Page 38

Chapter 38

Fleur

W ater splashes out of the tub the more frustrated I get scrubbing the blood and dirt from my fingernails. The white washcloth is practically pink from the scrapes and minor injuries from my struggle.

When we emerged from the woods, Liam walked me back to the cabin. With a kiss to my temple, he left again, needing to check in with Darrin and work with the guys to start the clean-up, I guess.

I sink down into the water, letting the warmth wash over the many bruises already forming on my legs and arms. A round bruise from where the raged man dug his knee into my side blooms across my ribs. With each movement, I wince.

I didn’t plan on hearing Liam until well past the time I crawled into bed, so when the door slams shut, I bolt up, sending more water to slosh over the side. I scramble to get out, but a knock on the door has me freezing mid-exit.

“It’s only me.” Liam’s voice immediately calms my worry, and I slowly sink back into the water. His voice has always brought me some sort of relief and protection, even when I barely knew him.

Instead of moving on, the click of the door startles me again, and I duck in the tub when Liam pokes his head in.

“How are you doing?” He makes special effort to hold my eyes and keep from dragging them across my body.

“I’m okay. You?”

“If you’re okay, I’m okay.” He offers me a sad smile and moves to close the door.

I’m not sure what comes over me, but the thought of that being the end of our conversation rattles me. “Stay,” I beg. “Please.”

Liam pauses, his hand white-knuckling the door, and it creaks as he pushes it farther open. He stands there, seemingly paralyzed, but eventually allows the door to click behind him.

“Did you get everything taken care of?” I ask. “And … do you know if the girl I was with is okay?”

“Yeah. Well, sort of. We lost one of our guards, Sam. The others are getting patched up at the clubhouse now. Fortunately, most of what needs to be repaired can be easily fixed. And Roe, thanks to you, is okay.”

I nod and exhale a breath.

Liam shrugs his shoulders and folds down to sit, back propped against the door. I fumble beneath the water with the bands across my wrist. I’m not sure what it is about Liam that makes me feel so out of control yet more emboldened than ever before.

“Thank you, Liam. Thank you for coming for me.”

His head snaps to mine and I work to swallow, the lump in my throat unable to slip down.

He scoots forward to bring a hand up to my cheek, and I lean into it, nearly nuzzling him. The few inches of tub and lukewarm water sperate us. I hate it.

Liam’s thumb feathers over several of the scratches across my cheek and over the cut on my bottom lip. His gaze shoots down into the water, but it’s not in a direction that would heat my blood. No. It’s on my wrist, where I fiddle with the rubber bands.

“Who?” he asks.

“What?”

“Who, at some point, made you feel unworthy, Fleur?” His tone is serious, but he keeps focused on my wrist. Embarrassment heats my cheeks as he peels back the layers I’ve stacked there.

“It’s nothing. I?—”

“Don’t,” he responds. “Don’t spin a story. I need to know so I can fix it.”

My heart gallops, but I draw my hand out of the water, inspecting the fresh welts I snapped when I got back to the cabin.

“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I’d done it once or twice throughout my teen years, but it got worse when … when the man I’d loved for nine years cheated on me in our shower, in our home.” Liam’s face blurs from my welling tears. A small sob rips from me as the pain from that awful day resurfaces.

Liam doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t move. The soft look in his eyes prompts me to continue. “I came home and found them in the shower. I panicked and ran out of the house. Didn’t even look back. At times I wish … I wish I’d busted through the door and confronted him. The fact I could’ve embarrassed him like he did me … when I heard them …” More tears rip down my cheeks.

“Fleur …”

I keep going before he can pity me. “I felt out of control. Nine years spent devoted to Chris—who knows how long it was going on during all the time I was loyal to him. So, I ran away, to a remote place I could feel in control again.

“These”—I motion to the bands on my wrist—“the pain grounds me, makes me feel more in control. It’s twisted and weird, but when my anxiety feels unmanageable, this brings me that element back. I’m in charge of my pain. No one else. My trust was lost that day, and I realized how naive I was. Insignificant. Worthless enough for my partner to give up but not have the decency to tell me before he moved on.”

I glance up. Now I’m spewing my random baggage at Liam, and it’s probably more than he bargained for when he asked.

Rage fumes in Liam’s stare and I make a quick effort to shrink back in the water, but I’m stopped short as he grabs my wrist.

Turning it over, he traces the welts and brand with his fingers, drawing circles that tickle with each brush. But then … then he tugs my wrist to his mouth. He grazes his lips over the sensitive area, and my whole body jolts with a shiver.

He reaches behind him, into his jeans, and pulls out a knife. I jerk back, trying to snatch my wrist away, but he holds tight.

“You say you can’t trust anyone, but I know you trust me. You can trust me, Fleur.”

My breath catches and my heart pounds in my chest as he tilts the tip of his knife at my wrist, sliding the blade beneath the two bands.

“You want pain, Fleur? To feel something? You come to me. I’ll give you whatever you need.” In one flick upward, the bands sever from my wrist and fall into the tub. After he tucks the blade away, he reaches in and scoops out the remnants of rubber, grazing the top of my thigh as he does.

My tears have stopped dead in utter shock.

Liam stands, then bends down to kiss the top of my head before he exits the bathroom.

I’m left with lightness in my chest and throbbing in my core.

I wake in a cold sweat. Out the window, it’s still pitch-black night, and I sigh, pulling Liam’s cover back up over me. Or at least I try to. It’s stuck on something. I yank until a massive form next to me moves and I yelp.

Liam startles up, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry. I can’t do that couch. I’m so sore.”

I smile, but it’s lost in the darkness of the room. Reaching over, I turn on the nightstand lamp and sit up to see a shirtless Liam buried beneath the top quilt.

He turns to me and lifts a hand to his forehead to block out the light. Immediately, I’m drawn to the black smudges on his fingers, and I smirk, remembering the sketches I came across earlier. His eyes snag on the corner of my mouth, alight with a playful side I’ve never seen.

“What?” he asks.

“Your hand. It has black on it.”

He snatches it down and shakes it out as if he could fling the dust off. “Uh, yeah. It’ll come off.”

I’m not sure if he’d ever tell me about his drawings. Or if he’d be upset I poked around long enough to find them, but it’s only fair he knows.

“I found your drawings.” The sheet up around my chest drops as I sit further up, and Liam follows it down.

“Did you now?” A slight shuffle is the only reaction I get from him.

“You’re very talented.”

He snorts and looks away toward the cricked TV on the dresser.

“I’m serious.” I scoot forward, toward him, noticing him tense the closer I get. One of my hands grazes his forearm, tracing the lines of his ink that swirl into works of art. His muscles contract and relax under my touch and my wild racing heart betrays my thoughts.

His jaw ticks, but he watches intently as my hand continues to stroke him. For the longest while, he doesn’t say anything. Crickets puncture the silence out the window and the trees thrash against the back of the cabin, tapering off from the windy storm.

“My mom,” he says. “It was always the one thing we had in common. She’s the artist of the family and it just so happened I was blessed with her talent as well. Although at times I wonder if she doesn’t wish it were Adam.”

Confusion must be on my face as I furrow my brow at him because he explains, “Adam is the youngest son. Something about the baby boy and his momma-type shit. They’re close, and she fawns over him. Which is fine. Honestly, it never bothered me. But …” Liam trails off and I find myself clinging to every word.

This man. So selfless and understanding.

I’m an only child, so I can’t fathom sharing my parents’ love with someone else, let alone two siblings, and to accept their favoritism of another …

“But?” I ask.

“But I guess it was always something that made me feel connected to her. Even as the oldest. Even as she dealt with the loss of my sister and even as she thinks my brother Adam walks on water. Art was our thing. My mother used more watercolor, but she would always appreciate my work. She actually hung one of my sketches in the downstairs bathroom.”

The framed drawing of the cabin flashes in my mind, but my brain snags on the comment about his sister. I had no idea. How could I not have realized?

“I’m sorry about your sister. I didn’t realize she’d passed. Your mother mentioned her in the mountains, so I assumed …” I wince as I say the words because I’m truly an awkward person and in the sincerest moments, I manage to screw up basic decency.

Luckily, Liam just snorts and I’m now even more confused.

“She hasn’t passed. She left. Ran away six years ago when she was seventeen. Tore our family in two for a season. We finally heard from her about a year after she left when she called to tell our parents she wanted nothing to do with Ruin anymore.”

I gasp softly as the briefest tear shines in the corner of his eye.

“I tried to talk with her, to see what happened for her to run off. I blame the boy she was running with—good-for-nothing scum of the earth. Never knew his name, and I couldn’t find information on him either.”

He shakes his head.

“What’s your sister’s name? Adam nor your parents ever mention her by it.”

“Lily.”

Liam shudders as he says her name, and I reach out to grab his hand for a squeeze.

“I’m sorry she left, Liam.”

His head falls back to the pillow, and he releases a sigh. “Say it again. My name.”

I bite my lip and then offer him a smile. “Liam,” I coo.

He laughs. It’s rich and haughty, moving through time like molasses on a winter’s day.

I stare at his lips, wondering how skilled this man I’m married to is in other areas.

“Why did you draw me in the cell?”

The remainder of his laughter dies off abruptly and he grabs for my hand twirled around the plaid of his quilt. He stares down to where his pointer finger dips up and over each of my fingers methodically. When I think he won’t answer, he surprises me.

“I want to draw everything about you. I have from the moment I laid eyes on you. Wanted to know the depth of your pain, the exuberance of your soul, or the simple everyday experiences that bring you joy. The cell was one of those many moments I was compelled to capture.”

“Why?”

He sighs and brings my hand to his mouth to delicately kiss each pad of my finger. My blood ignites for him.

“I’m not easily thrown off my track. I have a mission and a job. My life revolves around that. It’s what drives my focus. But you … you in the bank snatched that away. I’ve never been more pressed to know someone than I have you.”

“So I’m a distraction?”

“The best kind,” he says and grins.

I lean into him, brushing my nose along the firm muscles of his neck. I inhale, unable to get enough of him. What’s happening to me?

I’d never felt this close to Chris, and I was with him for years and years. Everything felt surface-level with him. It makes sense in high school where more adult issues didn’t have a place. But as we grew, we never grew into a deep relationship. Maybe that’s where we went wrong—or maybe were just wrong in general.

I didn’t want to expose myself to him, and Chris, I’m sure, didn’t want to reveal his shortcomings and struggles to me. In hindsight, while what he did and how he chose to move on was wrong, I can’t necessarily say it wasn’t for the best.

“Well, I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. You’ve got me beat there.”

Liam snorts. “I doubt that’s true.”

Now it’s my turn to huff. In fact, I’ll prove it to him.

Untangling myself from the sheets, I half roll off the bed like a ninja and dart to the bedroom door. Before I’m all the way through it, I grip the frame and turn back to Liam propped up in bed.

His eyes are pinched together in confusion, but the relaxed way he’s positioned, hands folded behind his head, leaning against the headboard—I almost hightail it back to bed.

“Be right back,” I say and bolt to Liam’s desk, where I found the pencils and drawing paper earlier. Before?—

I shake my head. I’m not ruining this time with Liam. I’m safe, and I trust him.

After grabbing a sheet of paper and pencil, plus a magazine from the coffee table, I practically skip back into the bedroom.

Liam’s gaze immediately goes to the supplies I’ve collected and a smile breaks over his mouth. He runs his tongue along his back teeth while shaking his head. “What are you doing?”

“Proving to you I can’t draw.” Feet crisscrossed, I prop my paper onto of the magazine, which is now supported on my knee. “Okay. Don’t move a muscle.”

“But what if I’m too tempted?” Liam asks, reaching over to fiddle with a piece of hair brushing across my cheek. I bat his hand away.

“Ah, ah. None of that. Let the artist work.” I muster as much of a pompous tone into the way I say it, and Liam lets out a bellowing laugh.

He leans back into his position. But instead of looking off into the distance or checking his phone, he watches me intently.

I start with his face. Not overly round, but I draw an oval type shape and call it good. As I study his unruly hair, I focus on capturing its natural waves as I sketch, adding a loosely tucked bun resting on top of his head. I draw some circles for eyes and what ends up looking like a triangle for a nose, then cringe when I realize these particular pencils don’t have erasers. Clearly not designed for someone like me.

I spend over twenty minutes working on his face, including the massive muscle that flexes in his neck. Finishing the drawing, I stare at it and chuckle.

“All right. Ready for the big reveal?” I ask.

Liam sits up, scooting closer to me like he’s anticipating some epic work of art. Then I turn it around and study his expression.

At first, his eyes are lit with anticipation. Upon seeing said “artwork”, his lips fold in and his face tenses like he’s trying hard not to laugh. Finally, his expression falls soft, admiring, when he says, “It’s not that bad.”

I let the artwork fall to my lap and laugh. “Not bad? A two-year-old could’ve drawn better.”

He graces me with another louder than life laugh, and I eat it up.

“Okay. I concede you’re not artistic.”

I toss the drawing and magazine on the nightstand. “That’s all I ask.”

Liam laughs, pulls me to him, and kisses my forehead. The joking from seconds ago abates with his tender kiss, and in the silence of the room, I close my eyes while he strokes my band-free wrist.

Liam reaches up to cup my face, eyes searching mine. They trace the outline of my face like he may be drawing me in his mind, and I catch myself hoping he doesn’t ever have to only commit me to memory. I pause, realizing I want more with him.

I tilt my chin up, mouth hovering near his.

He hisses as I brush my lips over his. The rough timbre of his voice whispers, “You’re the best thing that’s come into my life in a long while, Fleur.”

Liam closes the gap between us, pulling me flush to him, and I melt into his arms, protected and safe. With a peck to my nose, he continues over my cheeks before moving to my mouth.

This kiss is slow and unhurried. Like he’s savoring the moment before it poofs out of existence.

I want more, need more from him. However, he seems content to be as we are in this moment, not taking it any further.

Connection, deep and meaningful, is what I crave. It’s what I was searching for when Adam kissed me. And Liam, he blows it out of the water. It feels less like a connection and more like a fusing our souls together.