Chapter 11
cliff’s notes
Liam
What the fuck just happened?
The cute, bubbly neighbor just told me off and slammed the door in my face. She dismissed me with less annoyance than shit on her shoe.
But the ploy was just that… a ploy. She was surprised. It took watching her this last month to see the act of straightening her spine, lifting her stubborn chin, and forcing out the words.
It’s the sir, though, that’s problematic, because it sends blood straight to my cock.
Because I’ve imagined her. Pictured her bent over my sofa or on all fours for me.
I’ve considered what she’d look like on her knees sucking my cock down like a greedy girl, her throat swallowing around the rim.
I’ve envisioned her riding my dick with her tits bouncing.
They’re small, less than a handful, but they bounce enough and, if I’m not mistaken, they tip up a little.
At least that’s what her tiny tee suggested this morning.
They were certainly visible through the thin white cotton.
That sir makes me hard, makes me want her. I can’t stand here on her back stoop, cock hard and straining for her, and discuss her music choices. It was a long shot anyway, seeing if she was up for breakfast, but now that I’m… up, eating is the last thing on my mind.
Unless it’s the girl next door.
Given the opportunity, she would’ve been a delicious breakfast.
I’ve fist my cock and stroke myself until all I can see are her eyes and all I can feel is the screaming of nerves up and down my spine. My balls are so tight it verges on painful. I squeeze tighter, pull up in a vise grip, and thumb my slit and barbell.
Three-two-one. My orgasm rips through me with a force of few before.
The groan it tears from me is surely audible next door, and I don’t give a single fuck. The only way that could’ve been better is if Lorien were here. Watching.
Or participating.
Either would’ve been preferable. But thinking of her was enough. That and the sir.
A knock on my door makes my lip quirk. I wonder if she’s here because she likes what she heard or if she’s going to give me what-for for daring to make noise.
I clean up as the door pounds for the second time. Feisty Lorien, I’m guessing. Game on.
“Hold up, Trix. I’m coming.” I laugh to myself at my joke. This doesn’t say much about my maturity. We’re all eight-year-old boys when it comes to dick humor. Or farts.
I pull the door open and the sight on my doorstep is not my annoyed neighbor. It’s a man in all beige. Average height. Average build. There’s nothing notable in his appearance other than it’s void of color.
“Liam Murphy?”
“Who’s asking?” It’s more of a growl than a response.
“You’ve been served.” He thrusts an envelope my way before seeing my face and thinking better of it.
I don’t extend a hand. In fact, I cross my arms over my chest and puff up to look as big as possible.
Physically, he’s no threat. But what he just said is.
“I— Well, here.” He sets the papers on the bottom step of my home and backs away.
Smart boy.
I eye him down until he’s back in his vehicle and driving away. Only then do I reach down to look at what legal trouble has just found me.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Lorien is flipping pages on her front stoop like she’s engrossed in a thriller she can’t look away from.
I, on the other hand, wonder if a sack of snakes would be more concerning. Slowly, I pull the bound papers from the legal envelope to see I’m being sued.
“The fuck.” The words are spit from my chest.
“They’re suing me. Those lowlifes are suing me,” my neighbor says in a higher pitch and with more disbelief in her tone than I thought possible for her.
And they’re suing me too. An act of aggression, the paperwork says.
“Get me the name of your attorney,” I bark. “And your insurance company.” I turn and head inside, closing the door with more force than strictly necessary.
No good deed ever goes unpunished.
Me: I need Sherman’s personal cell.
Christian: Everything okay?
Me: No.
I flip through the pages again before my phone lights up.
“Yeah?” My tone is softer than it would be with anyone else. My sister doesn’t deserve my wrath.
“Liam.” She exhales a sigh that can only say relief.
“Yeah.” My sigh matches hers. What a clusterfuck.
“What’s going on? Christian said you need Sherman.”
“I’m being sued. I might not need Sherman. I may need someone with more teeth.”
“Sherman’s a shark. And we trust him.”
“We’ll see.”
“Need me to come over? Want to come here?”
“Do you have any heretofore unknown legal prowess?”
“Don’t be rude. Whatever this is, it’s not worth taking out on me.”
“You’re right.” I draw in a huge breath.
“I’m on my way. And I’m bringing coffee.” She disconnects before I can say I have coffee here and that I’m in no mood for company.
I throw on a pot, mostly to keep my hands busy and because it’ll annoy Ayla, and start a load of laundry. I’m not domestic, but I need to stay busy.
By the time I finish wiping down the counters—God help me, I’m channeling my inner Cian—my sister has arrived, Sophia in her carrier and a tray of coffee in her other hand.
“Why are there three? You’re supposed to be on reduced amounts due to…” I nod at my godchild in her seat as I lift her from my sister’s dangling arm.
She drops her purse with a thunk on my dining room table and follows me into my living room, carrying the coffees with her. She lifts one and hands it to me.
I shake my head. “My niece needs a snuggle.”
“Your niece has been grumbly and, if you wake her up, I will be too.”
I almost smile, but a knock at my front door sets my teeth on edge. What now? I stalk, intent on murder if it’s the beige fucker again.
My face must say murder, because when I open the door, my brother takes two steps back.
“Whoa.” He holds up both hands in surrender. “I come in peace.”
I back up, giving him ample room to pass me, finally understanding the third coffee. My sister, the wannabe fixer.
That’s my job, and we all know it.
“How’s fatherhood, Ci?”
“I’ve been a dad for a year already.” He’s referring to his adopted daughter of his heart. “But the high of having Wills home has just met the exhaustion of what that all entails.”
“Hear, hear,” my sister echoes, lifting her iced coffee and nodding sagely.
“I still wouldn’t trade it for the world,” he adds quietly, so at home in his happy little world, that I’m almost envious. That said, I wouldn’t want to go through what he did to get to where he is.
He plops down on the sofa, sliding his niece from her carrier and piling her on his warm chest. Fucker.
“Love the invite,” he starts. “But usually, these conversations are because we have trouble.”
We.
“We do.” Ayla takes a sip of her coffee. “Li, tell us what’s going on.” She leans back in her chair, folding her feet underneath her and watches our oldest brother as he cradles Sophia. Her soft smile is enough to make me wish I didn’t have to say what I must.
I pace as I give them the rundown. “My neighbor had trouble with her movers. The two of them tried to attack her. They were holding a knife to her throat when I… dispatched them.” I emphasize the word.
“Both left via ambulance. The individuals are suing me for their injuries and for pain and suffering. The paperwork says there is no castle doctrine outside of your own home, that I had a duty to retreat, and instead became the aggressor.”
My siblings are stunned silent. Ayla’s mouth hangs open while Cian’s jaw is clenched.
“Will her homeowner’s policy cover the suit?” Cian’s mind is working. He’s methodical.
I shrug. “They sued her too.”
“For what?”
I shrug again. “How would I know?’
“Well, you know she was sued, so.” My sister puts in, as if it’s obvious, and takes another sip of her coffee.
Fair point. I stalk to the front door and through it, making my way to Lorien’s, and knock.
She pulls the door open and is visibly shaken. Her eyes are puffy and red, and she vibrates with anger.
I should do something, I guess. We’re in this together, but not really. “May I see your papers?”
She looks shocked. “You got me into this. I’m being sued”—she jabs her thumb into her chest—“for your behavior, that I never requested.”
I drop my voice to a seethe. “He had a knife to your throat. Would you rather I had—” I don’t finish the thought. What could I say? Let him finish? Use it to perpetrate something heinous?
Does she have any fucking clue what someone could’ve done with that knife aside from use it to slice her and leave her dead?
“Why do you care?” she spits.
“I don’t know.” My words are lethally quiet and too real. I don’t know why I did what I did. Or why I continue to try.
Fuck this.
I turn and stomp back into my house but refrain from slamming my door because Sophia deserves my best, not my worst.
“She’s”—I resume my pacing—“Unreasonable. She blames me for this whole situation.”
My brother and sister look at each other, before Ayla says, “But you saved her from who knows what manner of violence.”
I stop and swivel to her. “Exactly.” I want to boom but I can’t. My eyes narrow, and I laser my gaze on my sister as I point to my niece. “Did you bring her so I wouldn’t yell?”
She sucks her lips between her teeth and clamps down to avoid smiling. “And for snuggles.”
Lorien
Okay. Okay. Maybe I’m being a teensy bit unreasonable. I’m being sued but I wasn’t violated or killed. Or mutilated.
But it’s still his fault. That man barged in here, relieved someone of his eyeball, and now I have to figure out how not to lose my life savings.
Life debt is more like it.
School, plus school, plus more school means my net worth is negative. With the mortgage here, I guess they could sue for the two dollars I have in equity in my ten-year-old car. Not that anyone wants a front-wheel-drive sedan with our weather and the incline.
Fine. I might have been over the top with my blame when Liam Murphy did what was right by me, with no regard for his personal safety, not even knowing me.
Well, cocoa biscuits.
Being an adult means apologizing.
Being an Anderson means doing the right thing, even when it isn’t convenient.
I grab the papers and go next door, wondering how frosty the reception will be after I just accused him of putting me in a bad position instead of thanking him again for saving my life.
The list of what I could bake rolls through my mind.
I haven’t done oatmeal raisin yet, though that seems to be a polarizing cookie.
Everyone has an opinion on oatmeal raisin. Maybe oatmeal cinnamon chip.
Oh, I know. Cinnamon rolls. That would be hysteric—
The thought stops dead in my whirling brain as he pulls the door open quietly and throws both arms over his chest. The corded muscles of his forearms roll under the inked skin, and my mind latches on to the ripples and rolls as he clenches and unclenches his fist.
He clears his throat, drawing my attention back to his face. I’d swear his lips are twitching. “Don’t laugh at me, Liam Mur—”
Twice in three thoughts, a word has failed me. I look inside to see two of the three people in the picture in my neighbor’s living room, and one tiny infant, swaddled in red.
Who wraps a little one in red?
“Hi.” I wave to the man and woman. I thrust the papers at the wall of man in front of me. “Here. But I’d like them back.”
Instead of accepting the papers, Liam steps aside and flourishes an arm as if I’m to enter.
Alrighty then.
The redhead stands and comes my way, extending a hand. “I’m Ayla.”
“Lorien,” I respond and shake hers.
“Nice to meet you. Come in and sit. We’re trying to strategize this whole situation.” She waves a hand as if that says enough.
The door closes behind me, trapping me inside, and I stiffen.
“I’m Cian,” the man holding the baby says, giving a low wave from the baby’s bottom. “This is Sophia.”
“I’m Lorien. I’m Liam’s neighbor.”
There’s an amused look on Ayla’s face as I sit. She begins a conversation as I realize my grumpy pants neighbor speed reads the papers I was served with this morning. He grunts occasionally but continues reading.
“What do they say?” Ayla tips her head to the papers in her brother’s arms.
“I’m not legal. I don’t speak legal jargon, so I don’t know exactly. The gist of it is they want a bazillion dollars for pain and suffering and the loss of that man’s eye.”
“His eye?” Cian looks to Liam, who’s head is down, eyes focused on the paperwork. “You took his eye?”
Ayla makes a gagging noise, and the baby on Cian’s chest stirs.
“I handled the threat.”
“I’d say,” Ayla puts in.
“How much coverage do you have on your house?” Liam skewers me with his gaze.
“My umbrella policy is at a million for personal liability.” I nod to the papers. “But they’re asking for way more than that. And the two guys sued separately, and I think mine is per incident. I don’t know. I did what they recommended, not thinking that on day one I’d blow it all up.”
Liam nods and returns to the first page to read again.
Cian interjects. “Will you tell us what happened from your perspective? Cliff’s Notes over here gave us a very condensed version.”