“And I’m the trouble?” I place a hand over my heart and lift my eyebrows.
“Before? No.” He shrugs. “Or maybe. I wanted eyes on what could become a problem for me. I didn’t know you. It wasn’t personal.”
“Do not try to explain it away, like it’s no big deal and you were justified.” I slap the table, rattling the silverware.
“My father is a piece of shit who has been instrumental in the downfall of all of his kids. I’d say least of all me, but”—he extends the thumb on his left hand, staring into my face with hard eyes. “I was out from under that snake’s thumb the day I turned eighteen, so he had less opportunity. The man you see before you is a direct contradiction to that fucker.” He points his knife my way, not in threat, but in emphasis. “He brutalized Ayla. Cian, the same. You know them now, but they went through hell, literally, at his hands. My mom is still going through it. I protect my own. I am that man. I will not apologize for protecting myself and, Wifey, I hate to mention it because of our rules, but those cameras offered protection for you in the case that anything was off, in the case those people came back, in the case Troy came back.”
“What does he have to do with it?”
“How much truth do you want in one day? Have you reached your limit, or can you handle more?”
I let a huge exhale burst from my lips. “No more today, please.” I drop my eyes closed, recentering myself. When I open them, Liam is eating his salad as if my demons haven’t clawed up my insides to free themselves twice today. A thought strikes me that hasn’t before. “Why are you here?”
“You ran away.”
“I’m missing something.”
“You left. I was an ass. I needed to apologize.”
“But how are you here?” I point to the table, in the concourse past TSA. Only ticketed, confirmed passengers get to this point.
“Oh, I bought a ticket to Peoria. We’re on the same flight.”
34
girth girl
Liam
The look on her face was worth the ridiculous last-minute fare. It’s equal parts panic and relief. Check that, it’s five percent relief and ninety-five percent abject horror.
“No, no, no, no, no.” She shakes her head. “Nooooo.”
I stab what’s sure to be an over-priced salad with its four shrimp and stuff a bite in my mouth after saying, “The chicken at home would’ve been better.” I use the fork to point at my plate. “But we can have it on Sunday night.”
“Monday night.”
“Okay, Wifey. Monday night.”
She grits her teeth.
“Don’t go growling now. Five to zero is about the point where I start getting very creative. Speaking of…” I let it dangle just to mess with her. I also need the time to get my head together.
But it’s not my head that’s the problem.
I was wounded with the first arrow she landed. I was bruised with the next ones. By the end I was eviscerated with how hurt she is, all without saying a word.
And with how I failed her.
She’s pushed or requested. She’s stood firm or been soft when needed, by the magnitude of how much is coming against her and how she’s just taken it. Most of it isn’t my fault. I didn’t cause it. But the woman across from me—the brilliant researcherwho cares deeply and sacrifices too much for other people—agreed to save me. She agreed to break the waves that were coming against me. Tiny, sassy, whole-hearted Lorien Anderson stepped between me and the lawsuits that could, and probably would, decimate me.
And I did nothing to protect her. Not since the day she blared Madonna and shook her ass.
I set my utensils down, extend my right hand across the table, and wait for her to place her left in mine. She hesitates, staring between my face and my open palm, for a long minute. I can see her calculate my behavior and hers. She must hit comfortable on the scale, but she sets her hand lightly in mine, the diamond there reminds me of the commitment we made.
I hold her gaze and drop my voice. “I’m sorry. You should never have to protect yourself from me. For as long as you wear this—” I thumb the delicate band lined with diamonds to slide the center back and forth across her finger as her eyes drop to my finger. When they return to me, I continue, “It’smyjob to protect you. From everything. Including myself. It will never happen again. You are safe.” Leaning out of my seat, I kiss the knuckle that holds the ring in place.
Her pupils go wide as I release her hand, and toss back the last of the bourbon. It’s cheap, bitter, and missing all the toffee, woodiness that make it worth drinking.
