Once Upon a Present
Every step felt like a mile as I maneuvered my way up the stairs to Liam’s apartment. The pain radiated down my left side and straight across my back with each inhale and exhale. It made it worse having my right arm draped over Liam’s shoulder, and that he’d brought his t-shirt and sweats for me to wear home from the hospital. His scent punished me. His heat reminded me of what it once felt like to belong to him, to anyone. I sucked in another rough piece of air as my foot slipped on the metal stair. The cast was stiff and sat just below my knee, encasing my calf, ankle and foot. My toes had been spared the entrapment.
Liam’s arm quickly wrapped around my waist and he swore.
“I’m fine,” I said through clenched teeth.
“I should’ve just carried your stubborn ass up here like I wanted to in the first place.” His impatience was nothing new. He’d blown into the hospital this afternoon like a bat out of hell. His irritation carved into the deep frown of his lips. His grand gesture had looked more like his burden to bear. His frown had turned into a scowl the minute he’d laid his eyes on me. It hadn’t helped that I wasn’t ready for discharge by the time he’d expected. The nurse prior hadn’t given me the antibiotic on time, so I had to stay a little longer. Liam hadn’t lingered in the room to wait, he left, and for a happy, delusional, little moment I’d thought maybe he wouldn’t come back, but he’d shown up an hour later. His protective nature was the only thing binding him to me, and the last thing I wanted was to be a charity case.
I’d stay with him until this damn cast was off, or until I figured out what the hell I was going to do with all this rubble that was now my life. His fingers pressed into the wound left behind by the chest tube and I winced.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” It was the nicest thing he’d said all evening. His brows cinched as he paused on the top step, his eyes on mine, his tone gentle. “One more step.”
The sleeping butterflies in my stomach sprang to life.
I had to make this little stay as short as possible. There was no way I could survive Liam O’Connell. Not this time. My heart had been trampled on, beaten, and bruised, and at times, I tried not to remember it was there. I hated that he could jump start it with one look.
Once we were inside, he deposited me onto one of the stools next to the breakfast bar. The shock of being back here, the familiar scent, the dark colors, the high ceilings, Declan’s artwork, it was a sledgehammer to my stomach. I’d stepped back in time, and everything was falling in on me.
“I’m going to grab your crutches from Kieran’s truck. I might be a second. I need to head into the shop, let him know I’m back, and give him his keys.” His brown eyes lightened as he watched me breathe with effort, my eyes eager for every last detail, everything I’d missed, everything that could have…should have been us. “You think you can handle yourself for five minutes.”
I ignored the hot tears building in the corners of my eyes, and the way he spoke to me like I was a thorn in his side. I nodded, but brought my gaze to the granite countertop. Liam’s ability to cut you with words, his talent for rubbing salt into the gaping wound, it was on point today. But, somehow I knew, if I showed him how much his words had affected me, he’d wipe it all clean and soothe the pain he’d inflicted with his soft eyes and big heart. He was that vicious dog at the pound, loyal and loving. The one you wanted to keep, but his bite hurt too badly so you had to let him go.
He turned to leave and I found my voice. “If this living arrangement is going to work, leave the asshole downstairs and send Liam up.”
He paused, his back facing me, and the muscles of his shoulders went rigid. I braced myself as my fingers curled into the fabric of the t-shirt, waiting for the sting of his verbal whip, but he only exhaled and walked out the door.
A little relieved, I reached into the pocket of the oversized sweats and pulled out my phone. Liam had knotted the right side of the waistband so they wouldn’t fall down. I opened the lock screen and dialed Dante.
The phone rang three times, but before my anxiety started to peak, he answered, “Please tell me you’re coming home and that I didn’t just send the last box of your things to Utah… Utah, Kelly, is this real life?”
My lips curled up at the corners and, for the first time today, I felt a little less hopeless. “It’s real life, Little Man.”
While I was in the hospital, I’d sent all the gory details of my accident, including a selfie of my Frankenstein face. He’d made me laugh when he’d replied saying it was gothic, and I’d still make print, even if it was only for a Halloween store advertisement. Dante’s candor had been the one thing that had kept me grounded since the first day I’d opened my eyes in the hospital and collided face first with my past again.
“That ex-boyfriend of yours still playing Prince Charming?” he asked. The music and loud voices in the background pulled on the frayed and thin string that still connected me to what was once my life.
“I’m at his place.” My laugh was sardonic. “He talks to me like he hates my very existence.”
“Oh,” he sang the vowel. “Is it like a sexy love-hate-fuck-you kind of hate, because that’s hot…wait, I’m picturing it…”
I giggled, but my smile was tinged with regret. “No. It’s more like he’s helping me because he knows if he doesn’t, I’m S—O—L.”
Dante’s distracted and muffled tone sifted through the speaker as he said, “One second, Blake. I’m talking to Kelly.”
Blake. I dialed his number for the last time yesterday. I explained that I wasn’t coming back, at least not for a while. I didn’t give him the same details that I’d given Dante. He didn’t need to know. Blake was fun while he lasted. He didn’t seem too broken up over the fact I wasn’t coming back, and his interest felt more like a forced get well soon card, with a stupid rainbow balloon.
“Sorry for the interruption, it’s a madhouse here. We’re on a deadline. Did you get the first few boxes? Tracking said they arrived this morning at the address you gave me. Next day air… you owe me, girl.”
Liam hadn’t mentioned anything. I glanced around the room and didn’t notice any boxes. Maybe they were in the spare room. An invisible weight pressed down onto my shoulders, and the hollow feeling in my stomach returned as my eyes hovered over the exposed beams, the couches—the damn refrigerator. I was back. I was here. And there was no running from it.
“Kelly?”
I swallowed and said, “I don’t see anything, but I’m sure Liam put it in the guest room. If not, I’ll let you know.”
“The rest should show up later this week.” Dante whispered to someone on the other side of the line, life was moving in fast reels and without me in it. I couldn’t help but believe that even Dante would eventually fade into the background and become just another piece of my history.
“Thanks for everything. And the apartment—”
“Done. Heidi was able to take over the lease, it’s official…” His voice filled with an over-dramatic melancholy. “You’re officially no longer a resident of the state of California.”
“You know you can come visit me. Once I’m back up and moving… it’s gorgeous in the winter, skiing and—”
“You had me at hot men in tight ski pants.” The smile in his voice warmed my cheeks through the phone.
“Talk to you soon?”
“Always, beautiful.”
The phone went dark, and so did my mood.
Beautiful.
Not anymore.
I placed my phone on the counter, stood from the stool, resting my weight on my left leg, and straightened my spine, stretching it with a soft groan. Too many days cooped up in a bed passed by my lips with a squeak as I reached above my head. I tried to forget about my phone, or if I should call my mom, let her know I got to Liam’s okay. She was probably still pissed I wasn’t staying with her. As much as staying here, being this close to Liam scared me to death, staying with my mother wasn’t a great alternative. My father’s grave was still fresh, and if it hadn’t been for those two inches to the right or left, I might’ve joined him in the damp dirt.
A silent and horrifying part of me wondered if I would have been better off.
I was still coming to terms with everything. The phone call to Mom could wait. I had a damn court date to agonize over. I was back in Utah, my face… my job… angry tears stung my eyes and pooled along my lashes. A small laugh bubbled up my throat, but it held no humor. I grasped the counter with one hand and wiped away the tears with the other. All I wanted to do right now was crash into the mattress waiting for me in the other room and sleep until last week never happened.
The apartment door opened, and Liam’s lips thinned as his gaze moved slowly over my body. I didn’t want to admit it, but he looked sexy as hell with his fitted and ripped blue jeans. His dark, army green Henley hugged every muscle of his chest and shoulders. His hair was a little longer than I remembered and it fell just over his left eyebrow. The sides were still trimmed short, but I kind of liked the length on top. It reminded me of when we were younger and he had that badass mohawk. My lips parted into a smile involuntarily as he shut the door behind him.
“What?” he asked as he handed me the crutches. I didn’t think it was possible to infuse that much annoyance into one syllable.
I let the corners of my lips fall away along with the memory. “Nothing.” I shifted and caught myself, my fingers gripping the counter.
“You shouldn’t be standing on your own,” he barked as he moved into the kitchen, and I situated the pads of the crutches under my arms. “Are you hungry?” The muscle of his jaw feathered below his five o’clock shadow. He was fighting his temper, or maybe he was nervous, too?
“Not really.”
“You have to eat.” He spoke with a suppressed growl as he opened the fridge and turned his back to me.
Anger singed across my chest and cheeks. “Are you going to be this demanding the whole time? I see the asshole found his way back upstairs.” I moved a few feet with the guidance of the crutches. It was a godsend to move on my own.
He slammed the fridge door and I flinched. He stood like a statue, his hand white-knuckle tight around the handle, and his head hung low. “Don’t you think this is fucking hard for me, too?”
The red fury drained from my cheeks at the sound of his voice.
Hostile.
Broken.
Scared.
“Liam… I—”
“I need some space. I need to remember it wasn’t always this painful to look at you.”
My sob got stuck in my throat and I wished for the damp dirt, the grave. The aching in my chest… my stomach, it outmatched the broken bone of my leg, the deep cuts on my face, and the hole desperately trying to heal in my side. Without asking for permission, I moved down the hall, biting back the hurt, and opened the door to Declan’s old room. My boxes sat in the corner against the bare wall. Only a dresser and a bed covered with a charcoal-colored comforter decorated the room. I was a stranger… a prisoner here.
Liam didn’t follow behind me, he didn’t check to see if I was okay. I shut the door and moved over to the bed. I set the crutches down onto one side of the mattress and I sat on the other. My head tilted back, and I stared at the ceiling, letting the salty water spill from my eyes. I let myself have a pity party for one, let his words shred through me, and afforded myself the overdue luxury of breaking.
Liam must have opened the boxes for me when they’d arrived. Everything was in its place on the inside, but the shipping tape had been torn open. I kneeled down, using the dresser as a support, and sifted through the first box. It had been an hour since I’d locked myself away in my private little dungeon. My crying jag didn’t last too long. My tears dried up, and a numbness set in. It wasn’t until I’d heard a door shut about fifteen minutes ago that I’d chosen to sit up. The sound of water pipes keening had caused a weird sense of jealousy to emerge. I would’ve given my left ovary to have a real shower.
I pulled a few things from the second box and set them on the top of the dresser. I stood and wobbled on one crutch as I gathered some of my underwear and a couple of bras, shoving them into a drawer. The third box had my own sweats, some yoga pants, and a few old t-shirts. I wanted to kiss Dante for packing these first. I grabbed a pair of my loosest fitting sweats, a pair of cotton underwear, and a faded blue t-shirt that had California written across the top. I collapsed onto the bed and sucked in a breath at the sharp pain in my side. I carefully removed Liam’s shirt and contemplated putting on one of my bras. I glared at the dresser.
“Why are you so far away?” I whined to no one in particular, and slipped my own shirt over my head.
I shimmied out of Liam’s sweats. First my good leg and then over the cast. Tiny stabs of torment labored my movements. It was a feat to even get my underwear on. I almost said screw it, and was going to walk around in panties and a t-shirt, but that idea was quickly shoved away as my eyes closed. The ghost of Liam’s hungry stare flashed behind my eyes and begged to pull me back down into tears and feeling. I was lucky to be numb, and I wanted to keep it that way.
By the time I got my pants on, I’d broken out into a sweat. If dressing was going to be a workout, at least I didn’t have to worry about my figure for the next six weeks. I rifled through the box that had my toiletries. Bless Dante, he’d sent my face wash, toothbrush, all my make-up, down to the ridiculous glitter false lashes he’d gotten me for one of our shoots. I permitted a small smile, and maybe even a soft laugh as I asked myself, “When the hell will I ever use these?”
The water from the shower had cut off a few minutes ago, and I heard the door open and another close. Managing crutches while holding face wash, toothpaste, and a toothbrush couldn’t be that hard, right? I dropped the toothbrush at least twice on my way to the bedroom door. I’d sworn more today than I ever had in my whole life. My anxiety poured into my lungs, making each breath a task, as I turned the doorknob and peered through the small crack. The bathroom door was open and the light was off. My heart was beating so fast I felt dizzy as I moved into the hallway. Liam’s deep voice was distinct through his bedroom door and I nearly fell over. I hesitated, like I was stuck under a spotlight, and after a second, I pulled my shit together and recognized he was just on the phone. Once I was in the bathroom, with the door shut behind me, my scarred and patched up face staring at me from the mirror, I realized the reality of my six-week sentence. Hiding from Liam, it was an impossibility.
It took me way longer than it should have to wash my face. The hot water was a welcome comfort. It felt nice to wash away the dirt of the day, my fingers eased over the stitches, becoming familiar with the pattern, the new map of my features. The burn was looking better, and the lacerations didn’t seem as bad today. The swelling around my eyes and nose had gone down. I wouldn’t let this face scare me, this was who I’d become, and I had to make friends with the stranger in the mirror. My pep talk sounded convincing, at least for tonight.
I tugged the messy knot on the top of my head a bit tighter and set my things in the cabinet under the sink. I’d ask Liam tomorrow where I could put my stuff. What were the boundaries? How did he plan on living here if it hurt so much to look at me? The fragile wall I’d built around myself in my bedroom cracked and that numb feeling began to waver. Before that wall tumbled down completely, I opened the bathroom door and hobbled my way to my bedroom. I pulled back the covers, rested the crutches on the floor, and sank into the gray sheets. I rolled onto my left side, pushing down the throbbing twinge in my ribcage as I reached for the light switch on the wall.
The light from the hallway snuck across the carpet through the slightly opened door. I rolled my eyes and cursed under my breath. I thought I’d heard it click shut. There was no way I was getting up to close it. The lids of my eyes felt heavy and my stomach—empty. I hadn’t had anything to eat since lunch, and the pain medication had completely worn off. I just wanted to sleep and restart the clock tomorrow. I moved my body gingerly to my right side, wishing for a pillow to prop my leg on and scooted to the middle of the bed.
“Do you want a pain med?” His deep voice pulled and snapped the rubber band around my heart.
I kept my eyes on the wall as I said, “No, thank you.”
All I could hear was his breathing, and the urge to turn over, to look at him, was too overwhelming. I fell onto my back and let my cheek rest on the pillow. He was wearing soft gray sweats and a worn red t-shirt with the Avenues logo stretched across his broad chest. His hair was still wet and his usual hard and stone edge was gone. His features were gentle as he stared at my leg.
“I’ll grab you an extra pillow.”
“You don’t need to, it’s okay for tonight.” I spoke through the lump in my throat.
Liam opened his mouth to say something… and then pressed his lips together. The light of the hallway formed around his powerful silhouette, but sorrow crept into his brow, and his hands balled into fists.
“Are…are you going to be okay?” he asked, and all I could see was that nineteen-year-old boy I’d fallen in love with.
The weight of the blanket pinned me in place as I struggled to breathe through the onslaught pushing its way to the surface. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and despite my best effort, my mask dissolved.
One tear slid down my cheek as I said in a shaky whisper, “No.” My entire world had exploded. “I-I just need something real, something solid to hold on to. It’s…it’s all gone.”
My throat began to narrow as a sob fought for its freedom. Liam’s eyes found mine and the sob turned into a shocked gulp of air as he reached behind his head and pulled his shirt off in one smooth movement. His entire chest, his arms, his throat, all covered in bright colorful ink. His muscles had expanded over the years as well as his art.
A terrifying excitement pulsed through me. “Liam?”
He took a few tentative steps toward the bed and pulled back the blanket.
I moved without thinking, giving him space, and the heat of his body, the leather and wood smoke smell of him, saturated the finite space between us.
“What are you doing?” I asked through unsteady lips.
My cheeks were wet, my heart rioting against the agony of his proximity as his strong hand wrapped around my hip and rolled me onto my side. I gasped as his chest aligned with my back and his fingers settled over my hand. My body fit his, and I surrendered to the silent tears that fell down my face.
“I’m throwing you a rope,” he said, and his fingers laced with mine. “Now go to sleep.”