Back to Willow (Back Series Book 1)

THRITY-FIVE

Liam.

He’s here.

I step out of the car, and he comes closer to me, stopping only when he sees me taking a sleeping Dylan out of the car.

“Lo,” he whispers. “Can we talk?”

“About what?” I sigh. “Dylan’s sleeping, and I’m tired.” Annoyance laces my voice.

I shouldn’t provoke him. God, I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. He’s always brought out the bravest side of me. I’ve never been afraid to speak my mind, not with him.

“About what you saw at the diner and everything else.”

The last thing I want to do now is talk. But as always, his eyes burn with determination. He’s one of the most stubborn people I know. There’s no point in arguing.

“Fine. Let me just get him to bed first.” I try to look for my keys with the only hand I have available, while the other is under Dylan’s butt, holding him onto me. His head snuggles against my neck, limiting my range of movement. When I fail to find the keys, Liam swiftly and softly takes Dylan out of my hold. He squirms a little in his arms until he’s comfortable again and stills, snoring even louder.

I swear this kid can sleep through a freaking hurricane.

“Thank you,” I mumble while opening the door and letting us both inside.

When I try to get Dylan into my arms, Liam says he’s got him, nodding for me to lead him upstairs. With a resigned sigh, I comply. The silence between us is deafening, over the low padding of our bare feet. In Dylan’s room, Liam helps me with changing him and tucking him in.

It is all so natural that one would doubt it’s the first time it’s happening.

“He’s a heavy sleeper,” he hums, smiling, his eyes locked on the sleeping boy. “He didn’t even flinch while we manoeuvred him.”

“He is,” I agree. “And it’s a struggle to wake him up in the morning. He’s very passionate about his bed, to the point of kicking.”

Liam’s head snaps to mine with wide eyes. I probably just reminded him of that one time we fell asleep on the couch one afternoon and the way he pushed me off it when I tried to wake him up.

“Too good to be just a coincidence. Don’t you think?”

Yes.Either way, it isn’t a coincidence.

It’s been easier to forget the other half of the possibility when things go this smoothly. It always feels like a punch to the gut whenever I remember.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” I snap.

It’s not his fault. I know! But this is the best defence mechanism I can come up with. My brain keeps chanting that if I keep my distance, it’ll hurt less. A stupid illusion.

His face falls, and I have to turn away, heading back downstairs. The way his expression contorts makes my heart tug, and not in a good way. I can see from it how much he wants this, and that alone makes me afraid.

More than I’ve felt in a long time because if he isn’t, he’ll question everything, and having him know everything that happened will destroy him. Almost as much as it destroyed me.

“Don’t you think that was uncalled for?” he growls when we get downstairs.

“It was, but I know you. You’re impulsive and emotional. I can see the way you look at him. You believe unconditionally that he is yours. I was just reminding you, keeping you grounded.”

“No, you’re being cruel. I understand that you’re upset about seeing me with Johanna at the diner, but it wasn’t what you’re thinking it was.”

Of course, he’d think that’s what made me say that. It wasn’t. Right? I have no right to be upset or jealous. We haven’t been together for years now.

“I don’t think anything, Liam. You’re single, remember? You can see and date whoever you want, and I can’t be mad at you.” His mouth opens to counter but I cut him off, continuing, “Plus, you are dating her. It’s not your fault I came barrelling down like a tsunami and ruined your life. If there’s someone who’s not right in this situation, it’s me for stepping in between the both of you.”

When I finish my speech, Liam doesn’t answer me for a while. A good while.

He spends the entire time in silence, looking intently at me, his eyes roaming my face. They jump from the crease between my eyebrows to my eyes, cheeks, and then to my lips, only to go back up and do it again. And again.

“I am not dating Johanna,” he answers. My heart roars in satisfaction, but I try to keep a poker face. It’s still not my business. “I finished whatever it could turn into when I saw you at her apartment. We met earlier because the other night, when I went out with some friends, I found her outside completely intoxicated. After taking her home, I got worried and wanted to check in on her.”

“Oh…is she okay?”

He nods. “Yes. I think so.”

“You still don’t have to explain yourself to me. It’s fine, Liam.”

It does lift some of the worrying feelings that were brewing inside me, but that fact only brings another load. The ability he has to reassure me shouldn’t be there. And I shouldn’t be bothered by any of this.

But I am. And I don’t know what the hell that means. What it can mean scares the hell out of me.

I came to this city to have a fresh start, and so far, I’ve had anything but. I’ve barely been keeping myself afloat between school, work, and the emotional distress of having Liam back in my life.

“You don’t look fine.”

Damn him and his ability to see right through me.

“I am exhausted today,” I answer. “I was supposed to stay at home with Dylan and had to go to work after a day of school. It’s been a long day…”

“You could have called me,” he comments, and I look away.

It’s the same thing he said earlier when I was working and he saw Dylan. And while I understand where he is coming from, he also needs to realise that I have been doing this by myself—mostly—ever since he was born. My automatic response is to solve it by myself, not ask for help.

“I didn’t have time,” I explain truthfully. “This is new. I’m used to doing everything by myself; I just acted on it.”

He frowns. “But you had your professor do it instead of me? Like what the fuck? He’s the guy from that night. Should you even be that close to him?”

I freeze. His words are harsh, and while I understand what he means, I know there is nothing inappropriate going on. Arthur has been nothing but a gentleman and respectful of my boundaries.

He has helped me more than anyone else could, in such a short period. Without him, I wonder if I would have been able to tell Liam most of the truth. Probably not.

And yes, the man is sinfully attractive, but no other man has ever—ever—made me feel like Liam has. Like he still does.

This man right in front of me will always hold the biggest part of my heart. Whether I acknowledge it or not.

“He realised how much I was struggling as a single parent, working and studying, and has helped out a couple of times,” I reiterate, my hands clenching into fists.

Why am I even trying to defend myself?

“Oh?” He tilts his head. “That’s weird…Johanna mentioned he was horrible to you at first. He just up and stopped all of the sudden? Why?” His bright blue eyes are dark, an angry storm forming in them.

It only irks me.

“What are you trying to get at?” I grit out.

“Don’t act so innocent, Willow! You know exactly what I’m asking!”

What?

I feel my face contort in confusion until it clicks.

My eyes widen in realisation. And I feel an uncomfortable heat rise through my chest straight to my face. Bile threatens to come out at the same time my eyes sting and tears fight their way out of my eyes.

My body starts to shake uncontrollably with mixed emotions. Anger. Revolt. Hurt. Sadness. If there is someone on this earth who could truly shatter me with these kinds of words, it’s him.

“Get out,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

“Not until you answer me,” he barks back, closing in on me.

“Answer what?” I counter, my hands shaking with rage. “What the hell do you want to hear from me? That I fucked my professor?” My voice raises a considerable notch, getting a slight high-pitchedness to it. “Are you even listening to yourself? I was bloody raped. Sex hasn’t been on my mind ever since!”

His mouth opens but no sounds come out, so I continue, “Not until you came the hell back!” My pointer finger pokes at his chest angrily. “So don’t you dare stand in here and accuse me of something impossible. Not after everything!”

At this point, I can feel how the heat irradiating from my skin warms my cold tears. I can barely feel them anymore, but my blurry vision is a firm indicator of my crying. In front of me, Liam stands still, watching me.

“You think it’s easy to recover from this? I still wake up drenched in sweat from recurrent nightmares; a single hand on my shoulder is enough to startle me; I get nauseous just from thinking of someone else that isn’t you kissing me or any part of me. What gives you any right to say this bullshit to me, huh?”

His hands straighten towards me, and I take a staggering step away from him.

“Lo–”

“No,” I scream. “Do you know how much I prayed that night? I prayed for you to show up and stop it.” A sob breaks free from my throat, but I push through it. “Then, I cried. I yelled—begged even—for him to stop, for him to leave me alone. He didn’t stop, and you didn’t show up. Nor did my brother or my dad or anyone else. So, if you are coming to my house to accuse me of ridiculous acts then please, do the both of us a favour and get the hell out!”

He regrets his words now. I can see it in his face, in his eyes.

I don’t think he had realised the extent of my trauma until now. People always say beautiful words and claim to understand. But, how could they understand if they haven’t been through it?

They’re not the ones who cry themselves to sleep and wake up yelling from nightmares. They’re not the ones who break mirrors after taking a look at their reflection or scrub their skin until it bleeds with fake hopes of getting rid of that feeling of being dirty. They’re not the ones who blame themselves for letting it happen. This is a constant cycle, just like a snowball that keeps on rolling and growing.

The true pain goes way beyond the physical one. It’s like ivy. It sticks to your bones and essence, the same way ivy sticks to a wall, turning into part of the structure. The pain becomes part of us, and it never goes away.

The helplessness. The despair. It’s incapacitating at times—and it takes the little control we manage to have over our bodies, over our lives.

“Shit!” He rubs his forehead. “Lo, I forgot…I—”

“Get out,” I ask quietly.

“I was jealous,” he admits. “Fuck, baby. I’m so sorry.”

The words come out a little too late. I’m inside that cycle again, and nothing he can say will make me feel better about myself right now.

“Leave.”

“Lo,” he calls, coming closer. I take a step back again. “Please,” he begs.

“Leave me alone.” His body sags, dejected.

I don’t care. I don’t have the emotional or the physical energy for anything else. I feel defeated. All my brain keeps asking for is the fluffiness of my warm pyjamas and for my body to slide inside the bed and black out until tomorrow.

With a resigned sigh, he finally seems to understand that this is not getting solved. At least, not today. With an ashamed lowering of his eyes, he finally nods.

“For what it’s worth,” he tells me, while already gripping the door knob. “I am fucking sorry.”

Then he turns around, slowly walking down the porch. I slam the door shut behind him before I crumble to the ground in an ugly wail.

This is too much to handle.