Page 33

Chapter 33

Fleur

T ime moves impossibly slow here. It’s only been three weeks and it feels like three months. I beat my head on the table to pass the time some days. At least that’s what it feels like.

After that night at the gambling place, my interactions with Liam have been … strained. I don’t want to talk to him.

I’ve tried to reconcile the man who stepped in on behalf of his brother with the man cackling at stomach-churning jokes. Or the fact he sits idly by as men and women drown in a high around him, sinking so deep their heads lull to the side in a state of unrepentant bliss. How do I harmonize the man who stepped in to save me with the Liam I experienced that night and the other nights since then? Because, yes, we had to go again. Then again.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to make the two mesh, but when I get out of here, even after intense therapy, I’m not sure I’ll be able to forget.

Each evening was the same—copious gambling and drugs, drinking, and women. Both times Liam pulled me into his lap, content to let me shelter there. To be honest, I’ve become grateful for it. Watching the other women service the men or Darrin’s crew pawning them off to high-rolling players?—

Despite my apprehension with Liam, he’d safely tucked me away in his lap. His calloused, inky hands stretched over my thighs and hips. I’m not traded or told to do anything I don’t want to. And for that, I’m thankful.

My days on the compound are mostly spent on the cabin’s front porch. Occasionally, I brave the compound and walk around while Liam isn’t here. I’ve found early mornings are the best time to explore as the other men living here don’t seem to stir before 11:00 a.m.

Liam’s warned me about venturing too far from his place and having ridden with Liam to town and meetings a few times, I know how away from civilization we are. Getting lost wandering around the woods isn’t something I want to happen. So I stick close. Mulling about the cabin, reading, watching TV, and very rarely, going with Liam.

The only TV is in Liam’s bedroom, propped up on a stand sitting on the dresser. I’ve taken to camping out in there, especially when it rains, binge-watching trashy TV.

The warmth and comfort of his bed have, on occasion, lulled me into a deep sleep. My body relishes the softness of his bed over the lumps of the couch. Liam has offered, more than once, to switch with me; for him to take the couch while I sleep in his bed. But pride is a poor character trait of mine, and I’ve learned to be content with my afternoon naps wrapped in his masculine-scented down comforter.

The point is, I’m bored, and I eagerly look forward to the times when Liam says he has to leave the compound. I’m expected to come with him, and I gobble up each trip.

River texted Liam a couple weeks ago, letting him know my orders where delivered to the store, and we made a trip into town to pick up those desperately needed items. He even took us to a hole-in-the-wall catfish house where I gorged myself on fried catfish, hush puppies, and coleslaw until I was sick. We didn’t talk while we ate, and the town’s people gave Liam a wide berth, their whispers of our marriage making their rounds.

I still don’t can’t have a phone, so Liam has on occasion lent me his. I’ve fed my parents the same lie about an issue with my account and how they’re having trouble connecting a new phone therefore I’m using a friend’s. It’s irksome and I’ve reached out minimally because of it.

I’m slightly concerned I’m going mad. Literally.

Sometimes, at night, I wake in a cold sweat as if someone’s watching me. I never open my eyes, but this cabin and the woods are playing tricks on my mind.

I think about Liam way too much. Find myself wondering what he’s doing and getting anxious when he isn’t home before I fall asleep for the night.

Today’s different, though. He’s home before lunch and in the shower while I make myself a turkey sandwich.

My thoughts flicker to his thundering body hissing under the heat of the shower spray, and I blink them away while returning the mayonnaise and mustard to the fridge. As it shuts, I catch the door and take out the ingredients again to make one for Liam.

It’s not something I do. I don’t cook for him, nor do we typically eat together, but he’s been offering up as much privacy to me as possible these last few weeks, and I … I have a strange desire to know if he’s okay.

If there’s anything I’ve learned about Liam these past few weeks, it’s that he works himself to the bone. Exhaustion rides his face; the weariness sunk deep in his eyes.

The only drawer for silverware is to my right, and I open it, then reach for a knife. My gaze snags at the random pencils sitting there, and I linger, staring at them before shaking my head and closing the drawer.

After cutting his sandwich in half and adding some chips to the plate, I study both lunches side by side and wipe my hands on my shorts, nervous I’ve crossed some line.

When the door to the bathroom opens, the loud squeak makes it impossible to miss. Liam saunters into the living room, moving to skim through some papers on the small desk he keeps nestled in the corner of the room.

I clear my throat and he whirls around. Water droplets still drip from his wet hair, hanging around his face. He’s tightened up his beard, the scruff shorter than I’ve seen it since I’ve known him. My gaze drops to where both his hands slide into his blue jeans—wait, blue jeans?

Confused, I narrow my eyes but remember the plate before I can ask him what’s going on. I lift it, quirking my lips to the side. “I made you a sandwich. Not sure what you like on it but figured since I was making myself one …”

I let the words hang in the air between us. The shock on his face is somewhat disconcerting. Did he not think I was capable of doing something nice?

“I like anything. Thank you. Haven’t had a turkey sandwich in years.” He moves toward the kitchen and my knees almost wobble at his scent caressing my nose. Wood and pine wrapped in a fresh spring rattles my insides as he takes the plate I can’t seem to relinquish from my grasp.

He cocks his head to the side and studies where both our hands linger on either side of the plate.

One heartbeat passes, then two before I finally let go, embarrassment lacing my cheeks. A slight twitch at the corner of his mouth begs for my attention, and I back into the counter, distracted. My blundering earns me a smile and I chew on my lip and reach for a chip off my plate.

Liam moves to the table, sliding his plate over the pocked and pitted wood. He pulls out his phone, turning it over in his hands several times before sitting down and turning to me still standing.

“I, uh … my mom called,” he says. “Again.”

I don’t say anything, unsure where he’s going with this.

“She wants to have us over for dinner tonight.”

My mouth drops open. “She does know the situation between us, right?”

Liam bounces a fist up and down over his knee while pretending to inspect a chip in his other hand. “My mother doesn’t know about Adam or what happened. My father and grandparents kept it from her. At the time, they … they thought it was the compassionate thing to do. Keep her from knowing what Adam’s involved in.”

“And does she know about you?” I ask.

“Yeah. She knows. Tries to avoid talking about it. Probably thinks the worst about me already. Now add the town’s gossip surrounding us—my brother’s girl.”

I bristle. “I’m not.”

Frankly, I’m getting sick of all this talk as if Adam and I were practically walking down the aisle already. I was upfront and honest with Adam about my fragile state, the one I’m running from.

Liam’s eyes move over my face, surely noticing the tension there, but he regards my lips so intently. My tongue darts out to lick my bottom lip, and he snaps his gaze back to mine. The silence extends between us, and Liam looks as if he wants me to say more.

“I was in a long-term relationship before I moved here. I told Adam this when he wanted to explore things between us.”

Liam’s jaw tightens but he softens his stare. Can he read what’s written all over my face? The hurt, the ache of pain thrumming through me.

“Did he hurt you?”

“Who? Adam? No, he?—”

“The man you were in a long-term relationship with. Did he hurt you?”

I swallow, the knot in my throat painfully unbearable. I don’t want to talk about this. For him to see how broken and tarnished I truly am.

I shake my head. “Uh, no. Well, not physically.”

It’s all I offer. Because some days it felt like Chis drove a knife into my heart. It felt like I couldn’t breathe. That suffocating weight in my chest has lessened as the weeks and months have ticked by, but it still … hurts.

“Sometimes it’s the emotional pain that scars us the deepest,” Liam says, studying where I’ve moved my fingers to toy with the rubber bands on my wrist.

My breath hitches and the sting I know too well prickles behind my eyes. How did this conversation get so off course? I don’t want to be vulnerable with him … do I?

“Fleur.” Liam’s voice towers over me. It’s then I look up to see he’s moved directly in front of me, his hand gripping my wrist where I’ve unconsciously pulled both bands taut needing to snap. “Fleur.” He says my name again, gently lowering my hand to my thigh. He doesn’t let go of my wrist. He simply cradles it, featherlight strokes tickling the most sensitive skin there.

Stepping back, his warm touch disappears as I move out of his grasp.

“It won’t be pretty, but my mother is a good person. This”—he motions between the two of us—“is going to be hard to explain.”

A warm glow descends around the open fields and road we’re on. Silhouettes of sizable oaks shadow the tall grasses swaying in the early evening breeze. Deep yellows and oranges dye the sky, and the last of the setting sun’s rays flicker behind the trees.

The hum of the truck along the rough pavement, coupled with the settling dusk, almost lulls me into sleep. It’s only the clink of the wine bottle jammed into the side of my door keeping me awake at this point. Liam thankfully had a bottle shoved deep in his cabinets. My mother would be ashamed if I showed up as a guest empty-handed.

I have no idea what to expect from this dinner with Liam and his parents. Well, maybe that’s not true. If it were my parents learning of my marriage through the town’s gossip lines, this dinner would be an intervention.

After Liam explained how his mother was deliberately kept in the dark about Adam, and the lengths he, his father, and grandparents took to ensure she was unaware of her son’s issues—this dinner feels like a disaster already, and we’re still twenty minutes from arriving.

The road winds in the familiar way it did when I drove to the Fourth of July party. I sigh. That day feels so far away now. So much has happened. With September slowly giving way to the awkward fall heat intent on gracing the South, time is both slowing down and speeding up.

Ringing out my hands, I clench the yellow sundress I picked out on the clearance rack at River’s shop and squeeze it between my fingers. I do this several times, only to realize I’m effectively wrinkling the dress. The smattering of tiny flowers dusting the pale yellow aren’t something I typically gravitate toward, but the dress reminded me of the farmhouse and the yellow haze that set over the property each morning as the sun rose.

Liam is quiet, no doubt wondering how tonight is going to go as well. Every few minutes, he’ll slide his palm up and down his blue jeans or fidget with the pulled-back bun in his hair. He’s apparently opted for zero music because the only sound is the whoosh of the truck plowing down the empty roads.

Diverting my eyes from Liam, I glance out my window?—

Are those?

I bolt upright from my less than ladylike slouched position and paw the window to lower the glass. Wind whips my hair, tossing pieces over my face, catching in my lashes, and sticking to my freshly glossed lips. But I see them.

Wildflowers seep through the surrounding field and a cluster of daisies bloom at the edge of it.

I suck in a breath, head practically out the window to get a better view of the picturesque flowers illuminated by the dipping sun over the horizon.

Even the light chuckle beside me doesn’t pull my gaze from them.

The whipping wind slows, and I realize it’s because the truck is also slowing.

Liam pulls over, straddling the red dirt and the crunchy road shoulder. I turn to him, already getting out, and my eyes follow as he walks around the front of the truck, moving toward the field.

His ample intimidating frame weaves through the delicate daisies, creating a mouthwatering picture, and I watch enraptured as he leans down, selectively searching for three flowers. After picking them, he gathers the flowers, their white and yellow petals standing out against his dark blue pants. They hang loosely at his side as he strides back and swings open the truck door.

As he climbs in, I study him. The light on his face in this moment. Did he really just?—

His eyes meet mine, bright with tenderness as he extends the flowers out toward me.

I glance at them, then back at Liam. Taking the flowers is natural, but the shiver down my spine as my fingers graze his knuckles is not. My breath gets caught in my throat. I work toward a swallow and my eyelids feel even heavier than they did before.

“It would’ve been too dark to stop on the way home,” Liam says, shattering the silence and anticipation tugging between us.

All I can do is nod.

Running the pad of a finger over the white petals, they’re smooth and pristine beneath my touch. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and whisper, “Thank you.”

He pulls back on the road as I stare at the three flowers tucked into my palm. How can this man do what he does, be who he is, and still show this side of himself?

It takes another ten minutes to finally pull into the driveway of his parents’ flawless home, severing the lightness I was basking in a moment ago.

“We’re here,” I say more to myself than Liam, but he answers nonetheless.

“Yeah.”

Liam’s tone is clipped, and he sighs, moving to exit the truck while I set my flowers on the dashboard and grab the bottle of wine stuck in the door.

The columns flanking the edge of the porch are bigger than I remember. Two containers spilling peachy pink Begonias flank each side of the double front door. Additional pots of ferns weave between the wooden rockers lining the length of the porch.

Heavy footfalls clamber up the stairs behind me, Liam’s boots imposing and disturbing the serenity of the evening.

I look over my shoulder and he pauses, shrugging his shoulders.

Suddenly, I wish we’d prepped for this. This awkward dinner, and no doubt appraisal of whatever sham his mother and father think we’re running. I sense describing exactly how it happened isn’t in the cards for tonight, the wickedness that almost occurred in the woods that night several weeks ago.

Liam passes me and raps his fist on the door twice.

Not walking straight into the house is definitely a tell of their relationship. With my parents, I usually opened the door and poked my head in, hollering a “hello” before kicking off my shoes and raiding their pantry for the best kept snacks. Liam’s uncertainty as he scans the house leads me to believe he’d never consider doing that. He’s a guest here. A stranger.

There’s a slight twinge of pain in my chest at the thought of all he’s done for his family, for his brother, only to be treated as if he’s the black sheep.

A few seconds pass, and we stare at the walnut-stained door in silence before it opens. Liam’s father greets us, a tight smile curving on his lips when he sees his son. He nods at Liam and says, “I would’ve warned you if I knew.”

My heart rate spikes. What’s he talking about? I swivel to observe Liam, whose face has paled.

“Hey, Fleur,” his dad says to me. “Sorry about this.”

I’m stunned into silence, for what, I don’t know, but I manage a “Hi” in response.

Mr. Parker extends his hand into the house, stepping back past the propped open door. An invitation to come in.

Frozen, I don’t move. It’s only the warm, gentle push against my back that ushers me in. The ghost of Liam’s hand lingers on the small of my back much longer than it’s actually there.

Not now, not now . I scream at my body to gather its wits.

Once inside, the smell of eucalyptus wafts passed us and I inhale the scent, missing the homey smells from my candles and room sprays. The cabin isn’t gross, and it’s taken to smelling better in the few weeks I’ve been there, but it’s immune to feminine scents, it seems. Nature and the woodsy scent Liam strides around with permeate the building. I’ve gotten used to it though, and when I lie on his bed?—

A soft voice from the kitchen beckons us, and we’re led through a wide hallway, a white staircase on the left, into an open white and marbled kitchen. Farmhouse style and utterly beautiful, this kitchen surprisingly is like a larger version of my own before it was burnt to a crisp. I narrow my eyes at the cabinets, and I cringe thinking how Adam must have helped update his parents’ kitchen at some point. His signature is on everything.

“Fleur!” Mrs. Parker shouts, wrangling her apron off and tossing it on the counter. She approaches with open arms and throws herself at me. Stiff, arms pinned to my sides, I suppress a laugh as she squeezes me.

When we break our embrace, she turns to Liam, her smile fading into a frown. “Liam,” she says. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” Liam responds.

Her tone is pure brittleness and Liam, who tries to keep his face steady, falters. The sadness that flickers in his eyes is short-lived as another voice echoes along the living room walls.

“Hello, brother .”

Mrs. Parker darts for the stove, pulling on her oven mitts and ignoring the situation entirely. I’m starting to think it was her who brought him here.

Adam strides toward us, veering toward me, and wraps me in a hug. He breathes a sigh of relief in my neck. “Fleur,” he mumbles in my ear. “I was so worried.”

Tears threaten behind my eyes. Be it for the fire and our parting the last time I saw him—unconscious on the ground. Or maybe it’s the sad fact he was more worried about saving himself than me when Darrin took me. There’s even a smidge of resentment. That he would allow his brother to pay his debt, compromising his soul.

I push against him, loosening myself from his grip. “It’s good to see you, Adam. I was worried, too.” It’s not a lie. Those days locked in the clubhouse cell were riddled with fear. Not only for myself but for Adam.

I spy Liam out of the corner of my eye, speaking with his father off the side. A family photo of the five of them from well over twenty years ago hangs above where they talk, and I shake my head at what their family has now become.

In Liam’s absence, Mrs. Parker approaches me again. She’s wearing a pink blouse with white capris and her hair is down, sufficiently teased.

“I hear you work at the bed-and-breakfast,” Mrs Parker says.

Seriously? It’s like I’m in the twilight zone. This woman invited us over for dinner, after learning through the town’s gossip hens that Liam and I were married. Then she decides to add Adam to the invite list. This woman.

I try to put myself in her shoes. She thinks Adam is her golden boy. Perfectly polished and done wrong by his older brother, who runs with the thugs of the town. An injustice has been done to her son, and while she looks at me with kindness, I can’t help but feel she blames me underneath it all.

It looks bad. But if she only knew …

“I do—did.” I shake my head. “Mrs. and Mr. Northgate are the sweetest,” I add.

“They’d be happy to know you think that. My parents have always had a heart for hospitality. I’m afraid only my daughter received that trait.” She giggles and pats Adam on the shoulder.

The elusive sister and daughter. Her muddy brown hair and bright eyes resemble both Adam and Liam in the family photo, but neither Adam nor Liam talk about her.

“Is she local?”

“Oh no, she’s off hiking the western part of the US. She has a heart for adventure.” Mrs. Parker’s face falls at her mention of that, and I decide not to let on I don’t know her name. There is more to this story and I’m not sure it’s my place to pry.

A bell chimes in the kitchen and Mrs. Parker backs away, around the hulking island. “Chicken’s almost done,” she singsongs.

With Liam still in hushed discussion with his father, I lean over to Adam and ask where the bathroom is. He smiles and points down another hallway lined with beautiful watercolor paintings. One after the other of what has to be the same artist’s art repeats down the hall until I find the third door on the right.

The bathroom is small but appears to be plucked straight from a magazine. Light blue walls that swirl like the sea brush up against cream wainscoting, wrapping the space housing a toilet and pedestal sink.

Mindlessly, I let the hot water run over my hands after using the facilities. I stare in the mirror, wishing for all the world I could run back to the cabin. Confrontation is not my thing, and my body demands I run. However, for reasons I can’t explain, I hate the thought of Liam being here alone to shoulder this burden.

Maybe it’s some messed up forced marriage derangement.

I told myself I’d leave Ruin as soon as I’m able to get out of this messed up crazy, but there’s a twinge of unease when I think about leaving Liam. He can’t have very many years left here. What will he do when his time is up? Will he move on? Try to find someone to share his life with?—

I shake my head.

A drawing behind me catches my attention through the mirror and my focus narrows on the familiar building set in a rustic frame. I whirl around, unconcerned with my damp hands now dripping all over my dress.

It’s the cabin.

Liam’s cabin.

The drawing is beautiful. Sketched with detail I’ve missed in real life. The whole drawing is void of color, shaded with charcoal or pencils—I’m not sure.

One would think a million cabins look the same, but it’s his. The way the lightly shaded areas are directed from the west. The bulky oak tree sitting on the right-hand side, roots deep and broad; I trip over them even from a distance away. The one rocking chair lonely in the corner of the porch where I’ve spent most of my mornings seated. It’s his all right.

What strikes me is the fact it’s hanging in his parents’ bathroom. Do they know they bought a drawing of Liam’s house? I can only imagine if Darrin knew evidence of his compound existed outside of it, he’d be dangerous.

I make a mental note to ask Liam about it.

With one more glance in the mirror and a quick snap to the rubber bands hiding under my cuff bracelet, I open the door to find Adam leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom. Wearing clothes different from what he’s normally in, I take in his khakis and tucked in plaid shirt. His dark hair is combed tightly to the side.

I still, unable to move forward as he studies me.

He sighs. It’s a long, drawn-out sound that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. “Tell me what happened after the fire?”

What happened? I was under the impression he was informed. Frustrated, I inhale a deep breath through my nose.

“I was taken. Kept for a while. They were waiting to see what you’d do. I didn’t know about the money, Adam. Eventually, they took me and threatened my life, my family’s life.”

Adam winces, but I continue.

“Liam saved my life. Claimed me in a way I guess they respect around there. He pitched it as a way to get back at you, but I know he was saving you too.”

Adam’s sad eyes morph into annoyance and he snorts. “You think he did it for me? Nah, he took you to use you.”

I shake my head. There is no doubt in my mind he was doing his best to keep me safe and protect his brother. “Adam, he was trying to help. Protect you and protect me.”

Adam steps toward me, his hand coming to my cheek. “We can fix this, Fleur. I went to see someone, someone who can help me with the money. I won’t leave you stuck with him or them.”

I rear my head back. Yes, while I’m stuck, I’m also alive and I’m grateful for Liam. There’s no way I wouldn’t have been sexually assaulted, hurt, and even killed if it weren’t for him stepping in.

“Someone?” I ask.

“I’m close to getting the money. I know we only just started, but I care deeply for you. I-I didn’t mean for you to get caught up in this mess. I’m so sorry.”

His hand moves to delve into my hair, and I try to back away, pinned between the door and Adam. My hands, fisted at my sides, are clammy.

Wrong. It feels wrong.

A growl erupts from down the hall and both Adam and I snap our heads to see Liam standing there, arms crossed in front of him. His lips are curled with a snarl directed at Adam and I quickly move away from him.

Adam grits his teeth back. “I don’t need your bail out this time, Liam.”

Liam bristles. “And what? You think I should’ve left her to her own devices, let them have their way with her, kill her?”

“I’m getting the money,” Adam snaps.

“From where?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

My eyes ping-pong between both men and I hate this. Their feud started before I came along but I’m not making matters any better.

I move back toward the kitchen, hoping I can distract myself by helping with dinner, or better yet, pop the top on the cheap bottle of wine we brought.

Adam grabs for my hand before I make it three steps. “I’m sorry, Fleur. About your home and that I didn’t tell you.”

I muster a smile even though deep down my stomach roils. “I hope you stay well, Adam.”

It’s the best I’ve got right now. I’m not sure what else to say. I’m married to his brother and while his words weren’t meant to harm earlier, I am actually stuck.

But it’s temporary. I look at Liam, the nervousness seeping out from under his cold exterior.

It is temporary, right?