“It’s cool out here,” I agreed. But I wasn’t moving. The first reason was my mom. At first I’d stayed in Naugatuck to keep an eye on her with my dad around. Now I wanted to keep an eye on her since he was gone. And somewhere along the years, I’d realized I wasn’t staying in Naugatuck because it was the path of least resistance. It was because it felt like home and I liked it that way.
“How’s your mom doing?” See, Jax looked like a badass with his black leather jacket, shaved head and tattoos. And he actually was a badass. There was no one I’d rather have my back in a fight. But he was more complicated than that. Deep down I knew he’d step in front of a train for me if I needed it. The list of people he cared about might not be that long, but for those people on it, he’d do anything.
“Mom’s good. You know, getting on with life.” Jax came closer than most to knowing what a bastard my father was. Probably because his father was the same way, both of them angry, violent drunks. We’d both added a bunch more scars into the mix over the years, but our fathers had started us both off with our first few.
“How’s business?” I asked. He spent the rest of the ride filling me in, the headaches with his partner, the drama with a couple of waitresses.
“You should be my business partner,” he added, giving me a glance to show he meant it. “Someone I can trust.”
I nodded, realizing I was fortunate to know a bunch of people I could trust. Having spent my life in one small town, I could name a whole list of guys I trusted without hesitation. Even if I just began and ended with the guys at the station, that made a pretty good group. Maybe it was navigating dangerous situations together, but we were like family to each other. It sounded like Jax didn’t have that.
But as we spent time together over the weekend, I saw he had a form of it. The local motorcycle club hung out at his bar and seemed to treat him as a brother. Only Jax told me he wasn’t an official member.
“I’m not pledging allegiance to a violent psycho with daddy issues.” He nodded subtly toward a heavily bearded older guy, apparently the head of the MC. “I’m happier on the outside. But it’s good for business.” Not for the first time I felt like Jax was about to tell me something more, only he stopped himself before he did.
The weekend passed in a blur of alcohol and women, as Jax had promised. We partied at the bar, in the back room of the bar, at his place, at his friend’s place. We even set off firecrackers on the Fourth, reminiscing about that first day we’d discovered our mutual love for pyrotechnics 17 years ago.
I thought about Sophie the whole goddamned time. I thought about her while I watched some hot girl dance, imagining how good Sophie would look if she were there with me, moving to the music. It wasn’t fair to compare anyone to a professional, I knew that, but I couldn’t help it. I’d love to see Sophie dance again. From what I’d heard, she’d risen to become one of the best. No surprise there. But I still didn’t know why she’d walked away. When I’d been around her I’d mostly managed to yell at her, talk about flooring or paw at her like a teenager in heat.
At a late-night party at Jax’s place, I sat out on the deck and thought about Sophie, even while sandwiched in-between two gorgeous swimsuit models on a sofa. They flanked me, their bare limbs brushing up against mine, their breasts pressing against my chest as they leaned in to giggle and whisper something in my ear. Looking at their thighs I thought about Sophie’s, that line where her dress had ended and her creamy skin had begun. How I’d pressed her against the wall, parting her thighs with mine and how she’d yielded, wanting exactly that.
The problem with getting hard was whichever girls you happened to be near naturally assumed it was in reaction to them. That left you in an awkward situation if you didn’t want to do anything with them. Which, sadly, I did not. Disentangling myself from a sea of any normal man’s fantasy, I made my way over to Jax’s kitchen.
Jax followed me soon thereafter. “What’s her name?” he asked, handing me another beer.
“What?” I tried playing dumb. I didn’t have much hope at succeeding, but it was worth a shot.
“Who’re you hung up on? Because I’ve watched you turn away more pussy this weekend than a gay pop star.”
I took a sip of beer, wondering if I should mention her. Jax knew how bad it had gotten after she’d left. He’d come out to Naugatuck in the aftermath and found me flattened out like I’d been run over by a cement mixer. But I figured, if I couldn’t mention her to an old friend, who could I mention her to?
“Sophie,” I admitted.
Jax let out a low whistle. “She’s back?”
“She’s back.”
“You’re fucked.”
“Thanks, man.” We clinked beer bottles.
“Does Ian know?”
“Won’t return my calls. Hasn’t in over a year.” Ian hadn’t even made it to Chase and Emma’s wedding. It was like he’d dropped off the face of the earth.
“What’s she doing back on the island? I thought she was a famous ballerina or something.”
I took a swig of my beer. “Yup. She did that. But now she’s back and wants to open a dance studio.”
“No shit?”
“It gets better. She’s bought this historic building that’s falling down all around her. Only she—”
“Can’t fix it up because it’s historic,” Jax finished for me. He knew the deal. He’d helped his dad out on a few construction sites.
“You got it.”
“Let me guess.” He looked me in the eye, sizing me up as he was so good at doing. “You’re helping her with it.”
I looked down at my sneakers. That was the thing about old friends, they knew you all too well.
“You really are fucked, my friend.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and leaned in. “Listen, forget all this heavy shit. You’re out in SoCal. There’s this girl out there, Katrina.” He gestured toward the living room. “She’s up for anything. Let me hook you up.”
I shrugged. I knew I should say yes. I was single. I had a wild side that hadn’t been out to play in way too long. It would do me good to cut loose. Hell, it might even take the edge off this insane fever that still seized me, even 3,000 miles away.
But I couldn’t do it. I’d never been a good pretender. I was practiced at partial disclosure, keeping sides of myself private. But that was different from feigning interest when what I actually felt was nothing. That I couldn’t do.
“Speak of the devil.” Jax stood up, welcoming a woman who’d just sauntered into the room.
“I’m the devil, am I?” She gave him a devious smile, definitely up to no good, or at least ready to get up to no good at all. She wore what looked like a corset up top and her long, jet-black hair fell down her bare shoulders. Her black leather mini skirt barely covered the goods.
“Is this your friend?” She gave me a flirtatious smile, swaying her hips as she approached, lazily tracing the necklace she wore that dipped down into her ample cleavage.
“Hey, I’m Liam.” I nodded at her.
“I hear you’re a firefighter.”
“That’s right.”
“I’m feeling hot already.” She fanned herself, looking up at me through her lashes. Jax burst out laughing at her brazen come-on and she flashed him an annoyed look. I smiled at her, knowing she’d be a perfect distraction. If only my mind wasn’t fixed like it had been super-glued on one woman and one woman only.
“You know what?” Hand behind my neck, I shook my head. “There’s this phone call I need to make. I should probably go take care of that.”
“Suit yourself.” Jax shrugged. I knew he thought I was making a mistake, but he knew me better than to try to talk me out of it. I could be stubborn as a mule. Katrina didn’t seem too bent out of shape. She shifted course seamlessly, now batting her eyes at Jax who accepted the attention with his usual disinterested charisma. I’d never seen women go more wild over a guy who stayed so aloof. But I guessed it was true, some women went bat-shit crazy ov
er a bad boy and Jax was the original bad boy with a heart of gold. They’d have a fun night together.
I excused myself and headed upstairs to the guest bedroom where I was staying. I’d said I had a phone call to make just because it was an excuse. But now I thought maybe I’d call Sophie. Once the idea got lodged in my head, I liked it. I could call her, check in. See what she was up to. I decided to send a text first.
* * *
Liam: Hey.
* * *
No immediate response. I looked at my screen, angry at it for not showing that light grey bubble with the dots, giving me that instant high of knowing Sophie was connected through our phones and responding to me. I tucked it in my back pocket, telling myself to chill out. I paced the room, feeling like a caged animal, wondering if I should head back down to the party, or even go for a walk around town. Then I heard my phone ding.
* * *
Sophie: Hi.
* * *
Liam: You having a good weekend?
* * *
Sophie: Sure, you?
* * *
Liam: I’m in CA visiting Jax.
* * *
Sophie: California?
* * *
Liam: Yeah.
* * *
Sophie: I didn’t realize you were headed there.
* * *
Liam: Spur of the moment.
* * *
No response. We both knew were verging on new territory. I clearly wasn’t texting her about her flooring.
* * *
Liam: Are you in tonight?
* * *
Sophie: Yes
* * *
Liam: Can I call you?
* * *
Sophie: Yes
* * *
And just like that, the sun rose on my evening.
9
Sophie
When I say I spent the entire holiday weekend wondering where Liam was, I knew it sounded pathetic. But it wasn’t as if I sat alone in my bedroom every day, chin resting in hand while I stared moodily out the window. I was busy, flitting here and there, meeting with people taking a look at my studio, attending a luncheon my mother had arranged, taking Eloise to a Fourth of July parade, plus meeting up with Whitney and Theo at a party. I couldn’t help it that no matter how busy I got, how much I had going on around me, my brain kept returning to him like a magnet pointing to true north.
Some of my business was due to regular obligations. But part of it sprang from my own determination to not sit alone staring moodily out the window dreaming about my long lost love returning to me. I knew myself far too well. If I didn’t watch it, I could lose it hard over Liam all over again. I was already well on my way. That was the last thing I needed.
I was finally getting my own feet firmly on the ground, setting my own rules, figuring out what really made me happy. I needed to get secure with my own voice before I invited in his. Honestly, I probably should set myself on a strict and fixed timeline regarding all men. A solid 12 months of celibacy would do me a world of good. I was already well into month number two. That meant 10 more…which meant my birthday, getting through the holidays alone, hmm…
Anyway, I’d figure out the exact calculations at a later date. The point was I didn’t need to start obsessing again over Liam Connolly. No matter how gorgeous he was, like larger-than-life gorgeous, with all his strapping muscles and those piercing blue eyes and the intensity with which he held me. And the way he talked to me, holy shit. Men tended to treat me like a porcelain figurine, to be displayed and coddled. Liam had told me he wouldn’t be gentle.
Why did that make me so wet? I’d thought of it so many times in the intervening days and especially nights. I didn’t want him to be gentle with me. The feel of his calloused hand holding my wrist against the wall, it had gotten me so wet. I didn’t understand it, other than to recognize it must tap into something primal in me. There was something between us that got expressed in an honest, stripped-down way, raw and real.
That was why I needed to keep busy, really busy, if I had any chance at staying on my own gravitational axis. I’d only just found it, and already I was getting pulled off. I’d spent too many years dancing to other people’s rhythms. Now it was time to move to the beat of my own drum.
The day after the Fourth, I got some good news about plumbing. Apparently the pipes in the second floor had been updated more recently. Whoever had done it had done it on the sly, without procuring approval from the historical society, but what they didn’t know they never needed to find out. It meant that I had clear running water in the unit I wanted to move into. I figured I might just go ahead and do that, sooner rather than later.
Fixing myself a salad in the kitchen, humming and smiling as I worked, my mother rounded the corner, instantly suspicious.
“What has you in such a good mood?” she asked, sounding as if she were accusing me of a crime. Professor Plum in the ballroom with the wrench.
“Things are going well with the studio,” I ventured. The topic almost always provoked conflict, but soon we wouldn’t be living under the same roof anyway.
“You’ve got a long way to go with that building.” She shook her head and poured herself some tonic water with lime. “And good luck finding people to help you with it over the summer.”
“Liam’s helping me.” The words tripped out of my mouth before I’d thought about saying them. Instantly, it felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room.
“Liam?” she asked, her voice quiet but deadly. “Liam Connolly?”
“Yes,” I replied firmly, refusing to back down in any way. “He’s given me a list of names, and they’ve all been really helpful. And he’s helping me with the flooring himself.”
“Oh, I bet he is.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you’re still the gravy train you were back at 18. He knows a paycheck when he sees one.”
“You are way out of line.” I could feel my temperature rising with every second we spent in that kitchen.
“I’ve seen a lot more of this world than you have.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”
“While you’re living under my roof, you’ll respect me as a child does her parent.”
“Speaking of that,” I took a deep breath, “I’m moving out.” I reminded her about the second story of the building I’d purchased and the apartment I planned on living in.
“This is crazy!” she declared as if I’d just told her I was joining the Marines.
“Mom, you need to get some perspective. This is a perfectly normal, sane thing for me to be doing.”
“Did that Connolly boy put you up to this? That sneaky Irish—”
“Oh really? Like we’re so different with our Scottish heritage?”
“Half Scotch, half English.” She drew herself stiffly up to her full height.
“Seriously, I can not have a conversation about this with you.” If my mother wanted to see crazy, she should look in the mirror and keep talking about the superiority of her British ancestry to my father’s Scotch or, God forbid, Liam’s Irish background.
“He’s always had a hold over you,” she continued. “He nearly persuaded you to ruin your dance career before it even began—”
“Mom—”
“And now you’re doing it again, leaving the stage in favor of what? A crumbling studio where you’ll teach fat, snotty kids how to twirl around?”
“Maybe that’s what I want to do with my life.”
“Such a waste. All my children, they’re all wasting their lives.”
“Thanks, Mom. I know I can speak for all of us when I say we really appreciate your support.” I didn’t mean to revert to sarcasm, the language of adolescence, but honestly she cut so deep it was a reflexive defense mechanism. What else was I supposed to do, stand there in the kitchen with tears streaming down my face? I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.
As I started to leave the room, she got in
one, last parting shot. “If your brother knew you were back together with that boy he’d never forgive you.”
I turned around, white hot with fury. “The only one who never forgives anyone, mother, is you. Ian never blamed Liam for what happened.”
“So you tell yourself. But we all know he’s to blame.”
“Stop it!” I screamed, hands up over my ears as if I could fight off the poison she poured out with every word. “How are you still so angry?”
“He crippled my baby. See how you’d feel if that ever happened to you. I bet you’d fall apart. You’d never get out of bed again.” She spat out her words with venom, glaring at me with pure hatred in her eyes.
“I’ve got to get out of here.” I spoke more to myself than to her. It was pointless trying to reason with my mother, brimming over as she was with bitterness and blame. Instead I ran upstairs and started shoving clothing into a suitcase. I could grab enough to spend the night, then come back some time when she wasn’t there to get the rest.
I couldn’t believe she still hadn’t let go of her hatred of Liam. After the accident, we’d all given her a wide berth, accepting if not necessarily understanding the deep pain she felt as she helplessly watched her son struggle with second and third degree burns covering 70 percent of his body. It was something no one should have to go through, not Ian, not his mother.
It had twisted her up inside, and she’d latched onto the idea that Liam was somehow to blame. He was a firefighter’s son. In her eyes, that meant he should have known how to handle the accident. She’d fixated on her version of events. According to her, Liam had abandoned Ian on a burning boat, leaving him lying trapped under a fallen mast in the flames.
All of Me: Liam & Sophie Page 11
