Losing Liam Read online

  I pull into the driveway and look at the stairs leading up to the porch. Mum had everything repainted white and crisp, and the sun jumps off the banister, forcing my eyes to narrow even with my sunglasses. My heart somersaults in my chest—there are so many memories living inside me and they all want to run out of me all at once. I push them down knowing I have an entire weekend to deal with all my ghosts, new and old, before I leave this place behind. For good.

  The key slots easily into the door and I push it open. The house, as expected, feels nothing like it used to. My mother has ripped out its soul and turned it into a version of herself. Cold and uninviting.

  Setting Rabbit’s box on the floor, I leave it open and allow him time to slink out and explore at his leisure. I can’t blame him for wanting to hide inside his enclosure; maybe he feels safer there. I drop my bag onto the impeccable marble top of the kitchen island and take a look around. I could be anywhere, except that a few things haven’t changed. Not the way that I feel, not the way the air tastes or smells, not the lapping waves that chase each other from across the road.

  I make a cup of coffee and sit by the window watching the ocean. My stomach churns with the waves. I sit in my lonely command post near the edge of the world, my mind swinging back and forth to the empty spaces left behind; a place between memory and desire. Time ticks by. The waves keep lapping and my coffee turns cold.

  There are many kinds of sadness. There’s a sadness that’s like a breeze, it’s a passing thought that brushes over you. You shiver but only for a moment before you find warmth again. But then there is the sadness that stains your soul, and no matter how hard you try to clean it, it sticks to you like melted gum on the bottom of a shoe. This is the sadness you carry with you everywhere. It’s haunting and creeps up at the most unexpected moments. There’s no rhyme or reason to it being there, and yet so many little things let it tug at you.

  It is a bottomless pool that once you’ve waded into, all you can do is tread water and hope you don’t get sucked under. This is the pain I carry with me. I wallow in it as I sit on my mother’s plush new couch and contemplate life alone.

  This was never the plan. To be 33 and a widow. I’m almost grateful now we didn’t have any children. It’s not that we didn’t want them, it’s that we both worked on our careers and time sort of slipped away. And maybe secretly in my heart of hearts, I can admit that I never wanted them to be Trent’s. After so long of picturing what my kids would look like with Liam’s wild hair and cheeky smiles, anything else would have felt like settling, and no child should feel like that.

  I set aside my unfinished coffee and allow the lethargy to wrap itself around me. Sorrow sucks away so much energy.

  I slide the curtains shut keeping the sunshine and life out and turn towards the corridor. Sleep will make everything better.

  I wake to the roll of thunder and a cool darkness that veils the town. These late afternoon summer storms are not unusual. Rabbit’s ears perk up and he eyes the room nervously. I run my fingers along his soft coat. “Shhhh, it’s just a storm.”

  Thunderstorms were always my favourite part of summer. Their raw, violent power is exhilarating. The way the lightning is like an organic flash of a camera that will never have its pictures developed. The way the rain falls heavily; I always felt like I should see through it—because water is clear after all—but I couldn’t. The way the clouds made the world grey, and the way they crashed Liam into my arms.

  I lie in my bed listening listlessly to the symphony of raindrops and the fingertips of the trees tapping on my windowpane. My thoughts keep drifting back to Liam.

  The clouds rumble across the sky and hide the sunshine like a fluffy grey blanket. The air is thick with humidity, and Liam runs out of the water, his board tucked under his arm. He’s wearing a smile that belongs in a fashion magazine and his wet hair whips around in a frenzy as he shakes water and sand from it. I could have watched Liam like that for an eternity, carefree and happy.

  A crash of lightning has me jumping, and he throws his board down, pulling me into his arms.

  “Afraid of a little rain?” he teases as the first heavy drops fall from the sky.

  “I’m afraid of nothing.” I push his chest, but he just clings to me tighter, as if maybe I’m the one comforting him. My heart chugs in my chest as warmth passes between us. This boy who has been my best friend has been affecting me in ways a friend shouldn’t, and yet for the last two years, each time I see him my entire body comes to life and all my thoughts concentrate into one single word. Liam.

  He’s yet to release me, and the thundering of my heart threatens to drown out the lashing storm. His hazel eyes sparkle as they look into mine, and rivulets slink along his face and drip down his chin onto his bare torso.

  I want to tell him that we should be heading back up to his house, that we should get out of the blistering wind that has started turning the air cold, that my mum will be furious when I arrive soaked and dishevelled, but I don’t. Instead, I revel in the feel of his arms around me and his body along my own. In the way his eyes look at me like they are seeing more than just my face, but all my secret desires and needs for him.

  I can’t help it. My hands slink slowly up his back, and I push up on my tip toes before I plaster a quick kiss on his lips.

  His eyes grow big as he stares down at me, and I feel the sting of heat burn across my chest and face, searing the tips of my ears. He says nothing, just a long lingering look that has me doubting everything and wishing I hadn’t just done what I did. I try to pull away, but his arms tighten around me in resistance, between us only heat and silence before his head tips down and his lips crash hard into mine, and Liam Morrison kisses me.

  Our lips move and dance in a frenzy, uncertain and volatile, learning one another for the first time, but it’s when his tongue breaches the seam of my lips and searches for mine that he washes away any unseen pain, doubt, or angst. I know then, in that moment, that Liam Morrison is mine.

  For the time our lips were locked together in that rush of rain, the world itself ceased to exist as we rebelled against the elements and found one another. When Liam pulls away, his face is a picture of ecstasy as he tips his head up towards the sky that promises more rain, and begins to laugh.

  Forked lightning slices the sky and pulls me from the memory, and I shake my head trying to clear it. Coming back was a terrible idea. I should have called Dr. Marshall; she would have talked Mum out of it. She would have made me see sense.

  Instead, I’m here waiting for old memories to fade into the realm of distant memory, but they won’t. They stubbornly linger in the forefront of my consciousness like an unwanted guest. Unwanted but inevitable.

  I’m ripped away from my thoughts and my bed by a strange sensation, like thunder rumbling inside my body. A sudden deafening crack roars through the house, making it shake and tremble. Rabbit jumps out of my arms and scampers away. There’s a few seconds of silence before I hear the tearing, like screaming wood. I can almost feel it reverberate through me. It’s followed by a gust of rushing water, like the house has been transported to the edge of a waterfall. I throw the duvet off and bolt upright, running through the door to find water cascading down the ceiling fan and trickling along the floor in a turbulent river.

  I look up to see branches; they pierce the roof where rain falls carelessly into the house. I run to the power board and switch it off before running outside. The water pelts my face and body, and my clothes stick to me like a child’s unfinished papier-mâché, getting heavier by the minute as they soak up more water.

  The neighbour’s tree has snapped off at the base and is now being supported by the house, but I can’t tell the full extent of the damage and won’t be able to till the tree is removed.

  I look up into the grey sky as it mocks me, and the rain keeps battering my face, saturating my hair that now sticks to my face, and I want to scream. I want to cry out into the heavens. I want my voice to soar and for answers to com
e, but I don’t.

  I walk back into the house leaving behind puddles for footprints as I find my phone. The afternoon storm is already ebbing, and soon the sun will come out and erase any trace that it ever existed.

  I sit and stare at the screen. The one benefit of being here is distance from her, and yet, somehow, this storm has managed to drag her back into my life.

  I sigh and dial.

  “What’s wrong?” She’s already on alert and ready to pounce. She’s like that, my mum, always expecting the worst. Sometimes I wonder if it’s some kind of defence mechanism for her sanity; just makes getting bad news easier.

  “Nothing,” I lie, or at least try to cushion the blow. “Well...”

  “What is it, Evangeline?” My name feels so ironic just now.

  “A tree fell on the house. There’s some damage to the roof, but it’s hard to tell what else.”

  “Did you switch off the electricity?”

  “Yes.” My fingers grip the bridge of my nose. “I was in the house when it happened. I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

  “Well clearly you are, you’re calling me, aren’t you? The electricity? Did you switch it off?”

  “Yes, obviously.”

  “Well, nothing is really obvious with you.”

  I grit my teeth and breathe out the annoyance building inside me. “Who do you want me to call to fix this?”

  “I’ll call Michael. He has the name of the builder who redid the house.”

  “I can—”

  “I said I’ll do it.”

  “Okay.” My head falls back, and I look at the ceiling. A sharp branch snapped in half pokes through the new hole. A single green leaf still clinging on.

  “Stay put, someone will come soon.”

  “What if the roof collapses and the house falls on my head?”

  “Your dramatics are unnecessary.” She huffs and hangs up on me.

  Thanks, Mum.

  I set my phone on the kitchen counter and get back to the bedroom. I peel the wet clothes from my body and throw them on the floor in defiance. She makes me feel like a toddler, and just like a child, guilt and shame gnaws at my inside when I see the puddle forming on the beautifully polished wooden floor. I gather the clothes and discard them in the bath. Somehow wetting her floor is a hollow victory.

  I find Rabbit. He’s hiding under the blanket, and I gather him in my arms, stroking his delicate fur. “It’s okay, boy, just a little storm.” There’s no point explaining to a cat the intricacies of a tree through the roof. But I do anyway; he is a good listener.

  I set him back down and dry the puddle my clothes left on the floor. I search for a stain, lying to myself that I’m not relieved I don’t find one.

  By the time I am dressed and dry, the storm has vanished leaving behind a dazzling blue sky.

  There’s a knock on the door.

  Michael has sent the builder already. Mum has probably been in his ear about how I'm struggling and can’t look after myself. They probably had a long chat about ‘what happened the first time.’

  I tuck the wet strands of my hair behind my ears and make my way through the corridor, dodging puddles I probably should have wiped away.

  When I open the door, there’s a man looking over his shoulder at someone following in his wake. He’s holding an old-fashioned toolbox and his tattooed arm cords from the weight.

  “Hello?” I try to grab his attention, and he turns to face me. The blood runs cold in my veins.

  Fourteen years have changed him, but not enough that I don’t recognise him instantly and my knees want to buckle.

  Seeing Liam again drains all the oxygen from my lungs. I am sucked back under water and reduced to the beating of my aching heart where there is no air or light or reason, just him. Or the ashes of what he left behind after he left me burning.

  “Liam?” His name is barely a whisper that passes my lips as my body quakes with the shock.

  His eyes latch onto mine, and recognition passes over his features. He opens his mouth to say something, but his companion comes bursting from behind him. “Dad, is this going to take long? I wanted to go to the cinema with Julie later.”

  Dad? Liam is alive and he has a kid? I got a cat, and he got a fucking daughter?

  I can’t bring myself to look at her as my eyes remain glued on Liam’s. He glares at me. There’s something in his eyes I can’t read. Hate? Fear? Anger?

  The girl comes from behind him, she’s chewing on a stick of gum and is wearing faded paint-stained jeans and a navy-blue T-shirt. She can’t be more than 14, and when I look at her face I can see a resemblance to Liam. She has his eyes.

  “Dad?” she whines again, and he turns to her as she stops and looks over me.

  My stomach rolls and tumbles. I’m going to be sick.

  Liam still says nothing. He stands there like a stone statue, his eyes back on my face.

  My heart explodes in my chest instead of beating, and I want to cry, and scream, and throw myself at him, to touch his face and feel if he’s real, and I want to do it all at once, but my feet are glued to the floor and the bile keeps rising in my throat.

  “Dad?” the girl’s tone is a little more wary as her gaze swings between us.

  “Let’s go,” he growls at the girl and turns to leave. “Nothing we can do here till they clear that away.” He tips his head to the branches poking through the ceiling, and the girl’s eyes follow his gesture.

  “Aww, but I need the pocket money from this job,” she calls after him, but he’s already opening the door to his truck and slamming it shut behind him.

  She turns back to me, shrugs and mumbles an apology before joining him in the truck. He speeds off before she has a chance to close the door.

  I watch the empty street, and my knees finally buckle before I double over, vomiting all over the floor.

  That’s definitely going to stain.

  Liam

  My heart keeps jack-knifing in my chest, and no matter how hard I try, my breaths will not settle down. Nessa keeps giving me worried side glances, and after her third ‘are you okay’ that I’ve ignored, she’s keeping quiet and her eyes on her phone.

  She just took me by surprise, that’s all. I never expected to see her again. Not after the last time. I bite down on my lip, hard enough to draw blood. I release it when a trickle of metallic taste coats my tongue.

  She looks different again, older, tired, way too skinny, and yet perfectly stunning. Though, as she looked at my face, she looked as though she’d just been punched. I can’t blame her. I can’t blame her for anything, but seeing her here… Fuck. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be anywhere near me. Or maybe it’s the other way around?

  Because the minute I saw her, every unresolved feeling, every memory, every regret I have been carrying with me came crashing inside me all at once, and I had to get away because it was the only way I could stop myself from pinning Evie down and asking her what the fuck she was doing in Blue Haven, and a thousand other questions that demanded answers.

  I drive too fast and park like an idiot, tyres screeching and the whole car jerking as I plant my feet on the brakes too heavily.

  “What the hell, Dad?”

  Shit. “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you okay?”

  No. I’m the furthest away from okay I’ve been in a long time and seconds away from losing my mind. “Yeah, I’m fine. Here.” I take out my wallet and hand her a few notes. “Your pay for today. Go to Julie.”

  “Really?” She beams up at me, and despite my entire body feeling knotted and tight, I manage a thin smile.

  “Make sure you call me if you need a ride back.”

  She nods but is already running into the house, to change no doubt, her nose in her phone, probably letting her friend know she is on her way. I let out a deep breath. I need the house to myself. I need a fucking drink.

  I call Michael first and let him know there’s nothing I can do till the tree has been removed. He knew tha
t, so a part of me wonders why the hell he sent me over there to begin with. My history with Evie is not a mystery in this town, and everyone knows he holds the keys to all the B&Bs in town. Whatever fucking game he is playing rubs me the wrong fucking way. He might be an old man, but that doesn’t stop my sudden urge to have a violent encounter with him in a dark corner.

  “Why the hell did you send me over to the Miller property? You knew there was nothing I could do there, and you knew she was there, didn’t you?”

  “Evangeline?”

  “Yes,” I bite out at the old man.

  “Didn’t think that was a problem. You two used to be good friends, and she’s going through a rough time.”

  “A tree falling through a house isn’t a rough time.”

  “No, I guess not, but losing a husband is.”

  The air falls out of my lungs. Her husband is dead. Part of me feels like I’m breathing a sigh of relief. I don’t even feel guilty about it. “I’m sure she has enough friends. Call me when the tree has been removed.”

  I hang up because my body is shaking, and I keep ignoring the stir of emotions that threatens to send me spiralling.

  Nessa bursts from the house. She’s wearing makeup again and looks too old in a young body. I want her to wipe that shit off and to dress like the little girl that she is, even though she isn’t really one and hasn’t been for a while now. There is too much going on inside of me to pick a fight; we will both lose if I do.

  I plant a kiss on the top of her head. “Have fun, and be safe.”

  She rolls her eyes at me and walks out of the driveway. Julie’s house is at the end of the street. I’m not worried. Well, no more than usual.

  When she is finally gone, I barge into the house and go for the fridge. Beer sounds like the best idea I’ve had all morning. Erase all my issues with alcohol. I’ve never really had that option before, not when Nessa was young, not when she needed me to look after her, but she’s older now and capable, and I just need something to take the edge off.