Back to Willow (Back Series Book 1)

TENTY-ONE

“Ilove you,” he admits with finality.

Every time he says these three little words, it’s like my body gains new life. My weak heart resurrects, beating faster than ever. My stomach flutters as if I had butterflies trapped inside, frantic for a way out. These three little words are enough to make me light-headed and dizzy, almost like when you’re floating in the calm ocean.

He doesn’t understand the effect he has on me, and neither did I before we kissed for the first time.

We’ve said these three words to each other many times before, but it never felt as loaded as it does now. It giddies me up as much as it hurts me because I don’t think he understands their true meaning. I’m not sure I do either.

This first time we kissed, it was magical. But I was brought back to Earth pretty quickly. For a few weeks now, Liam has been weird and oddly distant. Being the stupid shy girl I am, I’ve let it continue.

Today, though, he is back to normal—almost. His gaze seems more intense, and his words sound certain and calculated, but I don’t understand why. Since he is acting how he did before, he must want me to understand we’re only going to be friends.

Which I understand. He probably regretted it the moment it happened. I mean, why would he be interested in me? Plain old Willow, the shy little girl who can’t even talk without stuttering. There are prettier and hotter girls at school pining after him. He probably understood what he was missing.

With a sigh, I say, “Me, too. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I am trying to dismiss those words the best I can. I don’t want him to understand how sad I get every time he says it without meaning it the way I do. Hoping to avoid dragging the awkwardness of the moment even more, I climb off his scooter, giving him the helmet back.

But instead of being able to turn around and walk up to my front door, his hand grabs mine right before he climbs off of it as well. In a swift and assured movement, he takes his helmet off, placing it right next to mine on top of the scooter’s seat.

He pulls me against his chest with force, stealing a gasp out of me.

“We’re having some communication problems it seems, Lo.” He hums my name at the end, tilting my chin up to look at him.

My lashes part, giving me the best view ever. His bright blue eyes are darker than normal, and the shine seems stronger than usual. It sears through me, straight into the deepest parts of my soul, warming it.

“You silly girl.” He laughs. “When I say I love you, I mean it. I love you and only you.” His words raise the hairs on my skin, causing shivers to run through it. They only grow into persistent tingles the moment his nose bumps into mine.

Like a fish out of water, my mouth opens up, but no sounds come out. Spring is just shy of starting, with the temperature carrying a chilly wind and the last remnants of humidity too stubborn to disappear, but I feel warm. I’m blazing hot, more so than the temperature outside.

It’s the blood being pumped frantically through my veins; I know it. Because that is what Liam Davis does to my body. He overworks and heats me up, almost causing it to break down.

It feels like he has the power to break me apart. And something inside me tells me it isn’t just a feeling.

His hand comes around my waist, pulling me even closer to him, almost as if he knows I am about to lose my strength. Then, he takes me by surprise, pushing his lips against mine.

He’s gentle at first, the soft grazing of his lips against mine, but he quickly gains momentum. His hold tightens just as his tongue peeks out, asking for permission, and I melt. Letting my body fit against his, I bring my hands to the nape of his head, tangling my fingers in his dark blond hair, opening my mouth.

Everything else but him disappears as we get lost in the sensations of each other.

Trust and safety envelop my heart in the same way his arms envelop me, ruining me for anyone else in this world. This is it. This is all I need.

When we finally separate, panting for air, he whispers, “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

My heart swells, feeling too big for my chest, but I can’t help the smile that stretches on my face. It’s all I want.

I nod eagerly, repeating the word yes a few times. He laughs and hugs me tight. For a few moments, rapture robs the both of us of common sense as he picks me up and starts swirling me around in the middle of the street.

Just as quickly, our loud and happy laughter ceases to exist, being replaced by a groggy and slurred voice. One I never wish to hear, ever again in my life. And yet, it’s still around, lurking from the deepest corners of my mind, ready to taunt me for eternity.

“Shit. What have I done?”

In any other situation, I’d care that he sobered up and realised the mistake he just made, but this time around, it’s too late. Some things can’t be undone. The rustling and stumbling echo throughout the large living room, but my brain has drowned out all noises.

Tears stream down my face aggressively, but I don’t dare move a finger. If I remain still, he won’t come back. He won’t remember I’m still here.

It’s only when I hear a door shut in the far distance, on the first floor of this three-storey house, do I dare breathe.

I can’t stay here a minute longer. Safety. I need safety.

So, I run. I run until that damned house turns into the safety of my bedroom, of my bathroom. I ignore the banging on the other side of the door, turning on the faucet. There’s a tiny sliver of hope that the scorching water that runs out of the tap will clean my dirty body.

It doesn’t, but I welcome the burn. It helps ease the physical and emotional pain. My knees hit my chest, and I circle my arms around my head, crying into the small cocoon I’ve made.

Everything and everywhere hurts.

But nothing hurts more than realising what this means. To me. To him and everyone around us…I can’t be the reason for so much pain. And that’s enough to make me realise this is my cross to carry. Alone and in secret, no matter how much it’ll cost me.

A sharp sting in my chest startles me, waking me up from my sleep. The safety of consciousness doesn’t seem much of a relief from the nightmare—there’s no difference in the kind of pain that consumes me.

I may be miles—and years—from what happened, but my body and brain seem to remember it as if it happened just yesterday.

“Mummy?” Dylan’s voice grounds me back to the present, away from the torments that my brain seems to find to torture me.

“I’m here, baby. Did I wake you up?” I whisper so he doesn’t witness the shakiness in my voice.

He nods and comes closer to me as I take a shaky breath.

“Sorry, my love.” I kiss his forehead before lying back down, closer to him.

Then his little hands start to wander through my shoulders until he finds my face. It may be weird to a lot of people, but he likes to do this sometimes in the middle of the night. To touch my face and make sure I am here with him, a kind of reassurance habit he gained over the years.

When he touches my cheeks, his hands freeze, and I can already imagine his frown upon realising I have a tear-stained face.

“Are you crying, Mummy? Did you have a dream-mare?” His words make me chuckle lightly.

When Dylan started talking, and I started teaching him words, this was one of the words he struggled the most in learning: nightmare. I don’t even know why but because he couldn’t say it, he started to say dream-mare.

Even though he can already say it properly now, it’s stuck.

I find it so cute. My baby is so cute.

“Yes, baby, but it’s gone now. You made it better.” I cuddle him. “You make everything better,” I whisper.

“You too, Mummy. I love you.”

“I love you, baby. Now, go back to sleep. We have a big day ahead of us.” I chuckle slightly and hold him close to me as he slowly falls back asleep.

As for me, sleep has evaded me. It always happens when I have nightmares—or memories, rather. They always start with good or happy moments that somehow transform into that dreadful night. Everything I went through wasn’t bad enough, my self-sabotaging brain is still trying to find ways to stain all the good memories I still hold dear.

Staying awake, fighting off unwanted thoughts and watching my angel sleep is the best way to keep some of my memories safe. As well as what’s left of my sanity.

“Mum, look!” Dylan shrieks in excitement. “It’s a lion!”

He lets go of my hand to try and run to the glass wall, but I hold him tighter, not letting him go far. The zoo is crowded, and the last thing I need is to lose sight of him.

“Dylan, we’ll get there. What have I told you? Do not let go of my hand,” I repeat for the thousandth time today.

This kid is impulsive and rash. A true hurricane that I find exhausting sometimes. Saturdays have been a day that I try to focus on him and quality time with him. So, this time around, we came to the zoo.

Last night left me exhausted, but nothing beats the sheer happiness on Dylan’s face. Seeing him so excited and happy makes up for everything else. He makes all of the sacrifices and efforts worth it.

“Come on, Mum. You’re too slow! They’ll run away by the time we get there,” he whines, and I chuckle, keeping my slow pace.

“Where will they run away to? Not the city I hope,” I joke, and he gives me a glare.

He still likes to think the animals are in the wilderness, and we just have a special ticket that takes us directly there—as though we’d teleported. Before him, I’d forgotten how much our imaginations run wild when we’re kids. It brings back a few pleasant memories from the treehouse that I imagined being my “prison room” at the top of the highest tower of the palace.

I used to force Liam to pretend to be my prince charming and to come up there and save me. He hated it, but he did it nonetheless. It brings a smile to my face.

“Look, Mummy. They are so big! If they get mad, they will be angry and-and…” He puffs his chest and arches his arms towards his belly making this ugly, angry face before continuing, “They will roar like this: roawaar!”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask, making him think he is teaching me something. “What will they do if they are hungry?”

“Eat insects!” he says as a matter of fact, and I burst out laughing.

This kid has watched The Lion King one too many times. I think I need to make him watch proper wilderness documentaries one of these days, otherwise he’ll think lions only eat insects, like Simba.

“Alright lion whisperer, let’s go see the zebras!”

After a few minutes of walking, we arrive, and he is in love with them.

“Mummy, they’re just like horses.” I nod in acknowledgement. “But they just have stripes!”

“Something like that, I guess.” I chuckle. “Want to see something else?”

“Not yet. I like the zebras. Can I have one for my birthday?” He makes these manipulative puppy eyes that make me give in ninety percent of the time.

Well, the ten percent apply to situations like this, when getting a zebra is as impossible as it is illegal.

“Unfortunately no, baby. Zebras need space to run, and our backyard is really small,” I tell him.

“I will walk her every day, Mum. I promise.” I burst out laughing again.

“Dylan, a zebra is not the same as a dog. They grow a lot, eat a lot, and need to run hundreds of miles sometimes. I promise that when you get a little bit older, we’ll get a dog. Okay, baby?”

“Fine,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What else would you like for your birthday? It’s only one week away!”

October has gone by, and since it’s the fourth of November, we are exactly one week away from his birthday, next Saturday on the eleventh. Jake told me he’d get here by Friday and spend the weekend with us.

I was hoping he’d get some more time, but I understand that he can’t take days away from work now, so three days is better than none.

“You won’t be angry if I tell you?” he asks hesitantly.

“Of course not, baby,” I assure him.

Dread replaces the blood inside my veins, freezing my body momentarily. There’s a bit of hope he won’t ask for what I know I can’t give him, but the way he keeps looking down, refusing to meet my eyes, playing with the hem of his T-shirt, tells me everything I need to know.

“I would like to meet my dad,” he whispers so only I can hear.

Every time I think my heart can’t break anymore, I’m taught a lesson. Not really knowing what to do, I hug him.

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry!”

“Can you do it?” His lips move against my shoulder, and I take a moment to think about what to say as my hand rubs his back in circular motions.

Tears sting my eyes, threatening to fall at any moment. This is not the way I was expecting the day to go. He hasn’t touched the subject of his dad for a few weeks, and I thought—stupidly—that he had forgotten about it. For a while, at least.

How could he forget? He’s at the age to learn and understand the world around him better and better. And I owe him the truth—not only him—but I thought I’d have more time to figure this out…to know how to deal with it.

How I’ll do it, I don’t know yet, but I need to. Whatever it takes—for Dylan—I need to muster up the courage for it.

“I honestly don’t know, baby. But I will try, I promise.”