He props his sunglasses on his head and pulls a sparkling lure out of his backpack. He concentrates on rigging up the pole way more than seems necessary. Obviously trying to pretend our kiss never happened.
I’m tired of pretending with Liam.
“Liam. What was that?”
“What?” he mutters without looking up.
“Liam, look at me.” A trembling ball of want tumbles in my stomach while I wait for him to glance up.
And when he does, something that resembles regret flashes in his dark brown eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Wow. His apology shouldn’t hurt, but it does. It hits me in the ribs, crushing me.
“It’s fine,” I mumble, turning to stare out over the water.
After a few seconds, he casts the line and pushes the pole into my hands.
“Bree, what I meant was, I shouldn’t have kissed you. Taken advantage of you.”
“Taken advantage?” Doesn’t he realize how insulting that is? “Did it seem like I didn’t want to kiss you?”
My pole jerks down before he answers and I want to chuck the damn thing in the water and demand he answer my question.
“Fish on!” Liam cheers. “You got it?”
“Sure.” I put all my anger into reeling it in. This fish is a feisty one and puts up a good fight. “I’m a little scared to see what’s on the other end,” I joke.
He settles one of his big hands over mine, guiding me. “You got it,” he encourages.
When the fish is close enough, he splashes into the water’s edge and scoops it up with a net.
“Good size smallmouth bass,” he says. “Probably four or five pounds. Nice job.”
I lean over to get a better look while he works the hook out of the fish.
Thoroughly pissed-off with his current situation, the bass flips and flops, still fighting hard.
“Ow! Fuck!” Liam bellows, staggering backward a few feet.
“What happened?”
“Hook went through my finger. Shit that hurts.”
“Let me see.” I take a few steps closer.
Mistake. Blood pours through the wound, small rivers traveling down his hand. So much worse than I thought, considering how calm Liam is. “Can we pull it out?”
“No.” He sucks in a deep breath. “Treble hook. Barbs.” Each word comes out clipped and laced with pain.
“What are we going to do?” I ask, unable to hide the panic in my voice.
“First,” he says after taking a deep breath. “Cut him loose and put him in the water. Every time he flops around, it’s making it worse.”
Fingers shaking—hell, my whole body won’t stop trembling—I dig out a pair of mini-scissors from Liam’s backpack and snip the line.
“Now what?”
“Can you pack up our stuff?” he asks a whole lot calmer than I’m feeling.
“Yes.” I’m grabbing stuff before he’s even done with the question. Catching sight of the two DEC officers who’d interrupted us earlier, I call out to them. “Hey! Help!”
“Bree stop, what are you doing?”
“Getting help.”
“They’re not going to be able to do anything for me. Come on. Hand me the cooler.”
“You can’t carry—”
“My other hand is fine. Hurry up, this hurts like a bitch.”
He’s cradling his hand against his chest. My eyes zero in on the hook—lure still attached—sticking up obscenely while blood continues to drip down his finger. “Liam, it’s bad,” I whisper.
His mouth twitches into a quick smile. “I’m fine.”
“What’s wrong, miss?” one of the officers asks from the ledge above.
“He’s hurt. Hook through his middle finger.”
Liam’s right, the two officers are no help. One offers us a first-aid kit and recommends wrapping gauze around it to keep it clean.
Even I realize that gauze around the pointed hook will only make things worse.
Liam stares them down. “No, thanks. How far is the hospital from here?”
“Oh, you don’t want to go to the ER. You’ll be there all night,” the officer says. “There’s an urgent care center right over the Empire county line.”
Liam grinds his teeth and glances at me. “Yeah, I know it.”
At the truck, I turn and hold out my hand to Liam. “Keys.”
He has the nerve to look at me and then the truck. “I can drive, Bree. I’m fine.”
“Seriously?”
“I can drive with one hand.”
“No, Officer Caveman, you can’t. Hand them over.”
His mouth curls into a half-smirk. “They’re in my pocket.”
Carefully, I slide my hand into his side pocket.
“I can’t even enjoy this,” he says, making me laugh.
He directs me to the urgent care clinic.
“You know the place?”
“I’ve been there once or twice,” he mumbles.
It’s dusk by the time we arrive. Not many cars fill up the parking lot, but I still struggle to pull his big truck into one of the tight spaces.
“Good job,” he says when I finally straighten out. There’s no mocking in the words, but I stick my tongue out at him anyway.
“You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to,” he offers.
“Of course I’m not letting you go in by yourself.” I’m surprised he’d even suggest it.
He slides out of the truck and meets me on my side. “Okay, let’s get this done so we can grab dinner. I’m starving.”
“You’re awfully calm for a guy with a jagged piece of metal through his finger.”
“Trust me, it hurts. I’m trying not to dwell on it too much”
No one’s in the waiting room, and Liam saunters right up to the counter.
“I guess I don’t need to ask,” the receptionist says, greeting him with a sympathetic smile.
She fires off a round of questions. Liam answers everything calmly, while slipping an arm around my waist and drawing me closer.
He’s the one who’s hurt yet he’s trying to comfort me. Great.
“Hey, Linda, can you check if there’s an open room?” the receptionist asks.
Liam’s entire body stiffens. I can’t figure out why until I glance up at the pretty nurse standing in front of us.
Of all the urgent care clinics in the world—seriously, universe?
Because there’s no doubt in my mind this is Liam’s ex.
Especially when the receptionist hands him a clipboard full of forms to fill out. “I can do that for you, Liam. I still remember all your details,” she says with a flirty smile.
Unprofessional much?
Awkward, actually. The receptionist stares, her gaze darting between Linda and Liam.
“That’s okay. I’ve got it.” I snatch the clipboard off the counter and tug Liam over to one of the waiting room chairs by his uninjured hand.
“I take it that’s your ex?” I mutter as I start scribbling down his information.
He grunts out an affirmative sound.
I tap the pen against the clipboard a few times to get his attention, and he helps me fill in the few details I don’t know.
Linda returns and shows us into a room. “So besides the hook in the finger, how’ve you been?” she asks.
“Fine. You?”
Clearly I have no claim on Liam. The irrational side of me doesn’t see it that way, though.
Liam said she was older, but she doesn’t look it. She’s dainty. Almost doll-like. Idly I wonder if it makes her job harder. If people take her seriously.
“My friend, Bree.”
Hearing my name snaps me out of my fog and I raise an eyebrow at Liam.
“Oh, you’re Vince’s little sister. Right. I’ve heard all about you,” she says, instantly dismissing me and focusing her lovesick gaze on Liam.
“Uh,” I answer lamely.
Brilliant.
At least she finally helps Liam. She sets
up his hand for the doctor, then gently disinfects the area around the wound while subtly shoving her boobs in his face.
“How’s work?” she asks him.
“Fine,” he answers in a clipped tone that doesn’t invite follow-up questions.
Liam winces and I lose it. “Can’t you give him some Advil or something?” I snap, since it doesn’t seem like Nurse-Can’t-Take-A-Hint plans to do anything other than stare at Liam and give her push-up bra a workout.
“Sure.” She settles her hand on his shoulder. “Unless you want something stronger?” she asks.
He reaches up with his good hand and removes her hand from his shoulder before answering. “Can you see how much longer the doctor will be?”
That seems to be enough to remind her to do her damn job and she hurries out of the room.
“Did you know she worked here?” I ask as soon as she’s gone.
Liam’s eyes close briefly. “Yes.”
“That’s why you didn’t want to come here?”
“I was hoping she wouldn’t be working tonight.”
“She was working it all right.”
He huffs out a laugh, but otherwise ignores my comment. “Come here,” he says, holding out his uninjured hand to me.
I step closer and wrap my hand around his. “How’s your finger?” I ask because there really isn’t much more to say.
“Hurts.”
The door swings open. “How are you, Mr. Hollister?” the doctor greets.
Finally.
Liam grits through the shots to numb his hand, barely flinching. When the doctor pulls on the hook, trying to determine the best way to remove it, I sway on my feet.
“Bree? You all right?” Liam squeezes my hand, forcing me to concentrate on his face. “I’m okay, baby. I can’t feel a thing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Go sit down. You look pale.”
For once I’m thankful for his bossiness and take a seat.
I manage not to embarrass myself by passing out and we don’t run into Nurse Linda again before leaving the clinic.
“I’m sorry our day was ruined,” Liam says when we’re on our way home.
“You’re sorry?” I nod at his finger wrapped tight in gauze. “You took a hook through your flesh and you’re apologizing to me?”
“Let me make it up to you.”
Another kiss would be a good start but there’s no way I’m suggesting it.
“The ice cream shop near Vince’s is open. Want to stop there for a cone?” he asks.
“I’m not five anymore, Liam. You can’t cheer me up with an ice cream cone.”
“Well, it will cheer me up,” he says, wiggling his injured hand at me.
I take the exit that leads to the small ice cream shack and we pull into the parking lot right before closing. After stepping out of the truck and swatting away a swarm of mosquitos, I’m taken back to when Vince and I used to scrounge for enough change at the bottom of my mother’s purse to walk down here to buy ice cream on the hottest summer nights.
“Are you all right?” Liam asks, brushing hair off my face.
I force out a laugh. “Just remembering all the times Vince and I came here when we were kids.”
“You still like chocolate sprinkles on yours?”
“Nah. I’m too old for sprinkles.”
“You’re never too old for sprinkles.”
I trail behind him to the window, where a bored teenager slides the glass open and taps her pencil against her green notepad. “We’re about to close,” she informs us.
“Two small twist cones,” Liam orders.
She rattles off a total much higher than the change Vince and I used to carry here would’ve ever covered. “Pricey,” I say after the girl closes the window to go fill our order.
Liam shrugs.
“Bree, is that you?” A high-pitched voice calls out. I barely have a chance to turn when a girl barrels into me and squeals. “I thought so. How are you?”
“Lucy? Oh my God. I’m fine. How are you?”
Her gaze ping-pongs between Liam and me. “I always knew you two would end up together.”
I almost choke and we haven’t even been handed our ice cream cones yet.
“We’re not…we’re hanging out. I just came home from college.”
“Oh, that’s right. Weren’t you dating…” Her voice trails off as recognition sinks in. Great. Someone else who read about Chad’s arrest in the paper. Even though they didn’t use my name in any of the articles, it’s not that difficult to figure out who the “live-in girlfriend” he pummeled is.
“We broke up.”
“Good…I mean. Oh. Well, have fun.” She smiles nervously and tosses a bunch of napkins in the garbage before jogging back to her car.
Liam hands me my ice cream, but I’ve lost my interest. He seems to understand my shift in mood and steers me over to one of the picnic benches near his truck.
We eat our cones in silence. When I can’t finish mine, Liam takes it and chucks it in the trash can. I’m shaking and on the verge of tears when he returns.
When are these feelings going to go away?
“Talk to me, Bree,” he says quietly.
Across the parking lot there’s a family with two small children who have more ice cream in their hair than in their mouths. Otherwise we’re alone.
“I’m so ashamed,” I whisper, unable to keep the words inside for another second.
He wraps his arms around me, pulling my body against his and rests his chin on the top of my head. One of his big hands strokes over my back in a calming gesture. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
I pull back enough to tip my head and search his face for the truth. “I let it happen.”
A stony hardness enters his eyes. “You didn’t let it happen, Bree.”
“But I did.” I bury my face against his shirt again. “You were right. This wasn’t the first time. I made excuses for him. He swore he was sorry and he’d never do it again. Said he loved me so much…” My voice trails off because I realize how stupid and gullible I sound.
Bree’s anguish scrapes over my heart, leaving me raw and ready to explode. “He’s a manipulator. I’m sure in his twisted head he thought he loved you, Bree.” The words burn like ground glass in my throat, but they’re probably true and I think she needs to hear them.
“I hated it here so much. Growing up. Everyone always looked down on us.”
My body stiffens with her words. I remember how all she used to talk about was getting out of this town and never coming back. “I didn’t.”
“No. You were always a good friend. Are a good friend. To Vince. And to me.” She adds that last part almost as an afterthought.
“I wish I’d been a better friend to you.”
She shakes her head. “I believed him when he said he wouldn’t do it again. He always made me feel like somehow it was my fault because I made him so crazy and jealous.” She stops and looks up at me. “I know how stupid that sounds.”
“It’s not stupid at all. You’re going to be a psychologist. You know how these things work.”
“Exactly!” she explodes and I realize too late that was the wrong thing to say. “I should’ve recognized the signs, the cycles we went through. The tension, the blowups, the apologies and promises. And the whole time I just kept telling myself it wasn’t that bad, or he didn’t mean it or if I was a better girlfriend it wouldn’t have happened.”
Listening to her describe what she’s been through leaves me somewhere between anger and anguish. Between wanting to comfort her and wanting to kill Chad. She may have glossed over the details, but I’ve taken enough classes on how to handle domestic violence situations to know what each of those phases entails.
“I can’t stand being here,” she says in a harsh whisper. “Did you see how Lucy couldn’t wait to get away from me?”
“Do you think you stayed with Chad so you wouldn’t have to come home?” I ask and brace myself for her a
nswer.
“Maybe there was part of me that thought coming home meant I was a failure. Besides, Vince and I don’t seem to get along anymore.”
Something I’m afraid is my fault. After the night he caught us kissing, things were tense in our friendship until Bree left for school. Then we never spoke about the incident again. “I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.
She ignores the apology. “Lucy won’t be the only one. People always judge the woman. ‘Why’d she stay for so long? Maybe she liked it. The first time a man hit me, I’d leave. You can’t help someone who won’t help herself.’ I’ve heard them all. Hell, I’ve had those same thoughts.”
Guilt threatens to crush me. “Bree, that’s not what I…I’m sorry about the stuff I said the other night…about everything. I’d never judge you like that. I don’t judge you at all.”
“Not even a little?”
“No. I’m mad at myself. I wish I’d known. I hate that you went through any of that by yourself.”
“One of the first cops who questioned me asked what I did to piss Chad off so badly.”
My blood boils. “Who?” I snap.
She gives me a small smile. “I can’t remember his name.”
“I’m not surprised that happened. I encounter guys in the department all the time who have zero empathy or compassion for the people they’re supposed to serve and protect.” I’m hesitant to use the word victim, because I don’t want her to think that’s how I see her. “But it doesn’t matter. No one has the right to judge you. You dealt with something horrible no one should have to go through. You’re out.”
I wish she’d nod or say something more reassuring than mmhmm.
“Chad’s in jail where he belongs. There is no reason you can’t go anywhere you want with your head held high.”
Finally, she nods slowly, trying to take in my words.
“I should’ve left sooner.”
“Should’ves do us no good, Bree.”
“My mother always said I was so stubborn, and I’d end up hurting myself more in the long run because of it.”
Her mother cared more about her boyfriends than her children, but I keep that observation to myself. “I think what she meant was you’re tenacious.”
“I doubt that.” Her mouth pulls into a half-smile. “She didn’t hand out many compliments.”
Bullets & Bonfires Page 10
