a guy and he ran off? The rest is all just our word.”

“It was self-defense,” Claire retorted. “We call them, they come here and we can give them the knife, they can…I don’t know, test the DNA from the blood?”

“Yes.” Luke nodded emphatically. “That.”

“I don’t want the cops here,” I said. “I—I don’t want my parents dragged into all of this—”

“Zoey, he broke into their house,” Claire spoke.

“It doesn’t look like anything even happened here,” I argued. “My parents didn’t even wake up, and they’re probably not going to since they run a white noise machine in their room while they sleep. We can call the cops in Salem from the car—the gears of justice crank slowly, yes? They already have the open case on the guy, it’d be better to talk to them, anyway. We can ask them what to do with the knife.”

“Your parents won’t notice a missing knife?” Claire questioned. “They won’t question that?”

“I doubt it,” I replied. “Even if they do, it would just be a random, fleeting thought…the kitchen’s big. They’ll think it got misplaced when we did the dishes.”

Liam spoke up, “Bringing a bloody knife to the cops feels like a bad idea.”

“Then what?” Claire asked, “We clean it and leave it here?”

“Cleaning it is just as bad as cleaning up the blood off the floor,” Luke stated. “That leaves us with nothing.”

“That leaves us with nothing that can be held against Zoey,” Liam pressed his point once again. “If it looked like he forced his way in here…if we had more proof that he attacked her other than our word, then yeah. We could bring it to the cops or they could come here, but this? This looks…”

Liam seemed to be struggling to find the correct description, and his words weighed on me heavily.

I finished for him, “Incriminating, yeah…okay. Clean it and leave it here.”

Liam nodded solemnly, everyone sighed audibly in a silent but begrudging agreement, and we stared at each other for a beat of silence.

Liam muttered, “All this aside, the guy’s out there somewhere.”

The intensity in which he said it held an undercurrent of anger that was so apparent, Luke took half a step backward.

“I gathered that,” Luke stated slowly.

My teeth clenched together at his reply, and I blurted out, “I don’t want to be here.” All heads turned to me. “I can’t be here anymore.” Liam’s face twisted sympathetically at the strained tone of my voice, and he reached a hand out to touch my arm in a comforting gesture. The action made tears well in my eyes, and I rapidly blinked to ward them away. I told Liam, “I just want to go home.”

“Zo’,” he returned consolingly, squeezing my arm where his hand rested, “he may not be that far. I’m with you on leaving the house. If we stay, he’ll be back, and your parents…” His words drifted off, he shook his head, and then he continued, “But if we go all the way back to Salem…I won’t know where to look. I won’t know where to find him—”

Luke interjected, “What are you planning on doing?” Liam shot him a dark look, and Luke’s eyebrows raised as he said, “Okay, I need you to say the words, Liam.”

Liam murmured, “He’s not going to stop, Luke.”

Luke shook his head. “Just say the fuckin’ words, man.”

He exhaled. “I want him dead.”

Claire gasped, exclaiming in a whisper, “Liam!”

Luke’s expression twisted into a grimace. “We aren’t hitmen, Liam, what the fuck?”

“How the fuck else are we gonna stop him, huh?” Liam asked them both.

Luke placed his hands on his hips. “With exactly what’s already in motion. We talk to the cops—”

Liam’s eyes went wide. “The cops are fucking useless right now, Luke!” He struggled to keep the volume of his voice in a hushed tone. “We have nothing to bring to them; they aren’t gonna move fast enough at this rate.”

“Well, what are you gonna do, Liam?” Luke retorted incredulously, “Track him down? Drive out into the woods with a body in Zoey’s trunk? Bury it in an unmarked grave?”

“More like sink it in a lake somewhere,” Liam noted, and Luke and Claire both looked at him with shocked gazes.

“Oh my God,” Claire muttered.

Luke whispered a horrified, “You’re fucking serious, aren’t you?”

Every word spoken by the group drove home the grave reality of my life in the now and I stood, limp limbed with what felt like a hundred-yard stare, as I listened to them all debate the possibility of murder. Actual murder. Of course, the level of severity of this situation had been alarmingly clear to me for quite some time now, however, hearing certain words aloud in a planned conversation was an entirely different being. Liam’s vicious admission, though it had nearly left me breathless the first time I heard him utter the words, now felt as though it stripped me bare. Here I stood, naked and afraid, realizing that allowing Liam to fulfill what he was now taking on as his duty was something that I couldn’t bear. It did feel as though blood would inevitably be spilled, but I couldn’t have it be on Liam’s hands—the thought was too agonizing for me.

I finally stated with purpose, “We’re not going on a fucking manhunt.”

“I am,” Liam corrected me.

“No,” I told him, defiant, “You’re not. You’re not killing a man, Lee—”

“Zoey—”

“No,” I cut him off, my defense spilling out of me. “You’re not—you’re not doing this. You’re not going to hunt him down and have to deal with the trauma of what that’ll do to you for the rest of your life.” My response quickened further. “You’re not doing this because you could end up in prison. You’re not going to go try to find him and end up having him hurt you instead.” The mere idea hit me in the chest, and I trilled, “You’re not doing this, Liam, I-love-you-too-much-to-let-you-go-through-with-it—”

Liam exhaled as if the breath had been knocked from his lungs, pulling me gently by my bicep and into his arms. I allowed myself to fold into him, and he whispered into my hair from above:

“Shhh, shhh—I hear you, Zo’. Okay? I hear you.”

The tears that had been threatening to escape me spilled over my cheeks and into his shirt, I felt my shoulders shake with uneasy breaths, and his grip tightened on me.

“I want to go home,” I begged quietly. “Please.”

Liam assuaged, “Okay, okay—we’ll go home.” I heard rather than saw him speak to Luke and Claire, his words rumbling into my ear through his chest. “Give us a minute, guys?”

“We’ll grab our bags,” Claire remarked, and I heard both of them as they walked away.

Silence reached us, Liam’s hands moved to my shoulders, and he gently pushed me away to look into my eyes.

His thumbs brushed against my collarbones softly as he noted, “We’ll pack up and drive home?”

I nodded, wiping away the evidence of my crying with my palms, and muttered, “Okay.”

Liam asked, “You need to leave a note for your parents? A text?”

“Um…note,” I deduced. “Don’t want to wake them.”

“What will you say?”

I shrugged. “I’ll, ah, make up a work emergency. Early shift at Zest; something with Brenda’s kids; Noelle’s out of town—triple-time pay. They won’t question.”

“’Kay,” he replied quietly, and I moved out of his grip.

“Gotta go find a pen and paper,” I mumbled, reluctantly dragging my legs into the kitchen.

Not a word said, Liam grabbed both of the knives from the floor and followed me. I found the drawer in the kitchen near the fridge that I knew stored various random items—pens, post-it notes, paper, magnets, and anything of the like—and I grabbed what I needed. Liam turned on the sink, cleaned both knives at a leisurely pace, dried them, and snapped them both into place on the magnetic strip where they belonged. By the time he was finished, I had a pink sticky note pressed against the dark granite, a blue pen in hand poised to write, and just as the ballpoint pressed against the paper, Liam stated:

“I love you, too, y’know.”

What felt like a hollow pang hit my sternum. I set the pen down, the thoughts that had been in my mind regarding the note to my parents lost in a haze, and my tears had suddenly returned. They filled my eyes to the point that I was unable to hold them back any longer, and I allowed them to fall, uninhibited, to the countertop. I cried not because of the stress of my current state of affairs, but because of a multitude of other things. I cried because, somehow, I had absolutely zero qualms with mentioning my love for Liam aloud. Because he had just returned those three daunting words back to me. Because when he said them, it felt right. And because neither of us had the luxury of time to relish in the moment that we couldn’t get back—it was lost in the trauma of it all. And I hated that.

I glanced up to find Liam leaning against a bar stool, his dark eyes anxious as he awaited any sort of response from me.

“Fuck,” I whined. I rested my elbows against the counter, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes so hard that I began to see stars.

It did nothing to stifle my crying.

“Shit,” Liam whispered, “I shouldn’t have said anything, should I?”

“No,” I croaked toward my hands. “That—it’s not that, this is just…so fucked up.”

“It is.” He paused, then said, “But it’ll be over soon.”

I nodded, speaking more to myself than to Liam, “It’ll be over soon.”

I didn’t know how we could both agree on such a thing, for we had no proof that it would be. There was no tangible end in sight. I wasn’t seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. In fact, everything that I had to look ahead to seemed…dark. The other options—the alternative routes that we could take at the moment—the forks in the road, if you will—were all bleak. And, for whatever reason, it seemed as though no matter where I turned, I would be running headfirst into a black hole. Liam and I looked at each other, the way that our gazes locked on the other’s in such a serious manner depicting the realization that he, potentially, saw us tumbling toward the same emptiness that I did.

Gravity pulled, and the void beckoned me.

Chapter 18

The highway was nearly empty. At four o’clock in the morning, one would expect it to be, but it still gave our trip an eerie appeal. It had been hours of driving…hours of hearing the tires roar against the pavement…hours of sitting in silence…and I still sat in the passenger seat with a thrum of anxiety under my skin that I couldn’t shake. Liam had insistently taken the wheel, staring at the pavement before us. Every so often, he would glance my way as if to question what was on my mind, and I would give him what I hoped came across as a small, reassuring smile. It never appeared that he took it as such for each time that I did so, a crease would form between his eyebrows, and his lips would press together tightly. I would sigh at his tense expression, and he would turn his attention back to the road.

Claire and Luke were just as quiet. They sat behind us, Luke on the left-hand side and Claire in the middle seat. She rested her head on his chest. His arm was draped over her shoulder, his hand slowly flexing into a loose fist and then releasing as he brushed his fingertips over her upper arm again and again. I had seen him do this before—many times over the course of the past almost-year that they had been together—and it would typically bring a soft smile to Claire’s lips. Luke would notice her reaction, a corner of his mouth would pull up gently at the sight of her, and just like that, they were in their own personal bubble that no one could invade.

That wasn’t the case now, though, for both of their expressions were somber. I frowned at the known cause of that and pulled my gaze away from the rear-view mirror.

My phone buzzed between Liam and me, the vibration rattling around in the cup holder and resonating throughout the car. I felt all of our eyes snap to it, and Liam muttered:

“Who the hell’s calling you this early?”

I reached for it, the buzzing quieting in my palm, and as I looked to the screen, I felt my face screw together with a mixture of confusion, concern, and alarm.

“It’s Jay,” I said.

Liam asked, “At four A.M.?”

I didn’t acknowledge his rhetorical question—I simply answered the call, set it to speaker, and rested it back in the cup holder for all of us to hear.

“Hi, Jay,” I greeted him.

“I know, I know, it’s late, um—early—whatever, I haven’t exactly been sleeping,” James’ voice rang out in an apologetic tone. “I didn’t think you’d answer; was gonna just leave you a message—I, ah…I found the guy.”

I moved to sit bolt upright, the seatbelt locked, and my head bounced back against the headrest.

“On the tape?” I clarified quickly. “You got him on tape?”

“Nothing incriminating,” James remarked. “Not yet…I mean, there’s so much more to look through. I can’t sleep, so I’ve just been letting it play in the background. Anyway—a tall, lanky fucker…short, dark hair…pale skin…has walked past the camera more than a few times.”

I pulled a sharp breath through my nostrils. “What was he doing?”

“That’s the kicker—sometimes he’s carrying bags that just look like groceries; other times holding white roses. Goes right past your door and turns to the right, fishes a keychain out of his pocket, and walks right on in.”

I blinked several times in succession. “Wait—walks right on in where, I don’t understand.”

“2D.”

Claire and I live in 2A. Liam—2B. Luke—upstairs in 3C. 2D, though…I had met 2D. I was certain we all had at some point, and just as I was shaking my head and readying myself to tell James that his eyes must have deceived him, Liam was speaking for me.

“No,” Liam muttered quietly at first, as if he were deep in thought. “No, no—2D is an older man…short guy. Mister, ah—Mikos? Yeah, he’s nice—”

“Oh,” James spoke in a tone that turned clipped at the sound of Liam’s voice, “Thought Liam was just tagging along for the ride?”

I winced at his accusatory tone.

“It’s Mister Milkovich, Liam,” Luke corrected him without an acknowledgement of his brother’s confusion regarding Liam’s presence.

James returned slowly. “Luke? Am I on speaker?”

“Mhm.”

The hum of a yes came from all of us at the same time that a light lit up on the dashboard along with a ding that signified low tire pressure.

James asked, “What was that? Are you driving?”

“Yup.”

My succinct response hung in the air, the rigid tension around us all grew even more, and, because James wasn’t there to feel it himself, he replied with a gentle exhale, “Zoey, I said to stay and relax. You’ve gotta be running on fumes.”

I sighed. “We ran into a bit of a situation.”

“A bit of a situation?” Liam said disbelievingly.

Claire admonished me, “Zoey.”

Luke didn’t say anything aloud, but I could make out his dissatisfied grumble from the back seat.

“Am I missing an important piece to the puzzle?” James inquired sarcastically. “It feels like—”

“The guy tried to snatch Zoey in her parents’ kitchen after everyone went to bed,” Liam interjected. I shot him a glare, for I wasn’t in the mood to be bringing up my most recent interaction with the mystery man, and as Liam caught my eye, he snapped, “Don’t fuckin’ look at me like that, Zo’. I’m not hiding shit. She had to stab him with a goddamn kitchen knife to get away—”

“Oh my God,” James muttered. “And you let me go on about my camera footage shit, what the fuck? Zoey, are you—”

“I’m okay, yes, I’m fine, Jesus,” I retorted, wholly tired of people asking about my wellbeing. Silence greeted me, and I rephrased, “I am fine. Thank you, Jay.”

“You had to stab him?” James asked, and I could picture his grey eyes wide; his high eyebrows creating wrinkles all along his forehead.

“Wouldn’t consider it a stab,” I replied. “Think I just kinda…I dunno…nicked him.”

“It was more than a nick,” Claire joined in. “The blood I had to clean off the floor was way more than a nick’s worth—”

“Jesus…wait, you cleaned the crime scene?” James whispered incredulously. “Why?!”

I spoke before Claire could, “Not involving my parents in this. They slept through it all and I had no intention of—”

“He attacked you in their home,” James argued. “Pretty sure they’re involved. You guys had this fucker’s DNA and decided that it was time to ensure your squeaky clean rep with your parents is in-fucking-tact?”

Liam stated definitively, “Even if Claire didn’t clean it, all that did was prove Zoey attacked him. There was no clue of him forcing his way in. This is exactly why we didn’t keep the knife.”

“Well, thank God you’re not on the road with a bloody knife in the car,” he sneered.

“James!” Luke interrupted his brother in a curt tone. “Let it the fuck go. We’re fried.”

The line was quiet for several seconds, and then James calmly replied, “Okay. Sorry.“ His breath ran over the speaker in a huff. “How did he even find you? I don’t understand.”

Stress and repeatedly living through my most recent hellscape nearly made my teeth itch, and I remarked, “Y’know, I didn’t ask questions while he was pressing my neck into the goddamn ground and he was saying he’d kill anyone who gets in his way.”

James uttered a very quiet, “What the fuck.”

“That’s not making me want to murder this guy any less, Zo’,” Liam said under his breath as he narrowed his eyes at the road.

The knowledge of the man’s deadly intent sank in for the rest of the car. I saw Luke’s eyes widen to the point that they were bulging as I glimpsed him in the rear-view mirror, and Claire—well, Claire’s body stiffened for a beat of altogether horrid silence. Then, she finally voiced aloud what had flashed through my mind the moment that my phone had begun to buzz with James’ call.

“I’m just glad he hasn’t called you since then. Maybe you really hurt him and that’s why he had to take off—go get medical care or something.”

“Wait,” James spoke slowly, “I missed something else; when did he get your phone number? The guy called you?”

I groaned. “Yeah. He did; on our way down yesterday.”

James questioned hesitantly, “How did he—wait, Zoey, where do you keep your phone at work?”

“In the back?” I returned with an upward inflection. “Why?”

“Is the back only for employees?”

“Er—no, we have a bathroom anyone can use—”

“And you keep your phone, your purse—all your shit—where?”

I replied, “On the counter; why? What are you getting at?”

“Please tell me that your phone’s password isn’t some shit that’s easy to guess like zero-zero-zero-zero,” James demanded in a pleading tone.

“Ah…I don’t have a passw—”

I wasn’t able to finish the sentence.

“God dammit, Zoey, why the FUCK not?!” James yelled.

I flinched at the volume of his voice. “Jesus, Jay.”

James let out a ragged breath. “Zoey, if this guy’s been to your work, he could have easily gone into your phone. He’s probably tracking it.”

My stomach sank. “What?”

“Your fucking phone,” James rushed out. “He could be tracking it; how the hell else could he have found you at your parents’ house?”

“No, no-no,” I muttered a weak denial.

“Yes, yes-yes,” James argued. “He’s been watching you go in and out of your apartment from this camera we found, no doubt he’s tracking your phone, and he’s been living across the goddamn hall—”

Luke interjected, “I saw Mister Milkovich, I dunno…a few weeks ago?”

“People move places,” James said. “He probably moved out.”

“I’d like to think we would have noticed him moving out,” Luke returned.

“Oh my God,” Claire whispered. “What if he’s dead?”

From the admission of her horrid thought, all I could do was ping-pong my head between the sources of the voices around me as my chest lurched further and further.

Liam sucked in a loud breath and groaned, “I didn’t even fuckin’ think of that.”

Luke looked back at her again, his eyes wide as he exclaimed, “Claire!”

“Don’t chastise her,” James spoke. “She’s probably right, I’m not puttin’ murder past this creeper.”

“Our neighbor is not dead,” Luke announced. “Jesus, guys, we gotta pull it together.”

“Pull it together?” Claire snapped. “Zoey’s been getting stalked for who knows how long by a guy that’s attacked her twice, he tried to kidnap her out of her parents’ kitchen, he is clearly not sane.” Her voice shook in a high-pitched scream, “It is NOT that far-fetched that Mister Milkovich is fucking-DEAD, LUKE!”

Even though Claire’s voice had turned shrill, it still trailed off into nothing as the sound of an engine whining and hot tires against pavement bored into our ears. Liam’s head whipped over his shoulder, my eyes were glued on the rear-view mirror, and Luke and Claire’s gazes were both transfixed on the quickly approaching headlights behind us.

James was only able to begin to ask, “What’s that noi—” by the time that the car behind us rammed the bumper.

A slurry of profanities left our mouths, and the vehicle spun beneath us all.

Claire screamed. The tires screeched. I grabbed onto the door handle to my right. Liam grunted, “Fuck-shit-fuck,” as he rapidly spun the wheel in an attempt to stop the drift, but it was no use. We skidded off of the highway with little to no traction, only stopping when the driver’s side of my car smacked into a sturdy tree.

The crunch of metal was scarcely louder than the ringing in my ears. My neck pulled, whiplash the worst effect of the crash for me. The airbags appeared to have been faulty as none of them had deployed, and I could hear Luke and Claire nervously confirming to each other that they were fine in rapid, panicked tones. My head swam, I looked to Liam, and all I could focus on was where his head rested. Up against the now-cracked window, his blonde head was leading to a smear of red.

I shrieked at the sight, began to unbuckle my seatbelt as quickly as I could, and Liam groaned. I wailed a relieved noise in hearing his voice alone and as I struggled to pull the buckle from the latch, Liam shifted in his seat with a pained pinch to his face.

“Oh my God,” I muttered, clambering my way over the center console and reaching to touch his head—his hair that was quickly becoming matted with blood. “Are you okay? Your head—”

He gritted out, “Fuck—fine, ’m’fine.”

Liam blinked a few times as if he were seeing stars and James called to us in a muffled voice from somewhere under the driver’s seat, but his words were cut off completely when a loud, resounding bang rang out from in front of us.

Our screams combined in a hellish cacophony as we all reacted to what was, clearly, the sound of a gunshot. There was no telling where the bullet went—all that was apparent was that it hadn’t struck the car. Luke laid on top of Claire in the back seat, having thrown himself on top of her to guard her from whatever line of fire there could have been. Liam pushed me toward his lap, slinking his body down as far as it could go. We all huffed strangled breaths, I heard rather than saw another gunshot that made contact with the mirror on the passenger side of the car, and our bodies collectively jumped upon the impact and resulting ricochet of metal. Claire shrieked profanities from under Luke’s body, and Luke yelled in a grating tone:

“DRIVE!”

Liam shoved me back in my seat, and his foot hit the floor. The frame screeched against the bark of the tree, the wheels spun out in mud for a beat that felt like an eternity, and, miraculously, we were off. My arms over my head and still hunched down, I felt the right side of the car hit something with a loud clunk, and we were on the highway once more.

All that was heard was tires humming against pavement and our collective hyperventilation until I slowly began to unfurl my body and Luke and Claire were pushing themselves to sit upright. Luke was having quiet, serious words with her as she nodded back to him. She patted at his body as if to check if he were still whole, and her entire being sagged in relief.

“What—” I attempted to slow my breath. “What did we hit?”

“I tried to hit him,” Liam sneered, “he jumped out of the way; think I caught a rock or something.” He glanced at me, his eyes wide yet somehow unfocused. “Are you okay?”

“Fine—”

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!” James’ voice was clear enough for us to hear him now, and though it was obvious that he was shrieking into the speaker, the volume of it was still obscured.

“Shit,” Luke exhaled loudly and stretched down to find my phone from under the driver’s seat. He spoke into it, holding the speaker away from his face, “Jay—”

“Are you all alive?” he interjected.

Luke replied, “Yeah, yeah—”

“Good—then turn that fucking phone off,” James chastised all of us in a growl. “Or chuck it out the window, either way. And for the love of God, call me back.”

The line clicked off, and Luke reached forward to hand my phone to me. I snatched it from him, the reminder that it could potentially have been tracked ripe in my mind, and I made quick way to turn it off, watching the screen turn black. Liam veered off of the highway onto a frontage road, wincing, “Ah!” as he turned his head to look behind us. We all did a double take with him, saw nothing but empty road, and Liam pointedly turned the headlights off. A tone chimed in the air signifying Luke calling James once more, it was cut off in the middle of the first ring, and James was back.

“Hi Jay,” Luke greeted James before he could speak.

“Hi Jay?!” James yelled incredulously in return. “WHAT HAPPENED?”

Our description of the events that had just unfurled was jumbled. All of us rapidly took turns blurting out our own point of view from the incident, but what was said was ever-clear: it was him. He rammed his car into mine from behind, my vehicle spun approximately one and a half times, and when we smacked the tree, we were facing in the opposite direction. He was straight ahead of us then, pulled out a gun and shot at us—twice—and Liam slammed on the gas. My car, by the grace of whatever deity was looking down upon us, was still able to run, we tore our way back onto the highway, and here we were:

Driving with no headlights on, turning down the third backroad that Liam had found in a clear attempt to ensure that the man was lost.

“Fuck,” James nearly spat out the expletive. “Okay—okay. Where are you guys now?”

“Like twenty minutes out,” I answered.

“Don’t come here, obviously,” James said, and I could hear him walking about the apartment. What sounded like keys clinked in the background. “Meet me, ah, north of town somewhere, I guess? More remote. We can ditch your car and hop in mine; grab a motel or something until we can talk with the police.”

“If we pass the college and hop over Highway 81, there’s a gas station up there,” Liam suggested. “It’s small; out of the way of the city.”

“Yeah, yeah-yeah,” James agreed, the sound of a door closing emanating through the speaker. “Up by Hanging Rock—I know the one.”

“Could probably get there in like thirty,” Liam said.

“We’ll figure it out from there.” James murmured nervously, “Just…keep an eye out, okay guys?”

None of us voiced it, but the agreement was there. We drove on, all of us glancing around at the dark that surrounded us to find nothing, and eventually, we slowed. The gas station was just as Liam had described—small and in a remote location. There were no lights. There were no other cars. There were only four pumps—none of them diesel—and a small market that had been made out of a single-wide mobile home. The roof red and the inside dark, there was no doubt that we would be alone here—and if we weren’t, it appeared to be so quiet that any presence would quickly be known to us.

James was outside of his car in the parking lot, pacing back and forth near the rear bumper with his hands on his hips until we began to drive up beside him. The wheels crunched against stray crumbles of gravel on the cracked concrete slab below until we were, finally, stationary. We all made our way out of the vehicle, and James’ light eyes widened as he looked me up and down.

“Zoey—”

I held up a hand. “Don’t even start, Jay. I’m a mess. I get it.”

His face pinched together. “Your cheek,” he muttered, pointing at my scrape.

“Yeah,” I replied. “I know.”

A brief, repetitive rattling of metal clacking against metal came from behind us all. James squinted his eyes curiously, the rest of us turned to view the source of the noise, and we all saw Liam fighting to open the driver’s side door.

He called to us from the front seat, “Door’s stuck, I’m comin’!”

Illuminated by the car light above him, I watched him crawl over the center console. He bumbled his way, his burly body too large for that sort of movement, and by the time he made it to the door, he nearly fell out of it. The passenger side was thrown open, Liam caught himself on the upper frame with his elbow slung over it, and Luke, who was nearest to him, moved quickly to help.

“You good, man?” Luke asked him as he reached a supporting arm around Liam’s waist.

Liam’s wrist dangled over Luke’s shoulder, his weight making Luke’s knees buckle briefly before he steadied himself, and Liam patted him on the chest with his free hand.

“Never better,” Liam quipped sarcastically, looking down at him with a small, bitter smile. His teeth were tinged with red. “Thanks.”

“Fuck, you look awful,” James stared at him, his eyebrows high. “Do you need to get yourself checked out?”

“I’ve had worse,” he remarked, waving him away with a swat of his hand. Liam’s body swayed with the movement, and Luke grunted as he strained to keep him upright. “Oop,” Liam voiced as his feet fumbled backward, “Let me go, let-me-go.”

“Shit.” Luke stumbled as Liam thudded to the ground, his weight nearly shaking the concrete beneath us. Luke cringed as he looked at him apologetically. “Sorry.”

Liam sat on his rear end, gazing up at us all with slow-blinking eyes. He tipped his bloody head back just slightly, it found the right tail light of my car, and he exhaled as he closed his eyes. He threw Luke a quick thumbs up.

“Clean landing,” he mumbled.

I rushed his way, moving to crouch down beside him. I inspected his head with gentle hands, unable to find the source of the red that was staining his light hair. He winced at my touch, and I jerked my arms away.

“You okay?”

He opened his eyes to glance at me. “I’m fine, Zo’.”

James exclaimed, “You were driving like this?! How?”

I argued, “You’re not fine, you’re concussed, Liam.”

“Pulling over wasn’t really an option,” Liam told James, and with the slightest turn of his head, he looked back to me. “I got racked like twenty, thirty minutes ago. Stood up too fast. I’m just dizzy; I’m fine.”

“You’re all bloody,” Claire noted.

“Heads bleed a lot,” Liam insisted. “I didn’t pass out—I’m fine. Are we really arguing about this?”

I sat back on my behind, comforted only by the fact that Liam appeared to be lucid despite the head wound.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Motel, then, for now?”

Liam ventured, “Are we all set on the motel idea?”

“You got a better one?” James asked skeptically.

“I’m not that concussed,” Liam retorted, holding up a finger. “One sec.” He planted his feet on the ground, lifting his hips briefly with a quiet, “Ow,” as he dug in his pocket for his phone. I watched him swipe at the ever-present cracks on the screen, tap to find his recently missed calls, and select one that read: Cas. He started to hold the phone up to his ear, winced, and then set it to speaker instead.

“Are you sure you want to get your sister involved in this?” I asked gently.

The ringing persisted as he held his phone in front of his face, and he laughed. “She’d probably kill me if I didn’t.”

James questioned, “You have a sister?”

“You are lucky that I work graveyard shifts and I just got home,” Cassie’s husky, mocking voice spoke to us through the speaker. “4:30 in the morning? What gives?”

“Remember how you said to call you if I needed you?” Liam asked with a high pitch.

“Oh, Jesus, what?” she returned quickly.

“Long story, but we could use a place to stay for a few hours.”

“Did ya kill Carter and you’re lookin’ for a place to bury him?” she inquired casually. “I got a spot.”

James laughed out a disbelieving, “What the fuck?”

“Kidding.” She remarked, “To whoever is in the background questioning the need for our father to be six feet under,” Cassie unnecessarily raised her voice, “trust me, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world!”

“I can explain when we’re there,” Liam told her. “Where’s your new place?”

“Butt-fuck nowhere north of town,” she replied.

“Good, good,” Liam replied in a forcedly casual tone. “You mind if we all come by?”

“You’re back in Salem already?”

“Uh huh.”

“Talk about a short trip—and come by or hide from the law?” Cassie asked jokingly, though none of us saw the humor in it. “And who is we?”

Liam clarified hesitantly, “Ah—not the law—and me, Zoey, and a few others.”

“Yeah, sure,” she responded instantly, and it was apparent in her tone of voice that there was little Liam could have said that would have caused her to refuse our visit. “I’ll send you the address now. See you in a bit?”

“As soon as we can get there,” Liam remarked.

“Mmkay—bye everyone,” she dismissed us in a sing-song tone, and I looked to Liam with a single eyebrow raised as he ended the call.

“You didn’t wanna clue her in on what’s going on?”

“She’d just freak until we get there, no point in that,” he told me. Liam’s phone pinged in his hand, he glanced at it, and then looked to the rest of us as he asked, “A place that we can get cleaned up and have some more privacy before we talk to the cops—better than a motel?”

We all hummed out generic mhm’s, and Luke stepped forward to extend a hand to help Liam to his feet. He gently—very gently—pulled Liam up. He held him with a hand on either of his biceps for a moment, ensuring that he wouldn’t fall backwards, and only when he was certain that Liam was steady on his own two feet, he let go. Claire took a single step, arm outreached in a similar gesture for me, and I waved her away.

I pushed myself to my feet, brushed off my bare legs needlessly as they were too dirty to remedy with a slap of my hands, and glanced to her as she eyed me warily.

I mouthed back, ‘I’m fine.’ She pressed her lips together tightly, silently telling me that she knew I wasn’t, and I returned the gesture, mild guilt creeping into my chest for ushering her away because she was right. I nodded at her, she nodded back, and I hoped with everything in me that the word fine could soon become more than just a meaningless phrase—that it could become an ideal.

We all filed into the car, set out for the quick drive ahead of us, and I closed my eyelids tightly in an attempt to drown out the murderous noise of my internal thoughts. All of the doors closed, we began to make our way, and my eyes snapped open for with the lack of a conversation among us, the silence was loud. Very loud.

Chapter 19

We were only ten minutes away from Cassie’s house, which was directly north and deep into the trees. The road that we followed for the majority of the trip was so slim that if another car were to face us head-on, we would have been forced to veer into the grass to avoid a collision. The forest was overgrown around us, the trees so large that they were threatening to obscure the stars above. Halfway through the drive, we hit gravel. Potholes scattered throughout the road, James carefully steered around the divots and downright craters until we were making a blind left-hand turn directly into the greenery. We drove through an open metal gate, the rocky path dwindled down to nothing, and we had arrived.

There was no driveway—only patches of grass between the trees. The house was cabin-esque. Small and built from the logs of knotty trees, the porch was illuminated in an orange glow from the lantern-like sconces on either side of the front door. Cassie stood in the doorway, the scant light casting shadows across her tan, jean-short clad legs, and she threw us a friendly wave as the car slowed. Crossing her arms, she leaned a shoulder against the door jamb, waiting for us to saunter in.

Liam led the way, I filed behind him along with the rest of us, and the second that his face was visible to her, she abandoned her casual disposition. Cassie jogged down the three steps on the patio to meet us half way, her gaze not anxious but angry, and her barefoot steps skidded to a stop directly in front of her brother. Tall, towering over me by what I would assume was around ten inches, she almost didn’t have to look up to glare at him—or, rather, at the damage that had been done to his skull.

Liam held out his hands in defense, palms facing toward her. “Don’t freak out—ah!” His words were cut off when Cassie grabbed him by the chin roughly, angling his wound toward the light. “Jesus, Cassie—this is super fresh, take it easy.”

Her nostrils flared, and she let him go as she asked, “What the fuck did he do to you?”

“This wasn’t Carter, he didn’t do anything—”

James whispered to Luke and Claire, “Carter is their dad?” They both nodded, and James muttered, “Did she just assume that their father did that to him?”

He was quiet enough that I had to strain my ears to hear him, but Cassie turned her head toward James as if he had yelled it. She smiled a broad grin that turned icy with the narrowing of her eyes.

“Hi,” she crooned sarcastically. “You’re new here, I get it. The answer you’re looking for is yes. Carter’s an abusive d-bag who gets kicks out of using the both of us as punching bags. Would you like me to unpack the rest of our trauma as well?”

Liam grumbled, “Don’t bite his head off, Cas, it was just a question.”

Cassie crossed her arms again, chewing on her tongue for a moment before muttering, “Just saying, that’s more of a let’s figure out what we know from context clues type of situation.” Liam shot her an annoyed glare, and she glanced at James and begrudgingly said, “Sorry.” She gestured at the blood on Liam’s face. “This was a bit of a shock—welcome to my home—we’ll all get to know each other later, yeah?” Not a breath taken, her head snapped back to Liam’s. “What happened?”

I murmured, “Short answer, car crash.”

Her eyes bounced to me at the sound of my voice, and she groaned as she took in the sight of me. “Car crash?” She pointed behind us. “That car looks fine, how the hell did you guys get this sort of damage?”

“Ah—hi. I’m James,” he waved at her, waited for what I assumed he thought was going to be a snappy response, and then said, “Car’s mine. We ditched Zoey’s.”

“Long answer as short as I can make it,” Liam offered, “I’m the only one that got fucked in the crash, Zoey’s all scratched up because she had to escape her fucking stalker again—”

Cassie screamed, “WHAT?”

“Can we just come inside?” he asked her weakly. “I’m so tired of this.”

She nodded so emphatically that her long, straight tresses bounced with the motion.

“Yeah, ’course—inside, let’s go.” Cassie glanced down toward me. “Do you have a change of clothes?”

I nodded. “I’m good, Cassie—thanks.”

She gave me a quick bob of her head, and she looked me up and down. “’Kay, cool—bathroom’s inside, go clean up and we’ll figure out Liam’s head—”

“My head’s fine, Cas,” he interrupted.

All at once, each one of us—even James—responded in a curt, insistent, “Liam.”

He exhaled heavily, “Fuck, fine,” and began to walk his way up the porch steps.

I followed him, Cassie grasped me on my shoulder as I walked past her, and she murmured a quick, “You good, Zo’?”

Her use of Liam’s term of endearment for me was such a surprise that it made me suck in a quick breath. I looked at her, saw Liam’s kindness in her face, and it warmed me through.

“Fine, Cas,” I replied.

Her fingers squeezed, her dark eyes squinted at me in such a fashion that her nose crinkled, and the freckles on her cheeks narrowed. “You don’t have to lie, y’know.”

I smiled, but only just. “Yeah, yeah—I know.”

I had rinsed the dirt and grass stains from my legs, washed the soiled splotches from my face, gathered clothing from my bag, and changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that was far more fitting than my ripped pajamas. Having taken care of myself, I now sat on my heels on the green and white checkered tile of Cassie’s kitchen counter, leaning over the sink. The retractable handle was in my hand, the temperature set right smack in the middle of hot and cold and the pressure turned to a dull trickle, and I watched as the blood slowly rinsed out of Liam’s hair.

He sat in a wicker dining chair, his neck craned backward over the stainless steel sink as if I were a hair stylist wrist-deep in shampoo. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, calling my attention to the blonde scruff that was so rarely on his face and neck. His eyes met mine, and he gave me a soft smile.

“How’s it look?” Liam asked.

A quiet breath left my nostrils. “Like a massacre in the sink.”

I gently moved my fingers through the locks that were still stained red, allowing the stream to run through them as I rubbed the strands together to loosen the hold of coagulated blood.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

He was genuine as per usual, and I felt my lips twitch upward—my cheeks warm at how oddly intimate the moment felt.

I whispered back, “You’re welcome.”

Everyone else sat at the circular dining table to our right. Thoroughly exhausted, Claire, Luke, and James all sat their seats—the same type of wicker that Liam sat in—in their own respective slumps. Claire had her arms laid across her lower stomach, ginger head back as she stared at the ceiling. Luke had an elbow on the table, hunched over with his head resting on his fist, and Claire would occasionally reach for his shoulder to shake him as he was fighting sleep. James had one of his brown booted feet resting over a knee. Every so often, he would glance at me, taking in my actions as I tended to Liam. He would quickly shift his gaze away, his jaw clearly clenched beneath his beard, his self-proclaimed jealousy appearing to be proclaiming itself, and each time it would hit me in a nasty blow to my gut.

He did so just now while I gently swiped at the dried blood that had dripped down Liam’s left cheek. I pressed my lips together tightly, for I didn’t find jealousy to be a becoming trait. However, I still felt the need to swallow the remorse over our short-lived rendezvous, knowing that I had caused it to end. Knowing that we couldn’t simply reverse out of the non-platonic care that had been beginning to blossom for us—knowing that we simply had to wait for it to die. It was the waiting that was the worst. I was certain that was the case for many things in life.

Cassie was standing before them all, hands on her hips and looking upward as she continued to absorb the information that had been bestowed upon her. After everyone’s brief introductions, we had explained it all—the visit with Carter, the camera in the hallway at the complex, the almost-kidnapping, the crash and subsequent shots fired, and our upcoming plans to speak to the police. She knew everything, yet she still fought for more questions—for more potential solutions. Just as when I had met her in Liam’s apartment the day before, she had an inquisitive nature that was unable to be suppressed. She began to speak to the room once more, and Liam rolled his eyes in a way that only a brother could.

“Okay, um…” She hesitated before saying, “Forgive me if I’m prying too much, but…why are you all waiting? You can’t just…call the cops to talk to them?” She looked at me. “Why’d you even drive all the way back here?”

Liam waved a hand blindly in James’ direction. “Jay found the guy on camera…there’s an open case in Salem already, so—”

“Yeah, with the shitty cop, I remember you telling me,” she interrupted. “You have to bring physical evidence in and they open at eight o’clock, got it, I’m with you—annoying as all shit that a police department isn’t open to the public twenty-four-seven, but I digress.”

Liam warned, “Don’t get me started on fuckin’ Randy.”

“I know, I know,” Cassie dismissed his complaint. “He’s a dipshit, I get it—that aside, you have the guy on camera. You have tangible proof that he’s been living across the hall—”

“Mister Milkovich,” Claire groaned.

Luke grumbled a sleepy, “He’s not dead, baby.”

“None of us know that,” she returned.

Cassie held up a finger. “We can circle back to Mister Milkovich—”

“Cool your jets, Nancy Drew!” James exclaimed. “We don’t need to circle back to Mister Milkovich. If he’s dead, he’s dead—”

“Sensitive,” Cassie quipped in his direction. “Nice.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” James retorted in a gripe as he threw back his head. “I just meant let’s solve one crisis at a time.”

“And your way of solving this crisis is going to the police department,” she challenged, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Uh huh,” James responded. “This isn’t a fantasy world; that’s what adults do when shit goes south—you contact the authorities. I get that you’re young and you seem to have a bit of a boner for justice—”

“I’m not that young,” Cassie argued with narrowed eyes, “I’m twenty-two.”

James’ jaw nearly dropped. “For the love of—you’re a fucking fetus, no wonder you’re all rah-rah, the cops ain’t shit.”

“I have no idea what my age has to do with any of this,” she complained to James, but he ignored her with a shake of his head.

I turned my attention back to Liam, found that the lock of hair I had been massaging had finally been rinsed clean, and I murmured, “Sit up, Lee, let me check this out.”

He obliged, I hopped down from the counter, and Cassie bustled her way to the stove on our right. She opened the drawer to the left with a rough yank as it appeared to have been stuck, and she grabbed a green hand towel that almost matched the color of the counter. She returned quickly, offered it to me, and I began to dry Liam’s hair with gentle scrunches. I investigated his scalp, laying a lock of his hair across the top of his head to expose a laceration that had long stopped bleeding. Neither terribly long nor deep, I thought to myself that stitches may not have been necessary.

I murmured to Liam, “Found it.”

“How bad?” he asked.

“Not, actually.”

He smirked. “Told you—heads bleed.”

Our quick, private conversation glossed over, Claire told Cassie, “The cops will be able to do plenty; we can bring what Jay found on the camera so they’ll have a better description of the guy. Plus, if he’s been living across the hall, they’ll know where to find him.”

“Right,” James replied. “And did you guys get a good look at the car?”

“I didn’t—how about you guys?” Luke asked, sitting up to glance to me, Liam, and then Claire.

Claire shook her head.

I shrugged and noted, “It was too dark.”

Liam spoke in what sounded like a guess, “Red? Small.”

“Perfect,” James grumbled. “Well, we’ll tell them all of that at the station.”

Liam stated with his eyes upward, “And Randy will say, ‘That’s not enough evidence, be in touch if anything progresses.’”

“Regardless,” Claire chimed in, “we should go and bring them whatever we have.”

“It’s hours before the station opens, though,” Cassie noted.

“Patience is not your strong suit, is it?” James remarked.

“Okay, okay,” I interjected. “All this aside, Cassie, do you have a first aid kit or something?”

Her dark eyes whipped to mine. “How’s it look?” Cassie glanced at her brother’s scalp, cocking her head to the side. “Oh, not bad,” she turned, pointing at the hallway that led out of the kitchen. “There’s a bathroom down there to the right. Find the little grey tub in the cabinet over the toilet—there’s stuff in there that you can use—oh, butterfly bandages, use those.”

Liam looked up to her with a pinched brow. “Butterfly bandages?”

She responded, “Bandages, closures, clips, whatever, I don’t know what they’re called. They’re like…little band-aids that you can use to hold a bigger cut together without getting stitches—I have some in there, use those.”

“Yeah, yeah—I’ve used them before. Do I need to ask why you even have them at the ready?” Liam questioned.

Cassie rolled her eyes. “Sliced my hand open a while back.” She held her left palm out for us to see, showing a slim, pink scar directly in the center. “I am now extra careful when cutting avocados—anyway—bathroom; above the sink.”

I nodded, Liam stood, and I pushed him along with a hand on his back to walk ahead of me. As we crossed the kitchen, Claire and Luke continued to speak amongst each other. James watched them with eyebrows high, Cassie chimed in by the time that we reached the hallway, and their voices turned to a dull murmur as our steps tapped along the rust-colored tile that spanned the flooring of the entire house. The bathroom was the only door to the right—the type that slides right into the wall. Liam ushered it to the side, and I followed him through the entrance to find the space small. Tiny with both Liam and I standing in it together, as his body took up the majority of the space alone. The sink behind me was white, the wallpaper around us covered in sunflowers, and the cabinet situated above Liam’s head as he sat on the toilet seat was painted in a deep green.

I stretched on the tips of my toes to open the doors above him, and his hands found me. He squeezed, his fingers kneading at the muscles on the sides of my hips. I looked down, and he was staring up at me with damp hair and soft eyes.

“Are you taking advantage of privacy and close proximity?” I teased him as I grabbed the bin that Cassie had described.

He stopped his ministrations, resting his grip on my hip bones. “Should I not?”

The question was sincere, and I smiled as I held the tub between us, rifling through the various bandages and medications.

“I didn’t say that.”

His grasp on me tightened once again. I chuckled under my breath as I found the butterfly bandages, stretched once more to place the bin back in the cupboard, and began to unwrap one from its packaging. He caressed me gently, tracing little circles along my hips and upper thighs as I tipped his head to find the cut buried beneath his hair.

“It’d probably be easier if we shaved my head,” Liam muttered. “I dunno if that’s gonna work with my hair in the way.”

I frowned at the idea. “Yeah, we’re not gonna do that.”

“Why not?”

“You have good hair. We’re not ruining it because you busted up your head.”

I brushed what I could out of the way of the inch-long gash, parting the strands this way and that in an attempt to find bare scalp for the adhesive to stick on either side of the wound.

Liam smiled. “You like my hair?”

“I do like your hair,” I murmured. Liam looked up to me, and I whispered, “Very blonde.”

“It would still be blonde if I shaved it off,” he said.

I touched the rough stubble on his cheek and sweetly said, “No.” Liam leaned into my palm, closing his eyes as if he were relishing the feeling, and I asked, “You’ve used these before?”

I waved the bandage about with my left hand, Liam opened his eyes to glance at it, and he replied, “Mhm—take the wrapping off, put one side down, pull it over until the cut’s closed, and stick the other side down.”

“Gotcha.” I squeezed my right hand, moving his head just so to angle his wound into my line of sight. “Don’t move.” I unwrapped the packaging, carefully placing one end of the bandage on his scalp, perpendicular to the laceration. I held it in place, tugging it over the cut. It pulled his skin on either side of the wound flush together, and I kept my fingers on the bandage briefly, ensuring that it would stay put. I lifted my hand, everything remained perfectly in place, and I made a satisfied noise. “There.”

His stubble scratched my palm as he nuzzled into it once more. “Thanks for patching me up.”

“Of course,” I returned, and Liam sighed. His grin was gone—his gaze turned serious, and as his eyes bounced across my face, I murmured, “What is it?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I just really do love you.”

His sweet words were unexpected, and I found myself melting into them. My heart somersaulted, and I brushed my thumb over his jawline as I returned the words back, “I love you, too.”

He nodded as if he were absorbing the words, and his hands worked up from my hips, dragging over my back and up to my neck. He pulled me in, our lips touched softly, and he hummed against me.

The moment was a welcome break from the chaos, but it didn’t last long. Someone gruffly cleared their throat from outside the entrance to my left and, just as Liam pulled his mouth away from mine, I could see the person in my peripheral vision. Liam’s hands left me, and when he glanced over my shoulder, he quickly diverted his eyes to the floor. I turned to find James standing in the doorway, staring at my hand that had remained on Liam’s face, and the twisting sensation of remorse had returned.

He threw me a wave with a smile that didn’t seem altogether sincere, and asked, “You got a minute?”

My touch left Liam’s cheek, I took a step back and bumped into the sink behind me, and I sighed because there was no response other than yes.

I replied, “Got nothin’ but time until we go to the station, right?” James shrugged, and I told Liam with an upward inflection, “See you back out there?”

Liam nodded, quietly saying, “Yeah.” He stood to leave, and was gone without a glance back at me.

I huffed out an uneasy breath. “How long were you in the hall?”

James leaned a shoulder against the area where the door was hidden in the wall, pressing his lips together tightly. “A while.”

“Eavesdropping?” I crossed my arms over my chest, he gave me a pointed look that said all I needed to know, and I whined, “Jay, what is this? Highschool? What’d you even tell the others you were going to do?”

“Didn’t have to say anything, really,” he returned. “They’re so deep in talking about next steps and Mister Milkovich—I hadn’t said anything in a hot minute…don’t think they even realized that I left. And do ya blame me for listening in?” he asked with a crooked, bitter grin. “Better hearing that than not knowing and wondering.”

“Hearing what, exactly?” I inquired.

James responded quickly, “That you love him.” It was my turn to clear my throat, then, and he added as offhandedly as he could, “That happened fast.”

It wasn’t accusatory, but it still made me shift my gaze to my feet.

“Didn’t exactly intend for it to be like that,” I grumbled.

James chuckled, the sound making me whip my head to his. He seemed genuinely amused as he was tucking a strand of his hair behind his left ear, and relief swarmed me.

“Yeah, if I can be sure of anything, it’s that you fought it tooth and nail.”

I snorted. “Ass.”

“There she is,” he crooned. “So…for the sake of, uh, closure, anything we had—that’s definitely done now, yeah?”

“Is that what you came in here to ask me?” I countered. “Really?”

“Oh, I’m making this up as I go—I had zero plans to interrupt you two; it just kinda happened.” He quipped, “This entire conversation is word-vomit.”

The phrase made me snicker, but my laughter dissipated quickly.

“Sorry, Jay.” The apology meant several things at once, and it was clear that he understood as he nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. I asked hesitantly, “Are you, erm—good?”

“Nah, I’m bathing with a toaster tonight, for sure,” he mocked me with utmost sarcasm.

The unexpected morbid nature of his response made me choke on my spit.

“James!”

“Joking,” he whispered. “I’m fine—I don’t have a blonde boy toy to turn to like you do, so I’m not fine like you, but I’m fine. Good. Grand, actually—”

“Jesus, Jay,” I laughed. “I get it.”

“Cool,” he stated. “So—scooting right on past this conversation as if it didn’t happen,” James made a quiet whooshing noise and fluttered his hands in front of his face. “Let’s go join the debate.”

“The debate?”

“About your life and how we intend to ensure you are able to keep living it,” he responded. “Small shit, really.”

“Uh huh—small shit, sure—let’s go.”

I walked behind James down the short hallway, and the moment that we were visible from the kitchen, Cassie was pointing at James intently.

“You,” Cassie sat at the table, calling to him from what had been Liam’s wicker chair.

He flinched, muttering, “Jesus, she’s a lot.”

“Do you have that camera with you?” she asked with bright eyes.

James moved with a heavy exhale to sit in his seat once more, sinking into it with a grunt.

“I do—it’s in my laptop bag in my car,” he told her. “What are you on now?”

Claire caught my eye before Cassie could respond, raising her brows at me as she not-so-subtly looked to James and then back to me. I glanced at the ceiling, shaking my head at her ill-timed questioning, and crossed the kitchen to where Liam stood. His backside was resting against the counter behind the kitchen table as he looked toward his feet. He remained like that until I reached his right-hand side, climbed on the counter as I had done before, and allowed my legs to dangle off the edge. I nudged him with a bump of my shoulder against his, and he looked up to me.

“All good?” he asked.

The tension in his gaze tugged at my heartstrings, and I nodded in return. “All good, Lee.”

He focused on the group again, and in an act that I had little to no control over, I leaned down ever-so-slightly to plant a kiss in his hair. The quick, consoling brush of my lips on the damp strands was over in the blink of an eye and when I straightened myself, Liam’s cheeks held a slight pink tint to them that was notably absent before. I brought my attention back to the room, and Cassie was speaking once more with thrice the enthusiasm.

“All I’m saying is, we can use this to our benefit—”

“We have no idea how to work it,” James noted. “I was hard pressed to look through all the footage on the SD card, honestly.”

“Yeah,” Cassie argued, now leaning forward with her hands pressed flat against the table. “Because you were doing that shit manually. It’s the twenty-first century—if that thing’s half as techy as I imagine it is, there’s gotta be an app for that.”

Liam nodded, silently agreeing with his sister.

“What’s the point in figuring that out now?” Luke asked.

“How do you think this guy was spying through it? An app would have a live feed,” Cassie remarked. “You said he’s been living in 2D? He’s probably back there now or, if he’s not, he will be soon. Smack that thing back up on the wall, point it at his door, and turn the tables on this fucker so we know exactly when he’s home instead of sitting on our asses in hiding, waiting for the police to question whether or not they have enough evidence to do anything worthwhile.”

“I…” James paused before saying, “Okay, for the sake of argument, I don’t mind that idea, actually, but there’s loads of things that get in the way of that happening.”

Cassie beamed at him, sat up straight, and cooed, “Like what?”

“Like how are you even getting this app?” I spoke up, and all heads turned to me. “It’s not like we have a manual.”

“It’s probably Bluetooth enabled,” Cassie ventured. “Connect to it with one of our phones—I’m sure there’ll be an app we can find for it.”

James returned, “We don’t know what brand it is, how are we supposed to figure out what app to use?”

“I’d put money on figuring out the brand when we connect to it,” Cassie replied. “Its name will pop up in Bluetooth devices, it’s probably named Spy Master 3000 or some shit—we’ll google that and go from there.”

“Okay, it’s not charged though,” James stated. “I’ve had it since yesterday; the battery’s dead and I don’t have a charger for it—and now does not seem like the time to be waiting in line at a Radio Shack.”

“Radio Shack?” Cassie questioned with a tip of her head. “I haven’t seen a brick-and-mortar Radio Shack in years; how old are you?”

“Shall I repeat your words?” James retorted with a wry grin. “What’s my age got to do with this?”

“Okay, whatever,” she grumbled. “Did the port to charge it look like it was for a USB-C?”

Liam spoke up, “It probably is.”

“Okay, bypassing all this…let’s say we get all that to work,” James began.

Cassie smirked. “I like you better when you’re on my side.”

“Mhm,” James hummed back to her. “Again—no hitches, we have a live feed on a camera that we can use right now. Even if we did see him there…what would we do, call the cops and they’ll bust down the door and arrest him?”

“Pretty sure they’d need a warrant to force their way in,” Claire noted. “That shit takes time and hard evidence.”

“I’d rather just bust in myself,” Liam stated.

“You’re not murdering anyone, Liam.” Luke looked at him, his grey eyes stern.

James’ eyebrows flew up as he stated in a high pitch, “Wasn’t aware that was a legitimate thought—let’s not entertain that one.”

“We wouldn’t need to bust in,” Cassie insisted. “All we’d need to do is knock—”

“He’s been following Zoey for so long, I bet your ass the guy knows every single one of us,” James retorted. “You want one of us to go and say hello?”

“He doesn’t know me,” Cassie offered. “I would go; pretend to be a new neighbor or something.”

Liam threw his head back and groaned, “Cassie, come on. What would you even do?”

“Lure him away from the complex,” she said plainly. “Bring him back here to where he wouldn’t expect any of you, we make sure he’s detained somehow, and then—then we can call the cops. They’d have to at the very least bring him in for questioning with what you have, right?”

“Okay, stop,” Liam returned. “How would you even lure him away?”

“You forget I have tits,” Cassie told him. “I’m well aware of the artistry of distraction, brother.”

“This sounds dangerous as shit for you,” James remarked with wide eyes. “Why do you feel the need to jump on this grenade?”

“Some grenades need jumping on,” Cassie replied to him. She whispered dramatically, “Maybe I like the thrill. Maybe I like grenades. Would you guys rather sit here until the justice system comes around? That could take forever and I think I’m speaking for all of us when I say that we don’t want to know what this fucker’s going to try next.”

“I’m with you there,” Liam said. He opened his mouth to speak once more, but Cassie stated first:

“Good.”

Liam’s hands rubbed at his eyes vigorously as if it would spur his brain to give him another option as he admitted, “But this feels wrong, Cas. The guy was shooting at us, like, an hour ago.”

“I don’t want you getting hurt for me, Cassie,” I agreed quietly.

“There are six of us,” she pressed. “One of him. I think we can manage.”

The general thrum of anxiety that I knew we all had been feeling was palpable, then. We all stared at each other with straightened backs—alarmed eyes—questioning glances because it went without saying that none of us wanted to wait. We looked to one another in silent contemplation until, finally, it seemed that we had all come to the same determination.

“Well, it’s all a theory until we look at the camera,” James announced in a tired voice. He slapped his thighs, pushed himself to stand, and grumbled, “Let’s do this.”

Chapter 20

The sensation of standing dominos on their ends, anticipating them toppling them over with so much as a breath in the wrong direction, was enveloping me from all angles. I was… skeptical of this plan that had quickly started to lay itself out the moment that Cassie mentioned it. Hesitant once we realized that the camera was able to be charged with the USB-C charger that Cassie had for her phone. I was metaphorically digging my heels into the ground once we were making our way back to the complex—Cassie in her vehicle, and the rest of us in James’. But, finally, and with little to no vocal resistance on my end due to what I believe was simply shock, we were at home base.

That’s what Cassie had delightfully coined my apartment—home base.

We had successfully charged the camera to the point that it could be used, anxiously commuted our way down the road, tiptoed into apartment 2A, and sat ourselves at the dining table. Cassie sat adjacent to me, attempting to connect to the camera via Bluetooth on her cell. James was next to her, his laptop open, and after glancing at her screen, began to type something that Cassie showed him on her phone. They murmured to each other in quiet voices, nodding as they found what was needed regarding the applicable camera app.

Claire and I at the heads of the table and Liam and Luke next to both of us, we sat in waiting. Claire had made coffee in an attempt to address our collective sleep deprivation. My mug sat before me untouched, the idea of indulgence abhorrent considering the situation at hand, and we waited.

“Oh.” Cassie finally took a deep breath and nearly choked on her cup of coffee. James’ focus snapped to her as she coughed, his expression pinched as she sputtered, and once she set the magenta mug on the table before her, she croaked, “Oh my God.”

“What?” I voiced.

James leaned to his left, peering over her shoulder at her phone once more, and his jaw dropped. “Is that…”

“Is what?” I pressed.

Liam stood from his chair, took large steps to walk around the table and stand behind his sister, and his eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand—what are those?”

I exclaimed, “Guys!”

Luke was now sitting at rapt attention, watching Claire stride her way to stand on Liam’s left, and her eyebrows flew up.

“Oh, fuck this shit,” she snapped, pointing at a particular spot on Cassie’s screen. “Is that what I think it is?”

No one replied, and the feeling of careening down a steep incline in a car with no brakes bored under my skin. Control—I needed. Fucking. Control. And at this point, I didn’t feel like I had an ounce of it. When Luke moved to stand behind Claire, placed a hand on her shoulder, and his light eyes widened at whatever was displayed on the phone before them all, I pushed myself up from my seat with enough gusto for it to loudly scrape across the hardwood.

I stomped around the table, everyone else’s eyes glued on Cassie’s phone, and I forced my way through the group as if I were fighting through a mosh pit. I stopped in front of Liam, and as I glanced through the space between Cassie and James’ heads, I felt mine cock to the side as I began to thoroughly understand everyone’s initial reaction and their hesitance to speak further. We all stared, dumbstruck, at four thumbnails, each one more peculiar than the last.

The first was us. All of us, staring directly at ourselves from the lens that was sitting on the table. Our eyes blinking was the only clue that the camera feed was live.

The second displayed an empty room. It was covered in a dark grey material that looked like some sort of foam padding which, despite the less than stellar quality of the image, appeared to have a peculiar, zig-zagged texture. It was everywhere. On the walls—the ceiling and floor—even covering the entrance to the room in its entirety save for the round doorknob.

The third was the common area of an apartment that had a similar layout to ours. The walls were painted in a deep taupe. Each piece of furniture was a gaudy style with large, ornamental wood moldings and rich, clashing colors.

The fourth—the final one—was remarkably familiar. The room housed a queen bed with a white, eyelet lace duvet. An open, black duffel bag sat directly in front of the sliding closet doors, but the rest of the room was neat and tidy. My bedroom.

More cameras. All of these were more cameras.

I whispered, “What the fuck, there are more? My room?”

James stated, “Probably put it up when he broke in. At least you haven’t been staying here since then—all this guy’s got from this one is me sleeping.”

“You’ve been sleeping in Zoey’s bed?” Cassie inquired with a single, high eyebrow.

James sighed heavily, and Liam retorted, “Not the time, Cas.”

She shook her head quickly. “Okay, yeah, fine—how are we even seeing all these?” Cassie asked the question rhetorically, but Liam answered:

“Must be synced together. Heard about it with parents using nanny cams—easier to watch the whole house at the same time. If you connect to one, you connect to all of them.”

“Huh—interesting,” she returned, pointing at the image of my bed. “So…this is your room?”

“Uh huh,” I murmured back.

She shifted her finger to the other images, gesturing at the living area of another apartment and the strange, grey room. “The hell are these two, then?”

Claire muttered, “No idea.”

“The one with the couch in it is 2D,” Luke spoke begrudgingly, as if he didn’t want to admit the knowledge to himself, let alone the rest of the room. “That huge grandfather clock in the corner there?” I eyed the clock to the left of the couch—it looked as though it could be as tall as me, made with an ornate wooden finish. A large, golden pendulum was slowly swinging from side to side behind a glass door, the time displayed above it. Luke continued, “Caught Mister Milkovich trying to move it in by himself when he bought it like…three years ago, I think? I helped him bring it in.”

I felt my head tilt to the side as I voiced my internal thought aloud, “Why would this guy put up a camera inside of his own place?”

“Ah,” Cassie began, “maybe he has something in there that he wanted to keep track of.” She paused, pressed her lips together tightly, and then rephrased, “Or someone.”

All of us groaned at her insinuation, and Claire added, “And that other room—think that’s in 2D?”

“It’s about the size of a bedroom, right?” Cassie remarked, “Looks like an insane asylum with all that padding. Creepy—”

“Soundproofing,” James said under his breath. He reiterated louder for us all to hear, “It’s like…insulation. Had drums as a kid; my parents stapled shit that looked just like that on the walls.”

Barely audible, Liam asked, “Why are we looking at an empty soundproofed room?”

Not a word was said—it wasn’t needed. I felt the room squirm, the tension palpable as we—or, at the very least, I—came to the conclusion that, yes, the cameras were placed in these two rooms to keep tabs on something valuable. Yes, that something valuable was intended to be me. And, yes, I was likely to have been kept in that soundproofed room—the door locked from the outside and my screams for help contained within.

The idea wasn’t even that far-fetched, really. If anything, the sight made perfect sense, but the thought of what would happen in that grey-padded room was enough to make my stomach twist. The gut feeling that I had experienced on our way here—the hesitancy—strengthened to the point that I could no longer hold my tongue.

“Yeah, we’re not doing this anymore,” I blurted out.

“What?” Cassie’s pretty head whipped to mine. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re not helping us. We’re not trying to detain this man; it’s not happening—we’re done,” I said all of it in one breath, and it left me panting.

She narrowed her eyes. “We are most definitely not done, Zo’. If this goes right, this guy could be out of your life today.”

I shook my head quickly. “I don’t give a shit—this feels bad. It all feels bad.”

Cassie’s expression turned sympathetic. “Zoey, it’s gonna be fine. Like I said before—I can say I’m a new neighbor. All my friends bailed on me to help me move this morning and I have an…I dunno, a heavy chair or something at my old place that I need help with. You guys can show up and—”

“I have seen…no, felt how unhinged this fucking man is,” I told her bluntly. “And after seeing this shit—the answer is no. Actually,” my panicked voice hitched up, “the answer is no for everyone—none of us are diving any further into this. I’d rather go backpack in the goddamn woods and hide out until the police find him. I’ll do it for days—weeks; whatever—”

“Zoey,” Claire reached out to touch my shoulder, “breathe.”

I shrugged away from her touch. “Don’t tell me to breathe. Go find me rations to survive off of instead because we’re not doing this.”

“Yeah, Cas, we’re ditching this plan,” Liam spoke and then looked to me. “You don’t need rations; you don’t need to live in the woods. We’ll figure it out.”

Glancing around to find regretfully nodding heads, Cassie turned to James. He held his hands up in weak defense.

“Don’t look at me,” he muttered, his eyes pinched. “They’re right. Do you want to be the one that ends up in that room? Station opens in an hour; we’ll just go from there.”

I opened my mouth to defend myself further—to agree with them and say that I would wait until the end of fucking time if that’s what it took—but when I glanced at Liam, he wasn’t looking at me. The moment I had turned my head, Liam was sucking in a ragged breath that made me take pause, staring at the images before us with a brand new, boiling hatred.

James exhaled, “Shit,” as he glanced back to Cassie’s phone, and the rest of us barely had time to register the change on the screen.

It was the third image. All remained the same in the living area of what we had come to realize was 2D with the exception of one blaring thing—the man. He was there—pale-skinned, lanky-figured, dark-haired—pacing back and forth in front of the couch. And that was all that we were able to see him do because Liam had abruptly turned around with a vicious grunt.

Luke called to him, “Liam, don’t!”

Cassie and James stood simultaneously from their seats, and the rest unfolded before me in the blink of an eye. Liam bounded for the door. Claire and I yelled for him to stop. James ran to him and wrapped an arm around his neck, and he suddenly had Liam in a chokehold.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Liam croaked through the constriction of his neck, reached up to grab at James’ arm, and leaned forward.

“Jesus Christ, Liam!” James exclaimed as Liam briefly pulled him off of his feet. “Stop!”

“You fucking stop,” he argued. James’ arm appeared to tighten its hold, and Liam gritted out, “Ah!”

“James!” Luke yelled.

Claire screamed, “Guys, stop!”

I called out, “Jay!”

James finally released him, and Liam gasped for air.

“We already said we can’t barrel over there, Liam!” James announced. Liam’s hands on his knees, he looked around the room and huffed as James continued, “I get it. I wanna bust down the door too, man, but that wasn’t the plan. Any plan to go over there is dead now—I think we’re all with Zoey; Cassie shouldn’t—” James did an about-face, spinning his alarmed gaze around the room in the same fashion as Liam, and muttered, “Cassie?”

Liam stood up straight, his glances about quicker, and he asked the room, “Where’s Cassie?”

Luke stammered, “I—I didn’t see, you guys were all—”

Wide-eyed, James stated incredulously, “She did not just go rogue on us. It’s seven in the fucking morning; the guy’s supposed to believe that she needs help moving furniture from her old place at this hour?”

Cassie’s friendly, muffled voice was heard from the hallway, and all of us collectively groaned.

Liam threw his head back. “God fucking-dammit-Cas.”

Claire rattled off, “Okay, okay, no this is fine. This-is-fine. Plan A—we’re back to plan A.”

“I don’t want to do plan A, Claire!” I hissed. “I was iffy on plan A to begin with, but after seeing all this shit—”

“We don’t exactly have a choice now,” James deduced.

“So, what, we just roll with it and assume she’s trying to bring him back to her place?” I replied incredulously.

“Shhh!”

Luke shushed us, he and Claire having made their way to the front door. They each pressed an ear against it, listening with squinted eyes.

I rushed to their right, replicating their stance to hear whatever possible, and was greeted with Cassie’s voice.

“You. Are. Amazing!” she trilled. “This chair I have to move—so heavy. All my friends bailed on me to help me move…now it’s first thing in the morning and I’ve got no help.”

A deep voice replied something that I couldn’t decipher, his tone not nearly as loud as Cassie’s.

“What did he say?” Claire whispered to both of us.

Luke shrugged. “Not a clue.”

A door closed in the hallway, we all froze at the sound except for our heads ping-ponging between each other’s, my heart was ready to jump out of my chest, and when it seemed that enough time had passed, I opened the door because I was the closest one to it.

The hallway was empty.

Simultaneously rushing toward something whilst trying to remain unseen is harder than it looks.

When we reached the bottom of the stairs, all of us tentatively poking our heads out of the stairwell to view the street, we had quickly noted that Cassie’s vehicle—an old, black Jeep—was gone. Previously parked in front of James’ sedan on the side of the street, we all took little pleasure in knowing that she was, as James had phrased it before, jumping on a grenade. As we rushed to her house, all of us considered the plan laid before us. The more that we spoke, the more that our collective sleep deprivation was apparent for the haphazard plan—the one that seemed so perfect before we had seen the additional cameras—had the metaphorical appearance of Swiss cheese.

“How long has the guy even been living at Mister Milkovich’s?” Luke voiced from my left. “What if he got to know the other neighbors and knows that none of them are moving?”

“I mean, he didn’t get to know us,” Claire reminded him.

Luke pinched the area above his nose. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Even if he didn’t know the other neighbors,” James said from the driver’s seat, “there’s no moving truck outside. Is he gonna believe that she’s just moving all her shit a few boxes at a time in that Jeep? Unlikely.”

“Why didn’t we think of any of this before?” Liam groaned from the seat in front of me.

“We pulled an all-nighter,” I told him. “Got run off the road and shot at already, I’m pretty sure none of us were thinking straight.”

“How likely is it that Cas actually gets him to her place and when we get there, we can surround him from all sides or some shit?” Liam offered, “Tackle him and tie him up with kitchen twine, I dunno.” I clenched my jaw, and it seemed that the rest of the group did the same. Liam threw his head back, thumping it on the headrest. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

“Ah,” James muttered, “not to mention—she’s about to show up at her place under the guise that it’s moving day.” He waved the hand that wasn’t holding the wheel in front of his face in a jazz hands motion. “And when they walk in the front door, nothing will be boxed.”

My stomach sank. “God dammit.”

The car began to bounce from the texture of the gravel beneath us, and the promise of being closer to the rapidly unraveling situation was one that we couldn’t avoid.

James groaned, “Shit.”

We all followed his line of sight to the side of the road up ahead. Cassie’s Jeep was parked—or, more likely, had been quickly redirected into whatever grass resided on the side of the road. Wet, muddy divots in the ground leading up to them, the tires appeared to have slid to a quick stop. The passenger and driver’s doors were ajar, hinting at a rapid exit on both parts.

“Okay,” I said in an exhale, “okay-okay, um—split up; we need to split up—”

Liam looked to me quickly. “I’m not leaving you on your own.”

We all swayed with the change in direction of James’ steering as he led us to the side of the road.

“No one’s splitting up,” James stated. The crunch of gravel dissipated beneath us, he thrust the gearshift into park, and as we all rapidly moved to exit, he twisted to face us all. “We stick together, stay quiet, and listen, yeah?”

Everyone nodded, and we sprang out of the car. By the time that we reached Cassie’s, my heart was in my throat. We all glimpsed the footprints in the muck from the driver’s side, and as we passed them, a second set was clearly trailing them, both leading into the woods.

“Fuck,” Liam cursed in a hoarse tone, and our steps all quickened as we entered the trees, listening intently for any clue of direction.

The sun had risen by now, the sky a bright blue, but the thick of the forest kept the vibrancy of it all obscured from our view. Forced to rely on our ears, we stuck together in a pack, our steps pressing as quietly as they could into the grass below. Luke walked on the left side of Claire, his arm braced in front of her as if he were readying himself to order her steps to stop. Liam was in front of me, a hand reached toward me ensuring that I was both keeping pace and remaining with the group as it brushed against my waist. James’ rushing steps were to our right, his eyes peeled for any sign of disturbance. Our breaths shook with every tree we passed—every twig that snapped under our feet. It was the only thing that rang in our ears—the only focus that pulled our attention—until James’ head whipped to the right, and he took off.

We all jogged to catch up, Luke cursing his brother in a rapid whisper for abandoning the group, only for us to find him crouched at the bottom of a large-trunked tree. Cassie sat beside him, legs bent beneath her, her dark eyes wide as she nodded at whatever James was asking her. A grip on either one of her upper arms, he glanced up and down her body frantically and then appeared to relax. He held out a hand, Cassie took it, and by the time we were reaching them, he was helping her to her feet.

Liam’s touch finally left my waist, and he stomped over to his sister. After he took a single, large, cleansing breath, he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Thanks,” she muttered to James, he gave her a curt nod, and then she looked to Liam. “I’m fine—”

“Good—are you fucking insane?” Though his voice remained hushed, his admonishment was biting.

“Liam,” I called to him, but he held up a hand to stop me.

“You could’ve gotten yourself fucking. Killed.”

“I made a call,” she retorted with narrowed eyes. “It was a bad one—”

Liam questioned quickly, “What happened?”

“Long story short,” she rattled off, “I was wrong, he did know who I was. He flashed me his gun thinking I’d be a good hostage or some shit, so I pulled over and booked it.”

“Guys,” Luke interjected nervously, “how about we just get out of the goddamn woods and back to the car?

I pointed at him. “Yes—that. Let’s just camp out at the station until they open.”

James muttered, “Where is he; where did he go?”

Cassie shook her head. “No ide—”

BANG!

A bullet hit the tree to my right, and bark went flying. Wooden shrapnel in the air, all of us dove to the ground with arms covering our heads and those closest to us. Claire was huddled beneath Luke, her hands thrown over the back of his skull. Liam squatted down in a crouch, his gaze frantically darting between me and Cassie as he was too far away to guard either one of us. James and Cassie had folded into each other, each of them attempting to press the other further toward the ground.

Liam rushed his way to me, only able to take two steps before another blaring bang rang out.

This one hit the trunk to our left, and it was nearly impossible to tell who was screaming what in the string of shrieked profanity that erupted around us. All I knew was that with the man lurking amongst us once more, obviously ready to blow us to bits, the decision to stick together had disappeared. Quickly scattering upon the second shot, Luke and Claire had dashed off to the left—her arm slung over Luke’s shoulders to aid her usual limping whilst attempting to run. Cassie had grabbed James by the arm, the two of them sprinting to the right. And Liam had finally made his way to me.

“I’m behind you,” he stated in a raspy exhale. “Run.”

He pulled me up by the wrist, and his words hit me as I straightened my knees. “The fuck do you mean, you’re behind me?”

Liam pushed at my lower back. “Weave through the trees—GO!”

Time never being more of the essence than now, I blindly obeyed.

The man was behind us—I knew he was even though I couldn’t see him, for that’s where the shots had been fired from. Horrid, repetitious motions quickly created, I followed Liam’s instruction and zig-zagged this way and that through the wood. I would sprint a few steps to the left, a few steps to the right, and glance behind me to find Liam keeping pace, watching me intently—until he wasn’t. It was the sixth iteration of the ritual when the surroundings around me were alarmingly quiet, and I slowed my steps.

My lungs burned. I spun three-hundred-and-sixty-degrees, my head turning every which way to find Liam—not to mention the remaining four of our group—and I found no one. I considered calling out any of their names—screaming into the abyss—sprinting back for the street in hopes that the others had made their way back to the car. I didn’t, though. I just panted, my gaze whipping back and forth in a panicked fashion until it was being physically held in place.

His slim, long fingers were familiar. He wrapped them around my cheek, pulled me close to his chest, and—in a turn of events that I desperately wished could be my last—forced them into my mouth. They tasted like sweat and soil, and he kept them there.

I should have bitten them off—felt the blood run down my chin and spat the digits in his face—but I didn’t. He was quiet, and so was I…but that was the ritual that I had created for myself any time that we encountered each other, I suppose.

I didn’t even attempt to scream.

I don’t know that if I was in a right mind I would have screamed, though, because I could feel cool metal against the base of my neck. The sensation left me feeling as though everything had oddly come full circle.

That’s how the world works, though—is it not?

You try your damndest only to be let down. You lay out a plan only for it to go horribly awry. You fall in love only to be murdered.

It was oddly poetic, really, for no matter the course of action, the clock never stops. Time goes on. The planet continues to spin on its axis as if nothing happened. And though I knew that the world didn’t stop—I wasn’t frozen in time with this man digging a gun into the back of my skull—it felt as such. I looked up to see the sky peeking through the trees, a stray patch of sun reaching my eyes, and he spoke to me.

“Y’know it’s always a…a James. A Luke…A Liam.” Bile rose in my throat at their names, and he continued, “Those are the ones that get noticed. Women run to them. Throw themselves at them. Me on the other hand…an actual nice guy—”

My mind screamed at me that he was anything but, building snappy responses left and right that I could use to verbally decimate the man, but nothing came out that was recognizable as a word.

“Ahm,” I complained in a groan, the barrel of the gun pushed harder into the skin on my nape, and the fingers in my mouth flexed around the teeth on my lower jaw, holding it ajar.

“This was the only way to get you to open your eyes,” he remarked quietly, bending down as he spoke, his lips grazing my ear. “I see you around town; you walk right past me. The first flowers I sent, you…burned them.” His grip on my teeth tightened, and I whimpered as the hinge of my jaw cranked past the point of resistance. “You should have been elated. You should have looked for me—found your admirer—been…curious. Asked around the complex, ‘Did you see who dropped these off? Any ideas?’ But no—instead, you burned them. I saw you both…smiling while you threw them in a goddamn bonfire. Fucking ecstatic while you bounced on his dick afterwards. You caught my attention then.” He seethed, whispering, “Do I have your attention now?” I nodded, the gun shifting against my spine with the minuscule movement, and he praised me with a gentle, “So quiet for me.”

His nose had just begun to caress my ear, tracing up and down, when another presence made itself known. The rough touch forced itself between the man’s head and mine, a choking noise erupted from the man’s throat, and as he was pulled backward, his grip yanked at my jaw. I yelped in pain.

“Get your hand out of her goddamn mouth,” Liam’s voice, nearly unrecognizable from the grit of hatred leaking into it, spoke from behind us. The man was jerked once more, the hard touch of metal left my neck, and his nails dug into the gums on the backside of my teeth. A high-pitched whine left me, and Liam seethed, “Don’t make me break your fucking neck. Let. Go.”

He obliged, and I buckled to the ground with a thud, a sharp rock hitting my right kneecap and radiating pain up my thigh. With a grunt, I rapidly flipped myself onto my rear. I glanced up, witnessing Liam holding the man with an arm wrapped around his neck. Slightly taller than Liam, the man’s lanky frame bent at the knees as his neck bent backward and into Liam’s grip. Liam’s other hand grasped the man’s right wrist—the one that held his gun. The man’s free hand flailed like mad, his gaunt gaze wide as he clawed at Liam’s forearm, and just when Liam locked his eyes with mine, the man’s rapid scratching ceased. Instead, he calmly reached behind himself toward Liam’s scalp, grabbed his hair, and gave it a swift yank.

It was where the laceration from the crash resided, and Liam’s eyes squeezed shut as he moaned a gritty, “Ah!”

The man was able to wrench his gun-laden hand free, and the world spun slower once again. My heart beat at thrice the pace. I screeched a hellish noise that vibrated the wood around us. I reached anywhere around me—smacked the forest floor to find anything that would aid me as Liam screamed from the grip on his scalp and the man began to swing his weapon up. The rock that I had fallen on earlier scraped the bottom of my right palm, and I grasped it. More than a fistful, but small enough for me to wield in one hand, I launched myself to my feet. I had no time to consider the man’s most vulnerable area—I was only able to swing blindly at his ribcage with all the force that I could muster.

The action made the breath leave his lungs. His fingers automatically squeezed the trigger, a bullet shooting straight for the stars, and I hit him again—the sound of the rock against his ribs was a wet smack, I assumed, from aggravating any slice that I had previously given him along his side. Folding forward as the wind was knocked out of him for a second time, he pulled Liam down with him by the hair. Nearly eye-level with me now, I placed my other hand on the rock, gripping it with both palms, and wasted no time in striking the back of his skull.

The first blow to his head sent him to the ground, face down. Liam stumbled beside him, finally free from his grasp, and I repeated the motion. A stomach-turning cracking noise at the moment of impact made Liam call to me. My own name was a dull murmur to my ears, and I did it again. My arms began to ache from my voracious swings, and I was gasping for breath by the time that I stopped.

The man remained still. His arms splayed above him on either side of his head, palms down, and the gun had skittered to his right. Light filtering through the trees shined over his body in choice splotches, illuminating the damage that I had done. I looked down at my bloody hands—they gripped the sides of the rock hard enough that the rough texture of it bit into my nailbed, and I found myself wanting to scream.

I should have been screaming, but I couldn’t. I just stared, my eyes beginning to water from my inability to so much as blink, and Liam hesitantly touched the space between my shoulders from behind. For whatever reason, it made me drop the rock, sink from my kneeling position down to sit on my left hip, and then I was in his lap.

“Don’t look at him,” Liam spoke to me gently, angling my face back to him with a squeeze of his hand on my jaw. His dark eyes pinched in sympathy at my obvious panic. “Just look at me; it’s okay.” I nodded, but it was too late. The picture of him was there in my mind. Lifeless. Bloodied. What I was beginning to realize was brain matter shining in the spotty light of the forest. Shivering began to take me; subconscious whimpers leaving my mouth with every shaking breath. “Shhh,” he consoled me, whispering, “I know, Sweets. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

I did as he asked, looking to him rather than the man—the body—beside us. My hyperventilation continued, the breaths becoming hoarse, and he pulled my head to his chest. His voice hummed comforting words, but his heart raced. The rapid pulse hammered in my ear, betraying his calm tone as he inhaled deeply, and then exhaled long and slow. The action was forced—imposed upon himself as I knew that his lungs were straining in the same fashion that mine were. I followed his lead, our breaths unsteady as we attempted to restrain them, and he clutched at my back as we sat on the forest floor.

Chapter 21

The panic was finally gone, and it left dread in its wake.

There were several hours which I didn’t want to relive—those directly after I had legitimately killed a man being included in those hours.

Cassie had arrived first. Upon hearing her brother’s scream and the subsequent gunshot, she had sprinted to us in a state of near-hysteria, and James closely followed. They had hesitantly questioned whether or not the man was, in fact, dead—it was quickly deciphered that he was deceased due to the mess that I had made of his skull—and then, Luke and Claire ran up to the scene.

It was all very dramatic, really, the realization that the man was no longer living. James continually pressed his hands into his eyes, looking to the sky, and speaking in mostly groans. Luke paced before us, rattling off that we needed to contact the police and admit that the crime had been committed in self-defense. Once I pushed myself off of his lap and onto my tailbone, Liam remained sitting beside me, chiming in every so often to the discussion regarding a literal corpse, an elbow resting on his bent right knee as his other hand stroked up and down my back slowly—I neither knew nor cared if the gesture was more of a calm for him or me. Cassie had sat herself against a tree, choosing not to look at the gruesome scene as she busied herself playing devil’s advocate for anything that Luke, James, or Liam threw her way. Claire stared at me with a concerned gaze whilst the others vocalized their internal thoughts.

I didn’t blame them for it—the drama, I mean—I was a little too busy attempting not to hyperventilate because I could still hear the man’s skull cracking beneath the rock. I couldn’t help but look at him again every so often, though nothing had changed. I hadn’t expected it to, but the stillness that surrounded him was jarring. The way that the back of his head was caved in, displaying a horrific sight of what was meant to be neatly kept beneath skin and bone, was enough to induce nausea and haunt dreams. I knew for a fact that it would be haunting mine.

The idea that we could contact the police was abruptly dismissed. Of course, the action was in self-defense, but the sight before us didn’t appear as such. It was far more likely from a layperson’s point of view that the man was targeted, cornered, and subsequently beaten to death. It could have all been explained away, sure, but the length of time that the investigation would go on was an unknown that I didn’t want to explore and, somehow, it seemed that if I were to go down that route, I would be keeping him alive. I would still be answering questions for months—years, perhaps—and the man would live on in my memory.

Though his identity was still a mystery to us all—and, as I had vehemently argued, would remain as such—there was no doubt that he would live on in all of our minds. We didn’t dare touch his pockets or search for identification for putting a name to his face was moot, and I had no desire to humanize the one who had acted so inhuman towards me…but he still would live on in my memory. I knew he would. Washing our hands of him entirely at this very moment wouldn’t change the outcome of our collective trauma from it all either but, however dirty the thought was, it felt…cleaner…so, we considered the options ahead.

Spending hours digging a grave was lowest on the list, for we neither had the tools on hand nor the collective energy to do so, and the thought of the body being uncovered was one that we didn’t want to entertain. Cassie recommended burning him. Liam winced at the suggestion, immediately admonishing his sister for bringing it up at all with a chaste, “Cassandra!” The third and final thought on the matter was water—not a large body of it, as Liam had crudely offered back in North Carolina, but a river.

The one just east of where everything had occurred was swiftly flowing and filled with rocks. Sharp rocks. If one were to slip and fall, the current would take them quickly, pull them under without a trace, and the damage done by the jagged stones below could be irreversible.

It was plausible.

We all agreed it was plausible.

So, amongst the options of earth, fire, or water, we chose water.

Liam grabbed his arms by the wrists, James held his ankles, and the man was tossed into the overflowing river along with his gun and the rock that I had weaponized. We watched his body flow downwind, and then he was gone.

Quickly.

Remarkably quickly.

The six of us stared off into nothing for an amount of time that never would have felt long enough, and then we all bid each other a quiet, somber goodbye. Cassie returned to her home. The rest of us drove back to the complex in a silence that spoke louder than any words could, and we allowed the world to continue to spin. Luke and Claire went up to 3C, James took his place back in 2A, and Liam and I walked inside 2B.

Ambled inside 2B, really, and I stopped at his kitchen. I stood before the island, my arms hanging at my sides as I recalled the events from the past twenty-four hours—hell, the past four hours. I was…distraught. And, somehow, also…happy. Happy was the wrong word. I was devastated, yet relieved. Still terrified—ever-terrified, yet the weight that had been laying on my shoulders was lifted upon the man’s death.

Liam approached me hesitantly from behind, his steps clunking until I could feel the heat of him encompassing me from behind. His arms wrapped around my shoulders, his head rested on top of mine, and I let out a ragged breath.

“I’m so tired,” I admitted in a mousy, soft voice.

It was an understatement. A massive one. So massive that I didn’t even cringe away from the pathetic way that I said it.

Liam hummed. “Me too. Do we—do we need to talk about it all?”

His tone hinted that he’d rather everything be forgotten, and I agreed with that wholeheartedly. It wouldn’t be, of course, but it need not be mentioned.

“No,” I replied simply as I turned in his arms.

His gaze was exhausted as well, his dark eyes sunken in and the pallor of his face accentuating the freckles on his cheeks. Blood had seeped into his hair once again—only a scant amount, but enough to be noticeable—and I reached up to touch his jaw. A corner of his lip pulled up softly at the gesture, but when I flexed my fingers to angle him away from me, he frowned.

“My head’s fine.”

My gaze traced the laceration—the false stitch had somehow remained glued to his scalp, but the rough yanking of his hair had irritated it enough to briefly cause it to bleed.

“It’s bleeding again.”

“Figured.”

“Can I clean you up?” I whispered the question, and he nodded into my palm.

His eyes met mine. “Can I return the favor?” He didn’t need to explain what he meant. We were both covered in sweat, soil, and blood—some Liam’s; some from the man. Liam reached up to gently touch my right cheek. The scrape there smarted, and I gasped. His hand fell away. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Shower and then bed?”

My knees wobbled. “I don’t want to stand.”

“Bath?” he asked. I nodded in return, and he mouthed, “Okay.”

Neither of us spoke as we made our way to his bathroom. Liam pushed the curtain aside, sat on the edge of the tub, and began to run the water. He held his hand out, testing the temperature as it ran over his fingers, and I turned to look into the mirror behind me. I looked…dirty. I knew I would despite having already cleaned myself up once in the past few hours but, for some reason, seeing myself was a shock. My head tilted to the side as I looked myself up and down, stopping to inspect every dirt patch on my top—every blemish on my skin. My face was almost ashen. The spot on my cheek where I had fallen to the ground hours ago was red and angry. My hair stuck up on all ends. I began to reach a hand up to run it through the short strands, but the sight of them halted my actions altogether.

They were red. No longer bright red, but red nonetheless. I looked at them as I listened to the water rush behind me, and then I scrubbed myself clean all the way to my forearms. The white bar of soap next to the bathroom sink became tinged with pink as I rinsed the evidence of my actions away, and I massaged it under the stream until the color dissipated.

The sink was off. The slippery bar was back on the counter. My clothes were stripped away, and by the time that I was shifting my focus back to Liam, the bath was no longer running. He remained sitting on the edge of the tub, eyeing me hesitantly—his gaze trailed over my naked body, but it held no trace of heat. Instead, it lingered on the scratches and scuffs, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed.

I allowed a corner of my lip to pull up, tipping my head at the suds behind him.

“You had stuff for a bubble bath?”

He shook his head, reaching behind himself to grab the bottle of shower gel, and waved it at me. “Just kinda squirted it in there while the water was running.”

“Mmm.” I nodded. “That makes more sense.”

He offered me his hand. “Just get in, Zo’.”

I took it, asking, “Let me look at your head again first?”

“How about I get in with you and you can do it then?”

I smiled, but only just. “Will you fit?”

He shrugged. “I’ve never tried—only one way to find out.”

I bobbed my head up and down in acquiescence and I carefully stepped in, sinking into the water. It was blissfully hot—just hot enough to sting upon the first impression against my skin. My eyes fluttered closed for a beat, I sighed long and low, and I gestured for Liam to join me with a wave of my hand. He reached behind himself to yank his shirt over his head. His shoes were next—then, his jeans; his socks and boxer briefs. Taking a brief moment to find a hand towel in the drawer under the sink, Liam then stood naked, eyeing the tub with a questioning look as if he wasn’t sure where to step, and I scooted forward.

“Sit behind me.”

I read his lips as they moved in a silent, “Okay.”

The water sloshed, his steps less than graceful, and he lowered himself. His knees were bent on either side of me, poking out of the suds, and the back of his head rested against the tile of the shower with a gentle thud.

“This tub is not Liam-sized,” I mumbled, tracing my fingers over the blonde hair on his kneecaps.

“Mm-mmm,” he hummed out a semblance of a no. “It’s not. Are you comfy?”

I leaned back, my head fell against his chest, and he set the small towel he had grabbed on the edge of the tub to his left. With one arm around my shoulders and the other clutching my waist, he enveloped me. His arms were wet, the heat surrounded me, the sound of crackling bubbles reached my ears, and my eyes closed softly once more.

“Very comfy,” I replied.

“Then I’m good.”

“Don’t torture yourself back there,” I told him quietly. “If there’s not enough room, it’s fi—”

His arms tightened around me. “I said I’m good, Zo’.”

We sat still for a while, save for our touches grazing each other. I ran my hands over his knees and thighs. His nails gently scratched at my right shoulder and the left side of my waist as his fingers curled in and flexed back out. I was nearly certain that our breathing synchronized. I could have slept right then and there, but I knew that the option wasn’t one based in realism.

I eventually reached for the black loofah that rested on the soap stand jutting out of the wall, and Liam moved with me. He took it from my hands, doused it with the body wash that was to the left of him, and pulled me back against him once more. He ran it across my arms with a gentle pressure, over my chest and abdomen, and down to wherever he could reach on my legs. He lingered only on the spots that were particularly soiled, brushing the loofah back and forth until the area was clean, and then moving on. Every motion he made was laced with care, intimate to the point that a slight blush rose to my cheeks. Liam ushered me to lean forward with a hand pressing between my shoulder blades, and I obliged. His touch caressed my back, the loofah appeared to be foregone, and he planted a kiss at the top of my spine.

The gesture made me twist to look at him, his eyes met mine, and his lips twitched in a tiny smile.

“Good?” he asked.

I spun to face him, water splashing around us as I attempted to straddle his legs. His thighs were pressed firmly against the side of the tub and there was no room for it, so I rested my shins on him and sat back on my heels. The loofah floated between us, and I grabbed it.

Liam watched me intently as I returned the favor and ran it over his skin. He held his arms out, sinking them back into the water when I was finished with them, and then leaned his head back against the tile again as I worked my way from his chest to his neck. I dropped the loofah back to the water and grabbed the hand towel. I sank it into the tub, wringing it out before touching it to his hair.

“Close your eyes, Lee,” I instructed in a whisper.

He did so and I swiped as gently as possible, wetting the area until there were no more traces of red. His hair was dark and damp when I finished, the strands curling softly from the moisture. I set the towel on the side of the tub once more and then reached down to squeeze the loofah. His eyes still obediently closed, I brought my suds-covered fingers to his face. I traced his stubble, pushed his hair off of his forehead to cover every last inch, and when I ran over the scar on his upper lip, his mouth fell open in a soft exhale. I placed my hands in the bath once more. Soap quickly rinsed off, I repeated my actions to wipe away any trace of it on his face.

Liam waited for a moment, and when he finally seemed to suspect that I was finished, he looked at me. The lids lingered for a long while over his eyes with every tired blink, his warm gaze full of adoration as it inspected me.

“Let me see your face,” he muttered, ordering just as I did, “close your eyes.”

He repeated my actions, paying extra attention not to aggravate the scrape on my cheek. His fingertips ran tiny circles over my forehead and my chin—down my neck and to my upper chest. Tracing my collarbones then, his touch slowed. He trailed back up to my neck, his thumbs lingering by my jaw and clasping my nape, and I sighed into his hands when he worked up to my scalp.

“That feels good,” I murmured.

“Good,” his voice vibrated back to my ears, and I could hear his smile. “Lean back.”

I obeyed, and my hair dipped back into the tub. Stretched backward between his legs with his arms supporting my back and his fingers working through my hair, I chuckled.

“You’re lucky I’m very bendy.”

“No,” he replied, and then quickly corrected to, “Well, yes, but more like I’m lucky you’re so small—wouldn’t be able to do this otherwise.”

He brought me back up, water streamed down my back, and I continued the forward momentum, stopping only when I was stretched onto his chest and my palms splayed across his pectorals. I looked up to him, and he wore a small smirk.

“Weird time to try to piss me off by commenting on my size,” I told him quietly.

He shrugged a brawny shoulder, and I placed my lips on his with no hesitation.

He was still wet, our faces cold, and he scratched my neck softly as our mouths moved together. The kisses were sweet. Closed-lipped. Chaste, but he never ushered me away. Our motions slowed, he rested his forehead against mine, and he whispered down to me:

“Do you want shampoo for your hair?”

I shook my head. “I want to go to bed.”

He nodded, our noses brushed together, and he asked, “Sleep with me?”

It was a question. Of course, it was a question, but it was spoken with need. His chocolate eyes were filled with desperation. And though I was anticipating sleeping with him anyway for I wanted his protective touch just as much as he seemed to want mine, his tone cracked me in half. It crumpled me, and I hummed in agreement before the next words fell out of my mouth.

“Love you, Lee.”

He smiled, his hands tangling further in my wet hair. “Love you too, Zo’.”

His returned words glued me together, and our lips touched once more. Lazily this time, we moved against each other with the feeling that we had all the time in the world. Eventually, we stood, dried ourselves off, crawled into his bed without bothering to find clothing, and his arms were around me again. The blankets were up to our shoulders, and I was pulled flush to his chest. Neither of us dared to move, and if I were being honest, I was half-wondering if we would have sex. The combination of knowing the threat over us all was gone, the closeness that we shared as we slowly cleaned each other in the bath, the additional exchange of I love you’s, and sharing a bed for the first time was heady—hell, I was expecting sex once we were buried under the sheets. We held each other tightly as if we were scared the other would let go. We caressed the lines of each other’s bodies softly—murmured quiet sweet nothings and followed them up with kisses in more neglected areas like eyelids, earlobes, and the tips of our noses.

We didn’t have sex, though. We slept. We drifted off in each other’s arms, woke several hours later to shift our bodies into a more preferable position, and dozed off again. Our eyes opened occasionally—tightening grips and happy grumbles all around—and sleep would take us once more.

Epilogue

On day one after it all had occurred, I requested a week off from work.

That was reasonable, right?

I wasn’t sure of the etiquette when it came to recovery from a situation such as this, but that felt fitting, so I didn’t question myself when I decided to cite personal reasons and utilize almost all that remained of my paid time off.

It took little to no convincing for Liam to do the same. His college schedule along with the contract job he had been working were a touch more complicated to avoid, but he did so nonetheless.

“Family emergency,” Liam said into his phone, his eyebrows flying up at the response in his ear as he pointedly set his coffee mug down on his kitchen table. “I have to explain my family emergency? That’s kinda personal—what do you mean, ‘Is it personal time or a family emergency?’ It’s both.” Liam rolled his eyes, hard. “I know you don’t offer PTO.”

I crossed my arms, grumbling from across the table, “Assholes.”

“Yeah,” Liam returned into the speaker quickly, “there was a death—not—not in my family—does it matter?” He awaited his supervisor’s reply, his mouth hanging open as he listened and then muttered to himself, “You don’t offer bereavement leave—I’m not asking for bereavement leave.” He spoke more firmly, pressing his index finger and thumb together firmly, jabbing them in the air as he was speaking as if it would emphasize his point further. “No—no—no, I’m not gonna elaborate—Marcus—Marcus—Mar—I’m not coming in for a week—I’m not—then don’t pay me.” His eyelids fell halfway over his eyes. “Yeah—we’re good then?” He exhaled heavily. “See you next week—Monday. Bye.”

He tossed his phone on the table with little regard for its integrity. His blonde head thrown back, he let out a loud groan.

I reached for my coffee that sat on the table before me and took a large sip.

“If you keep throwing your phone around like that, the screen’s gonna crack more and more.”

Liam chuckled sardonically. “Phone’s the least of my worries; I may be a couple hundred short on rent this month.” He pondered something to himself and then sarcastically asked, “Wait—are you against me selling my body?”

“Hmm.” Though I wasn’t considering the question in the slightest, I replied, “Do the ladies get to touch? Or is this a window-shopping scenario?”

“Touching; definitely touching,” he stated. “And it’s gonna be more than just ladies, we’re opening this up to everyone. I am not here to judge or kink-shame.”

I laughed. “As much as I would personally pay to see that, I’m gonna have to veto that idea.”

A wide smirk spread across his face. “You put me on such a short leash.”

“Please,” I mocked, “I haven’t even made you bark for me, yet.”

The scar on his upper lip stretched further. “Yet?”

I smiled, and then drained the rest of my coffee in one gulp. A long night’s sleep had left us both in far more upbeat moods and, despite the argument with his boss, our usual banter had obviously returned. There was still an underlying tension that left us both unwilling to leave the apartment—which was why I had declined Claire’s earlier offer to meet everyone across the hall for coffee—but the isolation that we were creating for ourselves left me content, and I relished in it.

I stood, intent on grabbing another cup of coffee from the kitchen, and made my way.

“Are you really that short on money?” I inquired as I reached the island and grabbed the French Press. Liam pressed his lips together tightly as I began to pour, lifting his mug to his lips rather than responding. I sighed and set the contraption down with purpose, turning to the fridge to grab my creamer. I poured in my usual amount and told him, “I’ll cover it.”

He scoffed, “You’ll cover it?”

I took a sip as I returned to the table, and I set it on the wooden counter with a clunk. “Yeah—I’ll cover it.”

“Zoey,” he whined, reaching for my hand before I had a chance to sit. “I’m not gonna let you pay my rent.”

I snorted, rattling off, “You’re taking unpaid time off to spend it with me as we heal from the unspeakable. You’re not getting evicted on my watch; how much do you need?”

“Zoey—”

“How much?”

He sighed. “Five hundred, I think.”

“Done.”

His face pinched together. “You really don’t need to—”

I leaned down swiftly, cutting off his words by pressing my lips against his. A happy noise sounded in his throat, and what had begun as chaste and sweet was suddenly not. Our tongues touched, our breaths tangled together, and any argument regarding monetary issues was thrown to the wayside as I took a seat on his lap.

It wasn’t long before I was panting out, “Bed? Or here?”

“Bed,” he returned in a near-moan.

His arms moved to wrap around my rear, and he stood to take me there.

The remainder of day one was effectively spent on that mattress.

On days two and three, I paid for several meals to be delivered straight to Liam’s doorstep because exiting the apartment still sent a tremor of anxiety through me. Liam began to refer to himself as a sugar baby, and the majority of our time was spent eating either pizza, Chinese food, or each other.

On day four, though there were many memorable moments, the one cemented in my brain was when I was writhing on the couch as Liam kissed his way from the center of my being down to my right inner thigh. Aftershocks running through me, I reached down with the intention to gently guide him back to me. His now gloriously stubbled face was unfortunately too far away, though, and I only managed to smack his hand that was grasping my left hipbone.

“Come back here,” I whined. “I’ll come again.”

He glanced up at me, his smile wicked. “You want me to drown?”

I chuckled through a panted breath. “Uh huh.”

“On it.”

He returned as if it were his sole mission in life.

Day five—Friday—was when I had once again heard from Claire. On day one, I had told her in just a few words that I needed some space before returning to reality and, of course, she understood. She allowed me to isolate. To distract myself with the comfort of the inside, the comfort of not needing to change out of ratty clothing, and the comfort of as much sex as Liam and I could manage to have. But isolation couldn’t last forever. I knew that. Liam knew that. And, upon day five, it appeared that our time had run out.

My phone was screen-side down on the kitchen table, and it buzzed while I was in the middle of drinking my third cup of coffee. Liam was sitting across from me, slowly sliding his thumb over his phone as he read something on the screen, and he glanced to the noise briefly. He then watched me casually as I grabbed it. The message displayed:

Claire 10:25 A.M.: Henry’s tonight? Me and Luke are back at work starting today—6:00.

I groaned, set my phone back on the table, and Liam did the same.

“It’s Claire, isn’t it?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“How’d you know?”

He shrugged. “Thought she’d reach out sooner than this; I’ve been waiting.”

“Waiting for us to emerge from our cave like two bears coming out of a fuck-filled hibernation?” I offered.

Liam beamed a smile at me that was so wide, his dimples appeared. “Somethin’ like that.”

“She said they’re back working at Henry’s—6:00 tonight.”

“Mmkay,” he returned with a nod. “Cool, that gives us plenty of time.”

I squinted at him. “For?”

“For being bears for just a little longer?” he asked with a crooked grin.

I laughed. “Have you not had your fill of me yet? Jesus.” Liam shook his head, stood from his seat as if he had a job to do, and held out his hand, palm facing up. He looked to me with an expression that I knew far too well. “Fine,” I mockingly complained, smacking my hand in his.

He pulled me up and out of my seat, and I giggled as our lips locked and we walked ourselves back to bed.

Six o’clock on the dot, we were walking into Henry’s—the atmosphere was nostalgic, and I breathed it in. Claire waved at us from behind the counter as she spoke with a regular at the far end of the bar. Luke gave us a nod hello—also behind the bartop, he chatted with James as we made our way. James took a sip of his usual whiskey, and Luke scrunched his nose as he took in Liam’s appearance.

“Oh my God, what is that?” He cringed, pointing at the scruff on Liam’s face that I had grown to adore.

Both of us slinked onto our usual barstools, James to my left, and Liam’s head whipped to mine as he sat on my right.

“You said it looked nice!”

James barked out a laugh. I elbowed him in the ribs, and he coughed through his remaining laughter.

“I do think it looks nice,” I returned.

“It’s got red in it,” Luke noted with a squint of his eyes. “It’s dim as shit in here and I can still tell that there’s like…three different colors in there, man. Shave that thing off.”

“Don’t,” I insisted.

Claire approached slowly, having been distracted behind Luke by a beer tap that was consistently spitting out foam. She finally set a pale beer before the gentleman she had been speaking with previously, and he smiled at her in thanks. Her gaze finally found us, and she threw back her ginger head the moment that she was able to fully observe Liam.

“HA!”

Luke flashed her a dazzling smile, remarking with glee, “The beard, right?”

James snorted into his whiskey. “It’s not a beard.”

“Jay’s right—beard is a loose term,” she mocked as she stood before us from behind the counter.

“Okay, I’m shaving it off,” Liam announced, throwing both of his hands in the air. “This is exactly why I always keep on top of it; I never liked my facial hair.”

I leaned toward him, close enough to whisper in his ear, “It feels good between my thighs. Keep it.”

“Never mind,” he muttered with a large grin. He spoke down to me, “I suddenly don’t give a shit.”

James groaned. “What a terrible day to have the ability to hear.”

“Oh God,” Luke murmured. “I don’t wanna know.”

“Nice to see you in your usual form, Zoey,” Claire told me with a smile, no doubt filling in the blanks for herself. I caught her eye, and she mouthed a silent, ‘You good?’

I nodded, Claire returned the gesture, and she turned to grab our usuals.

The bell chimed from above the front door, and I glanced to the noise to see Cassie waltzing in all of her jean-short, high-top wearing glory. She smiled a nose crinkling smile at me, waggling her fingers in our direction, and I couldn’t help but return it.

“You invited your sister?” I asked Liam.

He shrugged. “Nope.”

Claire slid both of our drinks—a cider for myself and an amber beer for Liam—in front of us.

“I invited her,” Claire told us, grinning as she greeted her. “Hi, Cassie.”

Cassie approached the bar on James’ left, leaning an elbow on the counter.

“Hey,” she spoke to Claire and then glanced past James to her brother. “This,” Cassie waved a hand in a circular motion in front of her face, “is not working for you.”

Liam narrowed his eyes at her. “You too?”

“Oh, good,” she quipped, asking James, “You guys already tell him that it looks like shit?”

James’ lips turned up at the corners. “Uh huh.”

“I like it,” I told her.

She laughed. “Oh, please—kaleidoscopes have less color change.”

Luke chuckled from behind the bar. “I like you here.”

Cassie continued, “Look, I get it—the scratching may feel good on your skin, but at what cost, Zo’?”

She grabbed James’ lowball glass, brought it to her lips, took a sip, and James pursed his lips.

“Hi,” he spoke to her with what sounded like concealed amusement. “I believe that’s mine.”

“Is it?” she cooed, swirling the glass in front of him.

He sighed. “Please don’t drink my whiskey, Cassie.”

“Why?” she challenged with a wide smile. “Do I have cooties?”

“No. Just—”

“Cas,” Liam scolded her gently. “Don’t be a pain.”

She rolled her eyes, murmuring, “I’m far from it,” as she sipped at James’ glass once more.

“Cassie,” James complained.

She noted happily, “This is good. I like the smoke in it.”

Liam chastised her once more, “Cassandra.”

“Luke,” she sang to Luke, who was biting his lip to prevent himself from laughing at the sight of James’ growing annoyance. “Can you get Jay another? I’m gonna finish this one.”

Luke snorted. “Uh huh—on it.”

Cassie threw the remainder of James’ drink back, not a wince from the straight liquor in sight.

James stared at her, his neck outstretched as if he were waiting for the punchline of a joke.

“That—that’s not cheap shit—”

“And neither am I,” she retorted. “I’m buying; chill.”

James flexed both of his hands in front of him into tight fists, released them, and then replied, “Fine.”

Claire patted Luke’s arm, mumbling that she would get James’ next drink, and as she turned her back to grab the bottle from the shelf behind her, the front door dinged overhead once more. Luke looked to the noise, his grey eyes went wide, his jaw fell open, and he promptly wiped away the entire expression before swallowing through a lump in his throat.

“Oh my God,” he whispered. All of us with the exception of Claire, who was still preoccupied, peeked at him curiously, ready to follow his briefly shocked gaze, and he told us all quietly, “Don’t look.” He greeted whoever had entered the bar with a smile as he approached the counter to Liam’s right, “Hey there—can I get you anything?”

“Oh, no,” an older man’s voice replied, and Liam’s body stiffened at the sound. “Not much of a drinker—just stopped by to pick your brain.”

I chanced a quick glance, and I sucked in a sharp breath through my nostrils. He was short. Portly. Wearing a tweed cap that covered his graying hair, he smiled at Luke—his dark eyes pinched at the gesture, crow’s feet deepening at the motion, and his nose crooked to the left.

Mister Milkovich was, in fact, alive and well.

I had been so busy in the past few days of distraction and putting together the pieces of my life that I had nearly forgotten about him. I quickly fixed my gaze back on my untouched cider.

Luke nodded. “I’m all ears, Mister Milkovich.”

At the mention of his name, Claire froze. Her eyes widened as she stared toward the shelves of liquor. Cassie coughed loudly, sputtering as if she had choked on her own spit, and James cursed under his breath in a whisper only Cassie and I could hear. He patted her back with a few loud thumps, she regained her composure, and our neighbor from 2D spoke.

“I’ve been subletting my apartment—did you happen to meet Peter?”

Peter. Fucking Peter. It was, without a doubt, one of the least intimidating names that I had ever heard.

Luke cocked his head to the side. “Peter?”

Claire began to move once more, blinking rapidly with downcast eyes as she grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the shelf. She turned, poured three fingers into a new glass for James, and slid it before him. Without inquiry, she filled Cassie’s glass as well in the same fashion.

“He must have not introduced himself,” Mister Milkovich stated. “Bit of a recluse, my nephew.”

“Oh,” Luke returned, and I tucked my tingling hands between my thighs. I watched the bubbles rise to the surface in Liam’s beer, and Luke said, “I’m so sorry, Mister M—I didn’t even realize you had moved.”

Luke’s face twisted up as he said it, the apology appearing sincere in his expression, but when my eyes traced down, I noticed that his hand was gripping the lip on the backside of the counter of the bar so hard that his knuckles were white. Our neighbor didn’t appear to have noticed, and he laughed gently.

“I suppose I’m a bit of a recluse, too,” he remarked. “I left all my furniture in the apartment—let Peter use it; I didn’t need it. It’s no wonder that you didn’t even know that I was gone.”

Liam leaned down, his voice almost inaudible in my ear, “Deep breath—you’re shaking.”

He disguised his whispered words as a kiss in my hair, and he shifted back to his seat.

“If you do see Peter,” Mister Milkovich continued, “Tall, pale, black hair—could you let him know that I tried to call? It’s been a few days; haven’t heard from him.” He held out a single finger as if an idea had blossomed within him. “I think he’s trying to skip rent—couldn’t let him stay for free—argued it until he was blue in the face.”

It was a miracle that I hadn’t vomited. The joking mention of his nephew’s metaphorical pallor made the image of him dead before me flash in my mind. He didn’t mean anything by it—there was no trace of animosity in his voice whatsoever, but it still made the bitter taste of bile rise to the back of my throat.

James reached for his drink and tipped it back, gulping three times before it was emptied completely. He set it on the counter, mouth warped from chugging fire, tapped the rim, and Claire refilled it.

“Don’t tell him I said anything about the rent,” Mister Milkovich chuckled. “Oh, Peter can be ornery.” He waved a hand in the air. “Anyway—I’ll leave you be—thank you.”

He rapped his knuckles on the counter, did an about-face, and walked himself out the front door.

Everyone around me conversed in hushed voices. Cassie to James, asking if he had disposed of the two cameras we had, and him confirming quickly that he had, and that any footage on the app from the two had been erased. Luke to Claire speaking of general anxiety, and her ensuring him that Mister Milkovich was none the wiser before leaning over the counter to ask in a voice that sounded muffled to my ears:

“Zoey—you good?”

I trembled as I spoke, “I want to go home.”

Liam gently touched my right knee, and when I looked to him, he shook his head.

“We’re all okay—he’s gone. Tripped and drowned in the river—a terrible accident.” His quiet tone spoke in volumes, his brown eyes holding a calm that I couldn’t have anticipated, and he added, “Don’t let him run your life.”

I nodded, and the remainder of the group collectively shook off the nervous cloud that had settled over us all.

The past few days had made me question if my life could be peaceful—if my inner turmoil could be quieted. It was clear that it could, as a vision of what our routine as a group could be had played itself out mere minutes ago, and I was…happy. So fucking happy. But the nagging thought that I was naïve—that it wasn’t over and I would be forever haunted by his presence even with him long gone—remained.

We pushed past it all, Luke and Claire fed me enough Fireball to euthanize a large dog, and such ended day five.

Day six was spent horrendously hungover and on day seven, Peter was found.

Though panic-inducing in the moment, looking back on it now, the knowledge of his death being out in the open so quickly was a blessing. The discovery of his body in the woods outside of Salem was announced in the media—briefly televised, noted in the local news, and nothing else—to alert the public of the dangers of wandering into rapid rivers.

I was a bottle floating in the ocean. The paper that was once inside was now long gone—not snatched away but willingly given and graciously protected—proudly laminated and held in the safe haven that was Liam’s hands. The waves had been ridden, the storm had passed, and all of it left me shattered in its wake. Shattered, but held together by glue meticulously placed by his touch. The sky was finally blue, and I pushed forward to the healing embrace of days to come.

Dear Reader

Thank you so much for reading Veiled in Brick!

Zoey’s story quickly became a favorite of mine, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed it. There is absolutely more to come from our friends in Salem—The Veiled Series is still growing! To learn more, follow me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, or TikTok under the user handle elizamodiste. You can also check out my website or Amazon author page links which are listed below.

I would love to hear from you, so feel free to drop me a message wherever you would like (my website or any of my socials would do just fine). I also would thoroughly appreciate a quick review if you are so inclined to do so!

Thank you, again—and happy reading.

Eliza

www.elizamodiste.com

https://www.amazon.com/stores/Eliza-Modiste/author/B0BW8M61XF

Table of Contents

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

12. Chapter 12

13. Chapter 13

14. Chapter 14

15. Chapter 15

16. Chapter 16

17. Chapter 17

18. Chapter 18

19. Chapter 19

20. Chapter 20

21. Chapter 21

22. Epilogue

23. Dear Reader