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.’
