Chapter 18
Liam
Somebody to You – The Vamps
I’d been staring up at the water-stained ceiling for two hours, listening to Charity pace in the room next door. Every single footstep, every noise, a reminder that trying to do the right thing had somehow gone spectacularly wrong.
The moment I agreed to take the room, and Larry handed over the key, I could practically feel icicles forming behind me, the air heavy with despondency and poor choices.
Now, here I was, wondering how I’d gone from the high of an incredible kiss and the intimacy it brought, to watching Charity withdraw like I’d slapped her.
As I’d thrown my sleep pants back into my bag, she’d locked herself in the bathroom, leaving me awkwardly waiting to leave.
When the shower started, I knew I’d made a huge mistake—she must have felt rejected—so I’d called out to her, “I can stay, if you’d prefer,” hearing nothing in return except for the drum of water on porcelain. “If you’d feel safer.”
Grimacing, I’d hung my head, in despair but also shame.
“Charity?”
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
And that was that. She didn’t say anything else. Just silence as deep as the ocean.
Punching my pillow, I groaned. It was like lying my head on a piece of concrete. No damn pillow menu here, that was for sure. Even the mattress felt like it was punishment for every stupid decision I’d made.
Staring at the navy blue drapes that barely kept out the light of the flashing motel sign, it felt like the whole damn room was scolding me.
Giving me the cold, hard, silent treatment for hurting Charity.
Because even I, the man with little to no experience of a romantic relationship, knew kissing her and then bailing was a shit thing to do.
Turning onto my side, I looked at the picture on the wall, an owl sitting in a tree, and even that looked like it was judging me.
“Fuck you,” I muttered, hiking the comforter up over my shoulder. “You try being me.”
I could have sworn it damn well winked at me, but I chose to give it my back and spend the rest of the night tossing and turning thinking about the woman next door.
Vending machine coffee wasn’t the best peace offering in the world, but it was the best I could do. It was the color of muddy water, but at least the smell resembled something with caffeine.
Raising my hand to knock on Charity’s door, I took in a fortifying breath, trying to steady my spiking pulse to a gentle rhythm. I was a confident man, didn’t give a damn what people thought of me, yet the woman behind the red door had me in knots.
When the door was flung open, it was clear that sleep hadn’t lessened her anger. Her lips were pursed, her shoulders tense.
“I brought coffee.”
“I’m fine. I already walked to the store and got one.”
As she moved back into the darkened room, my stomach lurched. “You did what?”
“Walked to the store,” she said over her shoulder. “Was up early emailing Carla about what needs doing while I’m away, so thought I might as well grab breakfast.”
Disappointment warred with worry as I stepped over the threshold. “You don’t know this area. It might be dangerous. It’s not even light out there yet.”
Shrugging, she reached up and retied the red ribbon that today held a ponytail in place.
So used to seeing her looking professional in tight skirts, silk blouses and high-heeled shoes, this perky, cute look kept surprising me.
Sneakers, jeans and an oversized sweater along with the ponytail should have screamed playful, but the straight spine said otherwise.
“It’s a perfectly fine area.” She just stopped short of snapping the words, but they were still delivered with bite.
“Charity!”
Ignoring my warning tone, she pointed at a brown paper bag on the small Formica table by the window.
“Breakfast burrito. Figured you might be hungry seeing as we didn’t get to have snacks last night.” She sent me a flat smile laced with a heavy dose of ‘and whose fault is that dick head’.
“It should still be warm.” Her back was to me as she checked her bag. “We can get going whenever you’re ready.”
I could practically see the ten-foot wall she was erecting, brick by damn brick, and it was all my fault. “Do you think that maybe we should talk about last night?”
“Nope.” She whirled around to face me and shook her head. “Absolutely not necessary. I get it.”
After a long, fitful night, I felt like I would rip off my own skin just to touch her, so I took a step closer. My hand reached out, but the determined jut of her chin had me pulling back.
“That I was being a gentleman?”
“Honestly, Liam, it’s fine. I get that you regret last night. You don’t need to explain it away by saying you were being a gentleman.”
“And I was.” My head dropped back as I let out an exhausted sigh, the long hours of the night taking their toll. “I was being respectful.”
When I turned my gaze back onto her, her lashes fluttered as she swallowed.
Rejection was clear in her expression, in the slump of her shoulders, and I second-guessed every single decision I’d made with her.
From finally agreeing to help with the dinner, following her to the police station, and insisting on taking her to Dallas.
The choice I was most confused about was kissing her.
Not least because now I’d tasted her I was sure I would always be thirsty for more.
“If it had just been last night, I may have believed you, Liam,” she said with a huffed half-laugh. “But twice. No, that’s rejection, not respect.” Her lashes flicked a little too quickly. “But it’s fine. Honestly. Don’t worry about it.”
“And people wonder why I'm happier hanging around on construction sites,” I muttered, hanging my hands from my hips. “And how do you make out I rejected you twice?”
She looked at me and inhaled, holding it for a couple of beats before rushing out the words, “The other night I thought we had a moment and then you made it clear you were just being helpful.”
“I—I.” I groaned, recalling exactly the moment.
When she'd thanked me for being there with Faith, when that tear had slipped down her cheek and I'd brushed it away without thinking.
The way her skin had felt like warm silk under my thumb, how she'd leaned into my touch with her eyes closed.
I'd been so close to her lips, could smell jasmine and cotton candy, every nerve ending on fire.
Then Mallory's face had flashed through my mind, Ezra's tiny fingers, and I'd panicked.
Stepped back like a coward and called it “a friendly helping hand” when we both knew it was so much more than that.
“I wanted to kiss you that night, Charity.
More than I've wanted anything in years. But I—” I stopped, not knowing how to explain that I was terrified of ruining the best thing that had happened to me in fourteen years. “I fucked it up.”
Seemed I'd messed things up anyway.
“Can we talk about this once we've found Faith?”
She opened her mouth and closed it before turning back to check her bag again. “Charity? Can we?”
She waved me away. “Not necessary.”
The force with which she pulled the zipper on her bag, I expected it to go flying across the room. Probably headed for my balls if she had anything to do with it.
“Please, Charity.”
Pulling her shoulders back, she forced a smile. “Come on, let’s go find Faith. And don’t forget your breakfast.”
The drive into Dallas was filled with tense silence, so thick I felt like I could shove my arm in it elbow deep and pull it out covered in regret. We’d had one stop to fill up with gas and grab a sandwich, all of which Charity insisted on paying for.
When we eventually got to the address we’d found in Faith’s room, the sun was sitting high in the pale blue Texas sky.
It was unrelenting, the heat simmering from the sidewalks and over the city, nothing like crisp mountain air of Sweet Maple Falls where we were still prone to snow as spring fought winter for control.
Although it wasn’t quite unbearable, it was warm enough to make my shirt cling to my back as we stood next to my truck.
The asphalt was soft at the edges, pulling the sour tang of oil from beneath the dented parked cars.
There was no shade and too much concrete as summer aggressively pushed through.
“This is it?” Charity’s fingers twisted together as her cautious gaze scanned the low-rent apartment block slouched behind a chain-link fence patched with zip ties and plastic grocery bags.
The sun-faded stucco was flaking in places revealing old paint jobs in dull yellows and peeling cream.
A few windows were cracked open, and the noise of old box fans battled with a baby’s scream, and a man yelling about a piece of shit refrigerator.
“Yep, this is it.”
A man in a wool vest, which made me sweat just looking at it, pushed a shopping cart of empty cans as he walked toward us. One front wheel was bent like a busted ankle as he bumped it along. I pulled Charity to my side.
“Got any spare change?” he asked, holding out a grimy hand.
Charity moved her hand to her cross-body purse, and I quickly grabbed it. “Sorry, buddy,” I told him. “We have some sandwiches and snacks in the truck, though.”
He muttered something under his breath and continued past us, wheels squeaking with every step he took.
“I have cash,” Charity pouted.
“Yeah, and he’ll spend it on booze or drugs. If you want to help, offer to buy food.”
Her long fingers wrapped around where the ends of her ponytail whispered against the slim column of her neck.
“It’s awful, Liam.” Her wide gaze searched mine, but when a car screamed around the corner blasting out rap music with questionable lyrics, I couldn’t help but grimace.
“We’ll find her.” Was all I could offer.
“She has to come home with us.” She looked around, taking in all the desolation and regret that the neighborhood had to offer. “She has to.”