Back to Willow (Back Series Book 1)

TWENTY-FIVE

“Liam…” The strained whisper wraps around my lungs in a tight squeeze, stealing the breath out of me.

Her dark brown eyes widen in shock at the sight of me. Admittedly, one glance is enough to lock me in chains, effectively rooting me in place as the heavy silence that follows settles around us, thickening the air with tension.

It’s just the two of us in this darkened street, but the yellow light of the lamps allows me to memorise the tiny differences in her face.

Some fine lines decorate the edges of her eyes, the only ageing visible in her face. To my amazement, it only makes her more beautiful, more mature. She looks the same and yet so different from the innocent girl I used to date.

No, in front of me stands a woman. A woman who cloaks the kind of wisdom many avoid at all costs. Willow no longer has that lightness and innocence etched in her eyes; she looks like the person who has been carrying the weight of the world for seven long years. As she should.

And still, one second, one glance is all it takes to bring me to my knees. At least, metaphorically.

The Pandora’s box where all of the feelings have been kept under lock and key is open. They all bubble up to the surface as if she never left me. Not even all the time in the world would be enough to make me get over her. It is as familiar as it is foreign because these old feelings are not alone anymore. Anger, hurt, and the need to know the truth are riding in the same carriage.

“Will you finally talk now?” Defeat weaves my voice like a spinning-wheel weaves yarn.

I am so tired of this avoidance. If she doesn’t want anything to do with me, fine, but I need those answers.

Was I not enough?

Didn’t she love me?

Why did she leave like that after ignoring me for weeks?

“I was trying to find a way to solve this. I was going to contact you soon, but please,” she begs with a shaky voice. “Not tonight. I can’t, I—you need to leave, please.”

Nervousness and despair flow out of her mouth so strongly I can almost taste it. But after all of these years, all of this agony, I can’t just turn around and leave. No. I won’t budge.

She’s probably working, so her break should be enough to set everything straight. That way we can both move on with our lives. Separately.

Fuck, it stings.

Do I want to move on?

“No,” I counter in a decisive tone, answering her request to leave but most importantly, myself.

“Oh god,” she murmurs before looking around, scared.

What the fuck is going on?

“What are you nervous about?”

Willow looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“I—I—” she stutters, taking a step back. “Please, I have to go. We can talk tomorrow or whenever you can. I—my brother is here, and I—”

“I know he’s here,” I cut her off, automatically taking one step closer to her. “Look, just tell me what I need to know. Five minutes is all I need. Then, I’ll leave you the hell alone for good. I promise, I won’t...bother you again.” This last part comes out forceful because, despite everything, the mere thought of losing her all over again seems unfathomable to me.

I am starting to wonder, though, if knowing is going to make it easier. I have a feeling I am dead wrong. That it surely won’t.

“Five minutes are not enough for me, Liam. I—back then, things were...oh my god.” Her hand flies out to her chest, clutching tight as her breaths get ragged. “I can’t–I can’t do this.” Fat tears start to stream down her face, and my resolve crumbles.

Like muscle memory, I gently grab her face and wipe those tears away. I’ve always been a sucker for her, and apparently, that hasn’t changed. A couple of tears are enough to tear through my heart all over again. Watching her hands clutch my T-shirt in her fists and her forehead digging into my chest to hide the loud sobs hurts more than my own pain.

Willow has always been sensitive, but she was never a crier. Maybe Jake was right. What happened? Was it bad enough to justify her sudden departure? Has she been the one who has indeed hurt more than all of us?

My arms wrap around her tightly as she lets it all out.

“I am so, so sorry,” she says between sobs, and I squeeze her to let her know I am listening.

I have dreamt of hearing these words from her mouth for almost seven years now. But I never thought they’d be as healing as they are. I needed these words. More so, I needed her. Because even though she is the source of my pain, she is also the cure for my illness.

“I didn’t—I didn’t want to leave you.” She cries harder into my chest. “Never you. That is my biggest regret.”

Her words cut deep, making me shiver. It takes me a few breaths to be able to reopen my eyes without giving in to the urge of crying. Never in a million years would I think we’d be so broken beyond repair because back then, I would have walked through fire for this girl.

The problem is that even today, after everything, I still would.

Without thinking, I tilt her head up, forcing her to look at me. We’re much closer now, so much so that her warm breath burns my skin upon contact. The tingling I hadn’t felt in years comes back, just to prove me wrong. If I thought I’d ever get this kind of feeling with someone else, now I know, it only happens with her.

My body and soul yearn for her while my brain is still waging an internal war.

She has barely grown up in height since we were sixteen, whereas I’m almost thirty centimetres taller. My hands, with a life of their own, slide down until they settle on her hips, confirming my suspicions. While still on the skinnier side, she has filled out and has become a lot curvier than she used to be.

The proximity intoxicates me enough to focus only on the good. The familiar scent of wildflowers invades my nostrils, while I admire the way her porcelain skin contrasts with my golden as her body moulds into mine. We still fit perfectly.

Everything changed, and yet, so much still remains the same.

Would her lips still feel and taste the same?

My heart takes the lead, bringing my head down until our lips meet. My mind blanks, all of the background noise disappearing into thin air. Her soft plump lips feel the same, taste the same. Like cotton candy, it’s everything I expected and remembered. And more. So much more.

For a split second, Willow freezes, and underneath my hands, I feel her stiffen. If I didn’t know her so well, I would have missed it because right afterwards, she melts into me with a relieved sigh, kissing me back.

Her fists tighten their hold on my T-shirt, and my hand moves to her waist, pulling her closer to me. It’s like the past, present, and future are clashing together in this one moment, setting the rest of the world apart.

As they say, lost for ten, lost for a thousand, and I’ve lost the battle. All of the hurt, sadness, and the grudge. None of it matters anymore. Especially when my tongue sweeps at her lip, asking for permission to enter.

When they finally touch, it’s like a strike of lightning going through my body. Willow lets out a little whimper, and it intensifies this hunger for her, making my hands slide down towards the swell of her ass.

Home.

No one ever feels as good and right as she does. Nothing can compare.

When I give in to the urge to squeeze her butt-cheek, she gasps, pushing me off her. Confused, my fingers cover my swollen lips as I ask, “What’s wrong?”

With closed eyes and her hands raised in front of her, she steps back, against the wall.

“Don’t! Please, don’t!”

As I’m about to take a step forward, she slides down to the ground, shaking and sobbing uncontrollably.

“Don’t do this,” she begs, her eyes still closed.

Agony rips at my chest as I crouch down to meet her face. “Lo,” I call. “I am not doing anything. I would never—”

“St-Stop! Please!”

What is happening?

A knot forms in my throat and tears burn my eyes as I watch her. It’s agonizing. This is not my Willow. She was sensitive, yeah, but happy, fun, and trusting. But right now, all I see is someone who has been bent until she broke. A shell of the joyous girl she once was.

“What the fuck happened?” I growl to myself.

I regret it instantly as it makes her cry harder, her face now tucked between her knees.

“Lo, baby,” I try again. “It’s Liam. Please, look at me.” My voice cracks at the end.

Seemingly trying to get her control back, I listen to her loud attempts at breathing. And I try to help her out with it. A few minutes later, her lashes finally flutter open through the sea of tears. Shiny dark eyes finally gaze up at me.

“Hey.” I awkwardly smile. “Welcome back.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“We can go somewhere we can calmly talk. Would that help?” A sob racks through her chest as her head shakes aggressively. “I can’t understand…”

“I can’t talk about it.” She shakes her head some more. “Please don’t make me.”

“Did someone hurt you?”

She nods, and the blood in my veins turns cold. My heart skips a beat, opening the gates of guilt. Letting my knees hit the ground, I shuffle closer to her, placing my forehead on her temple.

“I need to know, baby. I–we can’t continue like this.”

“You won’t believe me.” She hiccups. “You’ll hate me.”

“If I can’t hate you after all of these years…” I admit. “I could never.”

“Oh, Liam!” She drops her head back on my chest. “This—how—”

One of my hands gently caresses her back while the other plays with her hair in a weak attempt to stop her crying. I have always hated seeing her upset. “Slowly,” I encourage her. “I’ve got time.”

I am about to give her lips a light peck when the collar of my shirt is abruptly pulled back. I grunt with the force of the collar, almost choking me, falling on my ass. A big and bulky shadow moves in my periphery and I turn to see a man crouching down right by Willow’s side.

“What the fuck?” I growl.

“Oh god—”

“Are you alright?” the man asks her, completely ignoring me.

“She’s fine.”

“She can speak for herself,” he counters as I notice him helping her stand.

I do the same, noticing we’re about the same height, though he has dark hair and eyes. He looks older, too.

“I’m alright,” Willow mutters, cleaning the back of her jeans.

“Look, we’re having a private conversation–”

“Ha, that’s a good one,” he cuts me off, laughing sarcastically. “Private conversation? I saw you forcing yourself on a crying woman. You should be ashamed, man.”

“Who the f—” I push forward but Willow’s hands and voice stop me.

“Stop it!” Her voice still quivering. “Liam isn’t dangerous; he wasn’t hurting me, Arthur.”

“You know this dipshit?” I spit the words, jealousy burning inside me.

“Watch it, punk,” he sneers.

But I ignore him, unfazed, and keep my attention on her.

”Arthur’s a friend.” Her hesitancy doesn’t make it convincing. “Can we meet tomorrow to finish this conversation?”

“And him?” I can’t help but ask.

The silence stretches to an uncomfortable length, and it dawns on me. She was by herself here in the parking lot. Waiting for him. Noted.

“Right,” I scoff. “I’ll leave. I only came here to pick Johanna up, anyway.”

An eye for an eye. And the hurt is visible as her eyes widen, and she takes a staggering step back. Douchebag shakes his head disapprovingly while her eyes get shiny again as the new tears form, and I mentally curse myself. My impulsiveness has always gotten the best of me.

“Shit, Lo—”

The building’s door slams open, catching all of our attention. A kid rushes outside, and I immediately recognize him as Jake’s son. A tiny smile finds its way to my face as I watch him latch onto his aunt’s leg.

“Jake says it’s time to say goodbye to the guests,” he informs her while looking at me curiously. He looks up, and his mouth opens to speak, but he freezes at the sight of her crying.

It only makes me feel guiltier.

Just then, Jake comes running towards us, stopping right beside his sister. “Shit, Lo. The sneaky little shit slipped away wi–” He pauses midsentence when he notices me, eyes widening.

Then the young boy—Dylan, I think—speaks again, “Are you crying, Mummy?”

I stiffen. Surely, I didn’t hear it right.

But then, he repeats the word.

“Don’t be sad, Mummy. I loved the party!” his voice cracks. “Please don’t cry.”

Mummy?

Rendered motionless and stunned, I rack my brain for an explanation, but none comes to mind. At least not one that doesn’t burn my heart to ashes.

My brain spirals into a black hole of hurt at the realisation of what it implies. “Mummy?” I whisper.