“I’m fine,” I lie, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. “Just a few bumps and bruises. You?”
“Same,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “The car is at the garage now. I’ll check on it after work. Do you want me to drop you off at home? You can skip work today.”
“You’re hurt,” I counter. “You’ll need the help at the café.”
“I’ll manage,” he insists.
“No,” I say, my tone firm. “I’m coming with you. We’re a team, remember?”
A small smile plays on his lips. “Yeah. We are.”
We get a taxi, the ride a silent, tense affair. He holds my hand, his thumb stroking over my knuckles, a small, comforting gesture that does little to soothe the anxiety churning in my gut. His phone rings, the shrill sound cutting through the silence. I glance down at the screen, and my stomach clenches when I see Jessica’s name.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, his thumb hovering over the decline button. “It’s probably about the café. Aunt Dee is helping out today, so maybe they need something.”
“You should take it.”
“Are you sure? We’re almost there anyway.”
“It could be an emergency. Just pick up the phone, Liam.”
He answers the phone, his voice low. “Hey, Jess. What’s up?”
I can’t hear what Jessica is saying, but I can see the change in Liam’s posture. His shoulders tense, his jaw tightens. He’s agitated.
“What?” he says, his voice sharp. “No. I’m on my way. Just... just stay there. Don’t let him near her.”
My blood runs cold. Who is he talking about? What’s going on?
He hangs up. His expression is grim. “We need to get to the café. Now.”
The taxi driver, a sweet old woman with a kind smile, drops us off in front of the coffee shop. I pay her, my hands shaking as I fumble with my wallet. There’s a trailer parked right outside the building, a hulking, monstrosity of metal and rust that looks completely out of place.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice trembling. “Liam, what’s going on?”
He doesn’t answer, his long legs eating up the distance to the door. I follow him, my heart pounding in my chest. The scene inside is chaos. Jessica is standing in the corner, her face pale, her arms crossed over her chest. Aunt Dee is holding a crying Maren, her body a protective shield.
And there’s a man standing in the middle of the store, a man I’ve never seen before. He’s older, with a thick, graying mustache and a uniform that says “Port Blossom Police Department.”
“You can’t be here!” Aunt Dee shouts. “You need to leave.”
“Did he hurt you?” Liam asks as he runs toward his mom.
“I didn’t,” the old man says, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. But there’s a smirk on his face, a cruel twist of his lips that tells me he’s enjoying this.
“Who are you?” I ask.
The man turns to me, his eyes a cold, calculating blue. “Well, who’s the Omega?”
Liam walks over and pulls me to him, his body a protective wall between me and the stranger. “Get out,” he says, his voice low and menacing. “Get out now.”
The man chuckles, a dry, rasping sound. “Is that any way to talk to your old man, son?”
And then it dawns on me. This is Arnold, Liam’s father. The man he never talks about. The reason Liam hates sheriffs and cops in general.
What the fuck is he doing in Driftwood?
“I am not your son,” Liam spits out.
