Back to Willow (Back Series Book 1)

FORTY-ONE

My eyes flutter as I slip back into consciousness.

For the first time in years, there is a lightness inside, just like a balloon filled with helium that floats carelessly through the sky. That’s the effect Willow has on me. She will always influence my mood.

I love her. And the fact that we fucking said it at the same, just like the first time we confessed our true feelings for each other, is just too much of a coincidence for my heart.

Last night was the best night of my life.

I stretch my left arm to wrap it around her waist and snuggle, but my eyes snap open at the realisation that the spot next to me is empty.

“Lo?” Did she leave?

Looking around my bedroom, wondering if her things are still scattered around my bedroom or picked up. I notice her overnight bag by the door and her jeans neatly folded on the black imperial concubine, close to my walk-in closet.

She’s still here.

My conclusions are confirmed when I hear some mischievous giggling outside. The sound is ethereal, waking my foggy brain right away and making it way easier to get out of bed. First, I put some boxers on—Dylan’s awake, too.

I probably need a shower, but to be honest, I don’t want to wash away what happened last night. It’s ridiculous, but there’s a part of me that is insanely holding on to it, afraid she’ll slip through my fingers again.

Once my feet step into the bathroom, the doorbell rings, and I freeze. Who the fuck is it?

They wouldn’t appear uninvited, right?

I only snap out of my inner thoughts when I hear rushed footsteps and a frantic Willow calling after him to not open the door, but it’s too late.

The clicking of the lock sounds, and Dylan greets whoever it is cheerfully, “Hello, who are you?”

Shit!

I hurriedly knot my shorts’ strings that were hanging on the back of the door and run outside. When I reach them, I stop in my tracks.

It’s deadly silent with my parents gaping at a dishevelled Willow in just a baggy T-shirt of mine and a curious Dylan, tilting his head at them. My heart thrashes inside, echoing through my ears.

“Well, well,” my father tuts. “This is quite a surprise.”

Willow gasps, hastily grabbing Dylan’s arm.

“What?” another male voice hear speaks, but I ignore it, focusing on Willow’s abnormal stance.

With her breath hitching, she stumbles back until a soft thud sounds from her back hitting the wall.

What’s happening?

I step between her and my family, not even sparing them a glance and ask, “Lo, what’s wrong?”

“Mummy, breathe.”

My hands hover over her, but I stop myself as her breaths turn shallow, one hand pressing Dylan hard against her and the other clutching her throat so tight I doubt she can even breathe.

“Ahh, fuck!” someone curses, but I’m so focused on the woman panicking in front of me that I tune it out.

“No, no. Please, no,” she chants over and over again with tears in her eyes, looking straight through me into the dark void that’s taking over her brain.

“Baby?” I turn to her, reaching for her shoulders.

She recoils, and I retract my hand right away.

“Willow? Baby?” I call.

Finally, her eyes snap back to mine, just now awakening from the daze she was in. Then, mumbling something incomprehensible, she rushes to the bathroom, pulling Dylan behind with her.

I’m about to follow them when my father calls me. The door clicks shut behind her and the lock turns, letting me know I just missed my chance.

Fuck.

Turning around, I see my parents with the other person who had abandoned me—Mason. I guess this is a year for reunions, not that I wanted to see them today. But fuck, a whirlwind of mixed emotions hits me upon seeing him after all of these years.

He looks slightly better than the last time I seen him. Though from the aftermath of doing drugs non-stop for so long, he looks way older than just twenty-five. Still, he’s put on some weight and has some more colour on his skin. What concerns me are the looks in all three sets of eyes, all focused on me. Mason and our mother’s are wide-eyed and seemingly surprised. While my father’s is the same as usual…angry.

“Weren’t you supposed to come for New Year only?” I can’t help the snark lacing my words.

“We wanted to surprise you,” my father claims.

“Except we’re the surprised ones,” my mother comments, a hint of disbelief in her voice. Then she corrects her stance, straightening her spine while her face morphs into a distant, cold expression. “What is this?”

“This is my house,” I bark out the words. I am my father’s son, after all. “And you’re not supposed to be here today,” I comment, trying to snap out of my light daze. “You were supposed to come for New Year.”

“What’s this, Liam?” my father asks, completely disregarding my comment about them being here early.

He glares over my shoulder in the direction Willow just fled towards, letting me know to whom he is directing his anger. Just the realisation of it, of someone targeting Willow, makes my blood boil.

I am about to answer back when he beats me to it, “Excuse us!”

The man who raised me under the unattainably high expectations he created pushes past my body, entering the living room and making himself at home. My mother mimics him, walking inside with a poker face, and my brother hurries after them, not even looking me in the eye. Good, if he starts to act like them now, I might not answer rationally.

“I called you,” my father informs me, a tightness in his voice, giving away more than he wants to. In response, I can’t help but huff.

“What now?” I ask, clearly irritated. “As you can see, I was busy!”

“Oh, we understand now. It’s loud and clear.” The bite in his voice is strong, only feeding my annoyance.

“Wasn’t it clear we were supposed to spend the 31st and the 1st of January together instead?” I ask. “Since when is it acceptable to appear unannounced in someone else’s home? To cause all of this ruckus, on top of it all!”

“What part of ‘surprise’ have you not understood, boy?”

“John,” my mother chimes in hesitantly. “How about we all sit down and talk? Surely, Liam has an explanation.”

There is zero will or patience in me to deal with them and their prejudice. Sure, my parents provided me with a lifestyle just a few can brag about, but when it came to everything else, it was very lacking. The love, support, and understanding—especially the latter.

We never came first to them. They surely don’t come first to me.

In my brain, I’m checking in on her; it’s an automatic response.

Yes, I’m choosing her.

In reality, I shouldn’t need to choose one or the other. But if it comes down to it, there’s one thing I am sure of…I’m not letting her go again. Not after everything.

Without bothering to answer his wife, John Davis glares at me, wanting me to back down and bend to his will. Except, I’m not the same kid who left for college. I’ve been living on my own ever since I started college, free from their control.

I’m not handing it back to them now—not anymore. That’s why I ignore them as I walk down the corridor to the door she disappeared into.

“Lo?” I call, knocking on the bathroom door. “Baby, what’s wrong? Let me in.”

The wood blocks my view but doesn’t smother the sounds coming from inside. Short and uncontrolled breaths fill the room, alongside Dylan’s soft whispers. It doesn’t matter that I keep calling her—she doesn’t answer.

How can I break her out of it?

“Dy, buddy?”

“Yes,” his answer is delayed and hesitant.

“Is Mummy having a hard time breathing?”

“Y-yes,” he stammers in a shaky voice.

Bloody hell. She must be having a panic attack again.

“Don’t cry, buddy,” I tell him. “Let’s try and help her, yeah? Can you do as I say?”

“She won’t speak,” he warns me. “She never does when this happens.”

So, this happens often. Of course, she has trauma. Panic attacks are common. Why the fuck didn’t I make the connection?

Flashbacks from his birthday and her teacher helping her out flood my mind. She was a mess and couldn’t even speak; she’s probably the same now.

“Can you unlock the door?” I try.

“She’s holding the key too hard,” he mumbles, seemingly struggling with something.

“Got it,” he says.

His footsteps are faint and not even a full minute later, he opens the door for me. Slipping inside, I lock it again—just in case someone tries to snoop in. This time around, I keep some distance as I crouch in front of her.

“Baby,” I call her. “You need to take slow and deep breaths.”

All the while, he snuggles against her side, and she holds him back just as tight.

Oh, good. She lets him touch her.

“Buddy?” The clever boy I hope is my son looks at me through shiny eyes. He is so worried it hurts. “Touch Mummy’s cheeks and tell her to look at you.” He does and surprisingly, she locks eyes with him.

My heart soars at the small victory. Their bond is so strong, and I can’t even feel jealous. I am just proud. She is giving him the kind of love I never got, even through the hard times she has had to face.

“Tell her to breathe with you,” I instruct.

He does as I say, but she fails to do it, her breath still hitching as fat tears stroll down her face. He looks at me, hopeless and in want of direction.

“Ask her to look at you again and name the colours she sees.” When he hesitates, I insist, “Go on, buddy.”

“Blu–” She hiccups, and he coos her to go on. “B-brown.” Another hiccup and one less sob. Another win. “White.” A deep breath in and a long exhale. Yes.

“One more, Mummy,” he encourages her.

“Grey,” she mumbles, looking at Dylan’s small-sized sweatpants. “T-thanks.”

The hoarseness in her voice sounds like she’s been shouting and singing at a concert non-stop. Panic attacks exert people’s bodies in a way many don’t realise. And watching the only woman I have ever loved having one first-hand for the second time in two months awakes a part of me I never knew existed.

It’s primal—monstrous, even. It creates a rage inside like never before. All I want is to go back to Lisbon, the city we used to live in, and find the piece of shit who hurt her this bad. Or fucking travel in time, back to that night, so I can right all of my wrongs. To get home earlier—fuck, not even leave in the first place. Just so I could be there and fucking walk her home!

I want to keep her under my arm and never let go again, making sure she is one hundred percent safe.

“Baby,” I call, but she looks away from me. Ouch. “What’s wrong?”

When I try to touch her, she still flinches, and fuck, it hurts. It hurts that I’m not a safe haven for her like Dylan is.

“Lo?”

“I never wanted this to happen,” she cries, sobbing again. “I swear!”

“Whatever it is, baby, we’ll—”

“No!” I startle at the loud boom of her voice. “You don’t understand,” she wails. “I can’t—you’ll hate me!”

“You know I won’t.”

“Please, you need to know I would never do anything to hurt you.” I nod, agreeing. I know that now. “Not willingly,” she emphasises.

“Let’s do something,” I intervene, not wanting her to dwell on something she shouldn’t and instigate another panic attack. “You and Dylan get dressed and give me an hour. I’ll meet you at your house, and we’ll spend the rest of Christmas together. You’ll tell me on your own time and terms. Yeah?”

“Yes, please,” Dylan chimes up. “Let’s go, Mummy.”

She’s sceptical, and even though I can’t understand why, I need her to believe me. I’ll be there.

“Trust me,” I beg. “I love you, that won’t change.”

With a weak nod, she unlocks the door and flees to my bedroom, where their bags are. As soon as my bedroom door clicks shut, I grip the bathroom sink, taking a deep breath. Fuck, not even assisting Dr Shawn during long surgeries is as draining.

It hurts, though, how easy it is for someone to snap their fingers and burn her world down. It’s even worse to not be able to help—at all.

I’m useless.

How can one simple second be enough to burst the bubble of happiness we’ve finally reached? Fucking hell.

Once I am finally calm and collected, I walk back to the living room, to face my obnoxious parents and send them on their way. If they don’t leave, I will.

Thankfully, there’s a corner preventing them from seeing the front door directly, which means she might be able to leave undetected once she’s ready.

The only person sitting on my couch is my brother. His body twitches once in a while, his hands constantly shaking as his eyes barely focus on something specific. Is he still in withdrawal? He shouldn’t if what my mother said on our phone call was true.

My parents pop up from the kitchen, my father seething, “How could you?”

“How could I what?” I counter, not even bothering to hide the edge in my voice.

I do not have the patience for this.

My parents look like they’re about to blow up with how red their faces are, and my poor brother looks more stressed with each passing second. I bet he’s craving some white powder to sniff—especially with those two hounding his every move again.

“After everything we’ve done for you–” my father booms.

“And after what that despicable girl did,” my mother shrieks. “How could you forgive her?”

“It isn’t your business, is it?” I can’t help but snide. “We talked and solved everything. You don’t know what happened, and I—”

“We don’t?” My father cuts me off, that signature sarcasm of his. “Are you sure?”

A heaviness falls upon my chest. What?

“What the hell are you on about?” I ask, exasperated. “Look, I’m not interested in the twisted games you like to play. That girl back there went through hell and back for that kid. And yes, maybe she didn’t make the best decisions, but she did the best she could with the little she had.”

“Did she tell you the truth, then?” he taunts. “That the kid isn’t yours?”

I go completely still, hand hanging mid-air as I look at him wide-eyed.

How does he—

A whimper catches my attention, and I see my brother rocking back and forward on the couch, his hands clutching the roots of his hair tightly. All of this fighting must be triggering him and worsening his cravings.

“Let’s stop this! Mason is not–”

“Oh, so you don’t know! Not really, do you?” An evil laugh escapes my father’s mouth. “So fucking na?ve! She’s manipulating you, and you’re falling for it!”

“She told me,” I counter. “Except, it could be mine, too. We’ll be sure soon.”

“Good, then.” The patronising tone in his voice makes me want to punch him. He’s never been so lucky to be my father before.

But this isn’t news. He’s always been cold and detached, intervening only to get his way. Appearances came first, and the family came second. It hasn’t changed one fucking bit.

“We’ll finally know which one of you is the father, then.”

My mother’s words feel like a bucket of freezing water over my head. My heart drops to my feet as my brain struggles to comprehend these words.

And because I can’t keep up fast enough, my father chimes in right afterwards, “Yes, we’ll need to know which one of you will ask for full custody.”

What?

“No, no, no,” a soft wail sounds behind me. “Oh no!”

I turn just in time to see my girl crying—again—while opening the front door.

“No one’s fucking doing that,” I growl, that primal instinct to protect her—them—coming out.

“Watch me,” my father challenges me, pushing his chest out and trying to look taller than me. While I have inherited my mother’s blonde hair, everything has been given to me by this excuse of a man in front of me. And I’ve never regretted my ancestry as much as this day. “That little whore is the fucking problem, and I’ll get rid of it.”

When I look back, she’s still there like a statue, still gripping the door.

“Come here and admit everything!”

When he stalks in her direction, I step in front of him, blocking access to her. “Babe,” I call her. “Get home, and I’ll meet you—”

“It wasn’t enough that you screwed both of my sons—destroying one’s life and distancing the other from his family—you had to keep this child a secret?”

“What?” I croak.

“You heard it right. That kid is most likely your nephew!”

“You’re crazy,” I chuckle darkly, not believing him for one second.

“Am I? Then why else would she leave without telling you about the kid? Huh?”

My hands, which were pressing against my father’s chest, fall limply to my sides. My face contorts in confusion as I glance back at Mason. He’s still rocking back and forward, hands covering his head like he’s protecting himself from unbearable pain.

My brother? Willow?

It can’t be. They barely spent time together—or talked for that matter—since he was never home. He’s claiming that both of them cheated, but…she would never.

Cheat?Nah, that’s ridiculous, and I know it.

I—shit.

“Mummy, let’s go home. Please.” I snap out of it as Dylan’s incessant requests fall upon deaf ears. Turning around, I see her crouching down, barely able to breathe.

“Willow?” I call weakly. “What is this all about?”

She wouldn’t. I know it.

When her swollen eyes lock on mine, they knock the breath out of me at the pain mirrored in them. She’s hurting so damn bad, but…

“I wouldn’t,” she mumbles through her sobs. “Not…” And with a shaky breath, she hastily stands up and pulls Dylan with her, slamming the door behind her.

Not? Not what?

I should go after her, and fuck, I want to! But my body refuses to hear my brain, staying rooted in place.

Dumbfounded.

It takes me a second, a second too long to put the pieces together as snippets of what she’s told me fit together. All of those times she was afraid to tell me such an important part of everything, afraid I’d hate her alongside her need to try and find the proper way to tell me—whatever it was. And just today…the way she told me she wouldn’t do anything like that to me, not willingly.

Not willingly!

I spin, facing my brother, and his gaze is already locked on mine. He looks gutted…like he’s been carrying the weight of the world around his shoulders–no.

He looks guilty.

My vision turns red as all the information falls into place. That protectiveness that stays hidden most of the time takes over every fibre of my body as my brain conjures cruel images of plausible scenarios.

“What the fuck did you do to her?” I roar, charging towards him.

It’s a weird state of consciousness, as for the first time, I give in to some of my darkest urges. My hands grab the collar of his shirt, slamming his back against the wall.

“Tell me,” I growl. “I want the fucking truth. What did you do to her?”

“Liam, stop.” My mother’s shouts fall on deaf ears. “He’s your brother!”

Brother?The man in front of me has been reduced to nothing in my eyes. Such a monster couldn’t be related to me. He’s all drugs and addiction, bad choices and unforgiveable actions. A dangerous criminal. At this point, there is nothing else to salvage.

“He did nothing!” my father bellows behind me. “She threw herself at him!”

A hand—probably his—grips my shoulder tightly with a harsh push backwards, and it only spurs me on, the rage bubbling to the surface as I suddenly push my arm back, elbowing whoever is behind me. A scrunching sound is followed by a grunt, and the hold on my body disappears.

On any other day, I would have cared, but not now. Years of pent-up anger and bottled-up feelings are now coming out. For so long, I had blamed her for everything that has happened, and I’m just realising now that it was directed at the wrong person all along.

Willow was raped. And my brother—my blood—was responsible for it. The perpetrator. A criminal. A fucking rapist. And my parents? They’re just as evil for knowing what transpired and not holding him accountable for his actions. Mason has been roaming around freely without suffering the consequences of what he’s done. All the while that young girl was left to fend for herself in this cruel world.

Coming to this conclusion, it’s placing me on the edge, just on the brink of losing control.

“Did you force yourself on her?” The heaviness in the words floats around us as he gulps.

The way he looks away is enough to give me the answer. And while it’s what I expected, it’s absolutely not what I want. Still, I push through because I need to hear it from his mouth.

“Yes or no?” My forearm slides up, pressing against his neck.

“Y-yes,” he stammers, his eyes red and shiny with tears.

I knew it.

“What did you do to her?” Mason starts to choke, but I don’t budge.

This is why she was so afraid to tell me who did it. I get it now because…how would she be able to break it to me? “Hey Liam, I know he looks like you, but that’s because he can also be your nephew.”

“I want to hear you say it,” I growl.

“Liam, stop this madness,” my mum shrieks again.

“Madness?” I shout. “Madness is the fact that you never cared to stop him before, and you think he’s worth defending now?”

“I finally convinced your father to help him–”

“You should have helped him then,” I shut her off. “Maybe then, he wouldn’t have done what he did.”

She doesn’t answer, glazing down in shame. It’s a low blow since I know she always fought with John because of Mason. She disagreed with the ways my father dealt with the issues, but being completely dependent on him and having her place in their community secured was more important to her, so she always did as he ordered. Letting my father become the wedge that tore my brother apart from his family.

Now? Now, it’s too fucking late for amends.

Turning my attention back to Mason, I demand, “Confess, and I might go easy on you. What did you do?”

“I—I had sex with her,” he admits.

I growl at his choice of words. Sex, my ass!

Ihad sex with her last night, with consent. Her consent. My forearm presses tighter against his throat as the burning flames of wrath order my brain to inflict pain, to make him suffer as much as she did.

Loathing and remorse rise to the surface, too. I know this is pointless because it won’t erase what she went through, but it’s the only thing bringing me a fraction of relief in this moment. Because my own brother, a man I adored and looked up to, was able to hurt the love of my life beyond repair.

“Did she want it?” No answer comes out, and it only spurs me on. “Tell me!”

“N-no,” he croaks.

I let go of him, my arms falling limply to my sides as a huge crack grows in my heart. It’s one thing to know, but to hear it…“So, you raped her.”

“Baby brother, I was high. I didn’t–”

The familiar cracking sound of a bone breaking rings throughout my apartment. My knuckles sting upon impact, but the pain is welcomed, a feeble distraction from the real hurt within.

One more. Two. Three.

Not even when he’s on the ground—unconscious—do I stop. There’s no going back now as everything comes out. All of the anguish I endured throughout these years and the recently gained guilt are unleashed, trying to make up for the fact that she wasn’t safe. Not even from my own family—my own blood.

A trauma so strong she still has panic attacks about it. The kind of emotional scarring that never leaves, and all because of him.

“Stop! You’ll kill him!” My mum’s high-pitched voice rings in my ears, and I finally stop.

Her sobs are followed by a strong body pulling me away from my brother. I know it’s my father, and even though I don’t want him to touch me—hell I don’t want anyone touching me—this time, I let him.

“Look what you’ve done.” She glares at me before kneeling before him. “This was never supposed to happen,” she grits. She’s speaking to me, but looking at him, surveying his injuries. “I have failed him time and time again. I had just gotten your father on board with helping him, and now this...We were going to make it better,” she sobs, holding on to him.

When I don’t answer her rant, she adds, “My poor boy, he just wanted to get back on track.”

Her sobs are exaggerated and honestly, they’re starting to piss me off.

“I–I deserved it,” Mason croaks as he rouses.

The fact he is still conscious is both relieving and disappointing. The last thing I want is to go to jail, but every drop of sympathy I had left for my brother has vanished. Nothing—nothing—justifies what he did. Especially his little brother’s girlfriend. What kind of sick man does that?

“No!” our mother wails, clutching him in her arms. “You were sick. Now, you want to make things right; that should be enough.”

“Make things right?” I bark. “Then why was dad threatening to ask for Dylan’s custody? That’s not making things right!”

“What would you prefer?” my dad growls, making me turn to look at him. We look so much alike, yet we are so different. “Have your brother thrown into prison instead? That would ruin our lives, on top of his!”

“So, ruining hers is the solution? Wasn’t all the pain she went through already enough? To go through a pregnancy and raise a child in her teenage years that could be her rapist’s kid?”

My father’s mouth snaps shut as his eyes widen in reaction to my booming words. My head feels like it’s going to burst soon. If I look as raging as I feel, it must be a terrifying sight.

“Nothing he can do will make it up to her–to them! And if it’s up to me…” I turn to my brother. “You’ll rot away in jail for a long time for this shit. Mark my words.”

“You can’t possibly be serious, boy.” My father swoops in once again, walking towards me. “We’ve given you everything, and you’re going to side with that girl?”

I laugh sarcastically. “How can you possibly ask that?”

“She probably fucking asked for it,” he booms. “She entered the house late at night with only him inside! She went straight into the wolf’s lair and didn’t expect anything to happen? She couldn’t be that na?ve!”

“What are you saying?” My voice is quiet, deadly, while my blood boils inside me. “She entered our house, lured in by my brother when she was expecting me to arrive at any given moment and should have expected to be forced to do what she didn’t want to? She went there because I was supposed to be there!”

“Well, I—”

“Get out,” I grit the words out. There’s nothing they can say to change my mind.

If my brother wanted to make things right, he would have gone to the police right away to confess what he did, not hide behind the drugs and now put the responsibility on my parents to make it all go away. Because that’s all my parents are good for—making problems disappear.

They have this perfect family picture on the outside, but they’re completely rotten on the inside.

And I want nothing to do with them. Nothing.

They keep silent as they help Mason back on his feet, and I fight the urge to beat him to a pulp once more. When they don’t move after I’ve told them to get out twice, I scream, “Get the fuck out!”

“We’ll see if you keep talking to us in that tone once I cut you off,” my father snarks back.

“Shove the fucking money up your ass!”

“Watch your mouth,” he snarls while my mother slowly walks my brother to the front door.

“Or what?” I counter, getting in his face. “Want to take a swing? I dare you.”

We stare off for a while, daring each other to make a move or stand down, and thankfully, the man in front of me takes a step back. He shakes his head, showing his disappointment, but I am way past caring for it—caring for them.

He stomps after the other two, slamming the door shut, and all the adrenaline travelling through my body slows down as my alert state wears down.

As some fatigue hits, my brain reels with thoughts of everything that just transpired, properly processing the information. All of these years, I’ve been angry at her for disappearing, for abandoning me while I needed her. For leaving me after I gave her the best of me.

I was so fucking wrong.

For so long, I’ve been furious at the wrong person instead because my brother was the one who forced her away. By hurting her so much she couldn’t even look me in the eye and confide what had happened.

So young and hurt…so alone.

Everything makes sense now: the panic when seeing me again, the constant hesitancy in not telling me what transpired, and telling me I’m not the father despite Dylan being my twin. She wasn’t being selfish.

She was protecting me.

Bloody hell, I love this woman so damn hard. She deserves everything.

“What the fuck am I doing?” I mutter to myself. “She’s out there alone, and I’m here stuck in my head.”

She probably thinks I hate her; she probably thinks I believe them...

I need to go to her and make things right.

I need to show her that I do believe her and that I fucking love her.