Chapter 30
THIRTY
KAT
The week’s gone by slowly, a feeling of anxiety gnawing at my heels everywhere I go. Whether I’m lying in Liam’s arms, studying in the library or cooking with Ellie, the thought of the knife in my door hangs over me.
Liam’s been trying to track down more names, but the boys from then are so incredibly hard to locate.
Some likely ended up in the system, like Liam, or a multitude of worse possibilities.
He’d managed to find two strong possibilities, one of which committed suicide in his teens, the other who’s serving a long sentence for stabbing a shopkeeper.
I can’t help but wonder if, like Pete, he was someone who deserved it. I hope so.
I’ve tried not to be home alone. Walking back with Ellie, or waiting for it to be later in the day to head back with Liam. I wish he’d ditch the mask. I don’t know what it’ll take for him to trust that it doesn’t matter what’s beneath it.
But it’s the first day of the long weekend, and Ellie’s gone to her mum’s house. Or Sam’s. Both, maybe, but it’ll be almost a week before she’s home. And Liam’s been held up getting back into the city.
I cling to my heart stone, walking fast. It’s early enough in the day that it’s still light, and Liam’s got my dot on his screen.
It’ll be fine.
Liam’s name lights up on my phone, and I press it to my ear.
‘Hey.’
‘Thought I’d walk you home like this, to make sure you get back safe.’
Despite the fear I feel, I can’t help but smile.
‘You’re a big softie, you know. Under the muscles and the scars.’
‘That’s not what you said when I had you on the floor last night…’
My cheeks flush as I giggle.
‘I seem to remember you begging me to let you come around my hard cock.’
‘Liam! I’m in public.’ Talking to him has calmed my pulse. And made my panties a damn sight more damp.
‘Mmm, I felt how hard you came the last time someone heard you being fucked, Kat, I’m sure you can deal with a little blushing.’
‘You’re a devil,’ I laugh.
We’re still chatting when I reach the alley.
‘How long until you’re back?’
‘Twenty-four minutes according to the maps app.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on and get you a straw, shal—’ I’m brought to an abrupt halt by the scene that greets me as I near the door.
My bedroom window is painted in thick red letters.
I’M COMING FOR YOU.
‘Kat? Are you okay?’
I can’t answer. It looks like blood. My hands grow clammy as I grip my phone hard.
‘Kat! So help me answer me.’
‘There’s blood on my window.’
Liam’s voice lowers, that dominant strain coming through hard. ‘Get inside. Right now.’
I don’t argue.
My keys tremble as I try to fit them into the lock, my heart thumping hard enough that I worry it’ll burst out of my chest.
The door gives, and I lock myself in, hanging up on Liam to text Ellie just to make sure she’s okay.
I avoid saying anything that might scare her, but I just need to see her respond.
The dot bubble pops up almost immediately, and within a minute, she’s telling me all about the evening she has planned with Sam.
Thank god.
Taking deep breaths, I feel the rage building behind my eyes.
‘No,’ I mutter. ‘He can fuck right off.’
I’m so fucking sick of being afraid. This wanker is coming after me for what? Pushing an asshole who hurt him into a well? He should be bloody well thankful.
With anger coursing through me, I go straight to the kitchen and fill the mop bucket with hot, soapy water.
Hot enough that my hands are red when I thrust a sponge into it.
I will not stand here with that mess on my window.
The lemon scent of the washing-up liquid fills the air, and before grabbing the bowl, I put a kitchen knife point-first into my coat pocket.
If the cunt comes back, I’ll paint his obituary with his blood.
My hands are shaking as I heft the overfilled mop bucket and head back into the alley, staring at the words.
I’m coming for you.
The substance is thick, and I attack it with the mop like a woman possessed. The water and my hands are stained red as I dunk the sponge again and again. Footsteps echo in the alley, and I spin, my soapy hands grabbing the knife and holding it up.
‘Whoa, it’s me, darling. Weapon down.’
I drop the knife, pick up my sponge, slam it against the glass, and swipe at the C.
I’m coming for you.
I’m coming for you.
I’m coming for you.
The words keep cycling through my head.
‘Go inside,’ Liam demands.
I ignore him.
‘Kat.’
‘I’m finishing it,’ I say. ‘I’m not leaving it there.’
I expect him to argue, but he goes into the house and comes back with a sponge.
The veins on his forearms stand out as he rolls up his sleeves, giving me the biggest glimpse of his skin I’ve had.
The dark ivy tattoos are raised in many places.
Scars. So many times he’s been hurt. So many times that no one’s protected him.
Another wave of anger hits me. Liam stands beside me and dunks his sponge, working with me until the window is clean.
With him by my side, everything feels more manageable.
He stands back and nods, and without saying a word, he takes my hand and leads me inside.
Liam sits me on the sofa and puts the kettle on, and while the steam flows, I sit there and shake.
Whether adrenaline or rage, it makes my whole body tremble.
He offers me the tea, but I decline, worried I’ll only cover myself and the sofa in it with my inability to stop the quakes.
Sitting next to me, he rests his hand on mine, and it’s then that I burst into tears. It feels silly, it’s been a long time since I cried, but everything I’ve been holding in has to come out. And rather than cursing, it comes right out of my face in two salty streams.
‘Oh, Kat,’ he says, his voice breaking as he pulls me into his lap, wrapping those big arms around me in safe warmth.
His heart thumps steadily under my cheek, my tears soaking a puddle into his hoodie. We sit for a long time, Liam doing nothing to stem my tears, seemingly knowing that sometimes they just need to flow.
Eventually, the tears dry, and I’m soothed by his fingers tracing up and down my spine. I feel like I’ve emptied my innards, and that I can’t drop much lower.
‘Liam,’ I whisper, looking up into his heart-eyes. ‘Take off the mask.’
‘I—’ he starts.
‘There’s nothing under there that will stop me loving you. Not scars. Not a fucking handlebar moustache. I need to see your face. I need to be able to kiss you without being blindfolded. I need to see your reactions. I can’t do this like this anymore.’
Pulling myself upright, I straddle his lap and wipe my face.
‘I’ll beg if you need me to.’
He takes my face in his hands, running his thumbs over my cheeks. His eyes are filled with pain. The fear of rejection, maybe.
‘You don’t need to beg.’ Reaching down, he takes my hands and places them at the edge of his mask.
Swallowing, I lift the edge of the material, sliding it slowly over his face as he closes his eyes. He keeps them closed as I drop the mask on the sofa, taking a moment to look at him.
I don’t know why he was so worried. I think he’s perfect.
Yes, he has scars. Some still thick and pink and angry, but I still see the boy I adored all those years ago.
‘Liam,’ I whisper. He opens those big brown eyes, ringed in the thickest of black lashes. ‘You’re perfect.’
Leaning in, I press my lips to his, melting against him as his hands grip my waist. I lose my fingers in his dark hair and sigh. Then I shift, dragging my lips over the knotted scar on his upper lip, following it with soft kisses.
He tenses at first, until eventually he relaxes under my touch as I trace every scar on his face. The deep one that crosses over his eye, to the series of pale ones over his cheekbone.
‘All from your dad?’ I ask.
‘No. From a lot of people.’
‘And the ones on your knuckles?’ His eyes shine wet as I glide my thumb over his face, marvelling at finally seeing him.
At the boy I remember from so long ago grown into a man.
He might wear the past on his skin in a hundred different marks, but they don’t put me off a single bit.
I’d treat every single one like something glorious until they stopped being something Liam hated.
‘They are from scars I’ve given others. I’m not a good man, Kat.’
‘Bullshit. They must have deserved it.’ I grip his jaw in my hands and kiss him until he sighs.
‘You really don’t care about the scars?’ he asks when our lips part.
‘I love them, because they’re part of you.’
‘You deserve someone less damaged.’ He talks against my lips, between gentle kisses.
‘We deserve to be happy.’
I close my eyes and rest my head against his.
‘It looked like blood,’ I say, having to face the elephant in the room.
‘I know.’
‘Was it?’
He sighs, ‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘It matters to me.’
His hand moves slowly up my spine.
‘Yeah, I think it was.’
We sit like that for a while. Breathing each other in as I learn every plane of his face. Kissing his scars one by one.
‘We should call the police,’ he says.
A laugh burst free, and I stifle it.
‘Kat—’
‘And tell them what? That someone is threatening me because I killed a man when I was eight years old and hid the body in a well on my parents’ estate?
’ I sit up slightly and look at him. ‘That the bones have been there for fourteen years and no one knows because I told the only witness to go home and pretend he wasn’t there? ’
‘You were a child,’ he says. ‘Both times. It’s not like they can charge us for it now.’
‘The law,’ I say, ‘is the least of my worries. Imagine the newspapers. The podcasts. People picking it apart in the comment sections. Child killer.’ I close my eyes. ‘My mother would never recover from the headlines.’
‘Your mother is not the priority here.’
‘I know. But it’s not just her. It’s you. Any investigation would find you. Would find everything that happened in that cottage. I won’t drag that out into the light for strangers to pick over. Not your history. Not what was done to you.’
He’s still.
‘That’s not your decision to make,’ he whispers.
‘Maybe not. But I can decide whether I go to them.’ I touch a hand to his chest. ‘I’m not going to the police. Not yet. Not unless there’s no other option.’
‘Alright.’ He gives in while reaching up to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear.
‘Alright?’
‘I don’t like it.’ Tucking his arms around my waist, he pulls me flush to his chest.
‘Your flatmate’s gone for a while, right?’
‘Yeah, but I won’t be on my own much, you can be here, right?’
‘You won’t be on your own at all. Pack a bag.’
I furrow my brow.
‘You’re coming to mine for the week. While she’s gone.’
There’s a little flame of fight that flickers in my stomach, but I quench it. He’s letting me in, and I want to know more about his life.
‘Okay,’ I say.
His mouth opens and closes before breaking into a smile. And fuck, his smile devastates me. I didn’t realise how much I’d missed it.
‘Give me ten minutes.’ Sliding off his lap, I pause, and turn back to him, pulling his face to mine and indulging in another long, slow kiss.
‘I’m so fucking glad the mask is gone, but keep it…you know…for the odd time I need to be ravaged by my heart eyes.’
Liam looks bemused as I go to my room and pull my holdall from under the bed. I chuck in some clothes. Charger. Toiletries and a handful of makeup. A brush. I pause at the desk drawer, open it, and admire the small collection of heart-shaped stones.
I take one from the drawer and turn it over in my hand. They are a memory of all the times in between, when we were waiting for the universe to bring us back together.
Liam is cleaning out the mop bucket and sink when I go back, binning the soiled sponges and turning off the sockets.
‘I’m ready,’ I say.
Without asking, he takes my bag from my hand and hands me my handbag and keys.
‘He’s not going to stop,’ I say, as we reach the door. ‘Is he?’
He looks back at me. ‘No.’
‘Then neither will we,’ I say.
He holds the door, and I step out into the alley, turning the key in the lock before stepping over the puddle darkening the ground.