Because of Liam

by Erica Alexander

  “I still don’t understand why you think I’d ever have sex with him. I’d rather fuck a hanger in my closet.”

  “Because he knows, River.”

  “He knows what?”

  “He knows about the birthmark. He described what it looks like and he said it was in a place no one could see unless . . .” she trails off.

  My arms drop. My defensive posture, gone. I feel myself go limp. The mantra inside my head turns to screams, but I don’t say anything. I need out. I need to run and hide. I almost collapse right then and there and it takes everything I have to hold on. I don’t say a word, don’t deny, and as the first sting of tears burns my eyes, I turn and walk to my bedroom, closing the door as Skye’s voice reaches me, calling my name. I try to make it to my bed, but three steps into my room, I fall to my knees and the tears follow.

  Not Jon.

  Not Jon.

  Please God.

  Not Jon.

  Not Jon.

  Not Jon.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I see it in her eyes. The moment River knows what Skye is saying is true. And I see something else too. Something I’ve seen all too often in my own reflection. Something I hoped to never see again. The look in her eyes, the hurt, the pain, the shame, it’s all there, and in this moment, I know what happened and I know River just found out herself.

  It took every fiber of her being to walk away. She’s crumbling inside. I recognize that too.

  The same despair I’ve seen in my own eyes. The powerlessness of what-ifs, the pain of regret and wishing for a different outcome. It’s all there in her eyes, and I’m frozen in place as I watch it unfold.

  Skye calls after River and enters my line of vision. I snap out of it and stop her.

  “No, I’ll go. You stay here with Logan.”

  Logan turns to me then. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Liam. Let Skye talk to her—”

  I get in his face, years of marine training kicking in, and through gritted teeth I say, “I’ll go. You both stay here. Do not follow me. I’m going to talk to her alone. Do I make myself clear?”

  Logan flinches but doesn’t say anything. He looks at Skye and she nods.

  Knocking softly, I open her door and step into her room, closing it behind me. She’s on her knees, her body bent on itself as if trying to be as small as possible, her shoulders racking with silent sobs. I kneel next to her and pick her up, curl her to me like a baby and walk to her bed. Sitting down, I lean against the headboard with River on my lap.

  She doesn’t fight me or say a word. She just cries and every so often her head shakes slightly, as if saying ‘no.’ I take a deep breath, my chest expanding under her, and let her pain wash over me and mingle with mine. And for the first time since I was seventeen, since my parents turned their backs on me, I cry. I cry silent tears like River’s.

  I feel her pain as mine and I feel my own pain breaking free again, remembering the day of my own attack. I hold on to River and cry. Cry for myself and all that I lost and I cry for River because I know what happened even if she hasn’t said a word about it.

  I know what this guy Jon did to her and I know I’m going to kill him and enjoy doing it. I’ll do it with my bare hands. I look at my hands then, the hands that so gently hold her trembling body against mine, the hands that have patched and stitched and saved hundreds of lives. These hands will see blood again, but it won’t be from a bullet wound, an explosion, or shrapnel. These hands, my hands will see Jon’s blood on them. They will take a life instead of saving it. I want him to look into my eyes when the light goes off in his own, knowing I did it for River. The bastard will never hurt anyone again. It’s a promise I make to myself. A promise I make to River even if she’ll never know it.

  After a long while her sobs diminish, her shoulders no longer trembling. I reach over to her nightstand and grab a few tissues, dabbing her eyes and drying her face. Her eyes are red and swollen, her skin is blotchy, and her nose is running, but when I look at her, at the wet lashes that frame her hazel eyes, now green from all the crying, I can’t help but to think she’s beautiful. Then I grab more tissues and dry my own eyes. She looks at me confused because of my tears, her eyes searching mine, searching my face, and I let the walls drop. I let my shields down and I let her see me. I let her see the boy inside the man. I let her see the pain behind the sarcasm. I let her see all the broken pieces that make me what I am today and how I long for the carefree and happy kid I once was. I let River see all of it and she understands, even though she doesn’t know what caused my scars. She sees them and she doesn’t pull away. She touches my face with her fingertips and then palms my cheek—I lean into her hand and close my eyes. When I open them again, there’s a small smile on her lips. Her walls are down. She dropped them for me and the openness in her eyes nearly undoes me. Then I tell her. I tell her everything.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  She asks no questions. She doesn’t say a word and yet there’s so much being shared right now. So much happening between us. The last three months of fighting and getting on each other’s nerves is coming to an end and we find ourselves in an odd and yet comforting place. We both share a secret, a part of our lives we’ve never shared with anyone else. We both have pain and scars we go to extreme lengths to hide. I bear some of those scars on my skin, hidden under the color and designs of a tattoo, but they’re still there. The other scars, the ones we carry in our souls, are far deeper and harder to hide from.

  She moves from my lap but sits in front of me. Her legs curl under her. I bring my left leg up, bent at the knee, and she leans on it. My hand finds her hair and plays with it.

  “Logan thinks I was discharged three months ago, when I first showed up at the house. But the truth is, I was discharged over a year ago. I spent all that time backpacking through Europe, crashing with some friends, in hostels, and more often than not, working on small farms and sleeping in barns.”

  Her eyes remain on mine, the tears gone but her long lashes still damp. I brush a lock of hair behind her ear and her eyes flutter closed for a moment before meeting mine again. She stays silent and I continue to speak.

  “I should be dead.”

  Her eyes widen and she flinches. I squeeze her shoulder, letting her know I’m okay.

  “I was in an explosion, within the kill zone. My back was covered in shrapnel and I was in an induced coma because of swelling in my brain, a result of the explosion impact.”

  I close my eyes to the haunting images swimming right in front of me as if it’s happening now, but I can’t escape the memories inside of my mind. I can smell the gun powder, taste the dust that coats my throat and the blood on my tongue. The sounds of destruction and death sting my ears. I can still feel the impact of metal shards as they entered my body and the deep burn of each piece as they cut through my flesh.

  Thankfully, I don’t feel the pain. I was once told the brain has a defense mechanism that keeps the body from reliving pain. So while one can still remember the tastes, smells and how it felt, the physical pain itself is blocked. I wish the brain could also block the pain of loss, the despair of dying, the impotency of not being able to save a life you swore to protect.

  When I open my eyes again, she’s watching me intently. Her breath is even, and it calms me. I take her hand, press my fingertips to her wrist, counting the beats of her heart. I match my breathing to hers, our hearts in sync. It gives me strength to speak out loud the words that never left my lips before.

  I give her the short version of my story. “As far back as I can remember, all I wanted to do when I grew up was to be a doctor. I used to read medical books for fun. I was such a nerd, I know.”

  She smiles at that.

  “Logan was always a jock. He loved sports, he loved the competition, the adrenalin that came with it. Hockey, football, running—it’s how he felt alive, how he could be himself and do what he wanted without our father being up his ass.” I pause, letting the memories wash over me
.

  Her hand squeezes mine in a show of support.

  “I loved playing sports too but for a different reason. I didn’t play to win. I just liked the way being active made me feel. For me it was a study in anatomy. The way the muscles moved and worked together to accomplish a goal. Nerd, remember?”

  “If the nerds in my high school looked like you, I so would have been in the math and science clubs.” She makes me laugh despite the heaviness in my heart right now.

  “Our parents, my father specifically, had strict ideas of what we should be and do. Our future was mapped out for us. We were to go to law school and join him in his company. Neither one of us was too keen on it, but we knew better than to say anything. We tried to keep our heads down and stay out of his way as much as possible. When Logan went to college and showed some resistance to our father’s plans, his focus turned to me—he was going to make sure I didn’t stray.”

  I take a deep breath before going on.

  “I applied to several schools where I could take pre-med classes and as the school year rushed into the end, I didn’t get a single letter back. No acceptances or refusals. I was getting worried. My grades were perfect, and I had no idea what was happening. Then I found out my father was intercepting and hiding all the replies I got back from the universities. I confronted him. He showed me an acceptance for pre-law at Harvard, my father’s alma-matter and a school I didn’t apply to. I told him I wouldn’t go into law school and he told me I would. We had a huge fight. It was the first time I ever raised my voice to him. He didn’t take it well. He told me he would never pay for any college other than pre-law at Harvard and until I decided to comply, I wasn’t welcome at home any longer. He kicked me out.”

  “Oh my God! What did your mom do?”

  “She tried to reason with him and with me, but neither of us would listen to her. In the end, I crashed with a friend for a couple of nights, trying to figure out what I would do. I was seventeen, weeks away from graduation. My birthday’s in June and because I was a minor and my parents made too much money, I wasn’t eligible for any kind of student loans. I went home when I was sure neither of them would be there and packed my things. I had no idea where I was going. Mary, our cook, gave me the keys to her apartment, and I stayed with her. My parents had no idea. Still don’t. Mary had always been more of a mom to me and Logan than our own mother. She even offered to loan me her life savings to pay for the first semester of college. I couldn’t take it, of course. I finished high school six weeks later and enlisted in the navy. On my eighteenth birthday.”

  “Did your parents try finding you?”

  “No. They didn’t even show up for my graduation. Only Logan and Mary were there. Mary said Mom wanted to go, but my father forbade her. He was sure I would come home with my tail between my legs and do his bidding. When I was researching a way to pay for college, I stumbled onto a website and found I could train to be a medic with the army or a corpsman with the navy and eventually, once I finished my tours, I could enroll in college. So that was my plan.”

  “You were so young. Your parents didn’t try to stop you?”

  “They had no idea. I didn’t tell them. They never bothered trying to find out where I was. The last time I saw or spoke with either of my parents was the day I left home.”

  “But what about Logan? Didn’t you try to talk to him?”

  “I didn’t tell Logan either. Not until I was already enlisted, and it was too late for him to do anything about it. He was furious with me for not reaching out to him. He went back to Connecticut to confront our parents. It was the first time he’d gone back since what happened with his ex.”

  Her hand covers her mouth and I tug it back down, lacing my fingers with hers.

  “But why? Why didn’t you tell Logan what happened? Didn’t you have anyone else you could reach out to?”

  “I was young, stupid, and angry at the world. Not a good combination. I could have gone to Logan. Or my grandmother. I know, either one of them would have helped. Would have loaned me the money for school, but I needed to do it on my own. I needed to prove to my father I was not dependent on anyone.”

  Understanding flashes in her eyes.

  “Fast forward a year and I’m a corpsman with the marines on my first tour in Afghanistan. Dr. Foster, Hannah, was the head medic and took me under her wing. She had a daughter not much younger than me and I think somehow, I filled the void from not having her daughter with her. I learned a lot from her and we watched each other’s backs. On my second tour, we worked together again with an entirely new platoon. There was this one soldier who came to the medic barracks for help. He was high on something. We have to report everything, but we especially have to report anything that could put the lives of other marines at risk. His friends tried to pressure me into lying. I didn’t. The next night, I was staying overnight at the medical unit so I could keep an eye on the guy who nearly O.D.’d. It was late, maybe two or three in the morning, and I was sleeping. There were five of them. I tried to fight back, but they overpowered me. One of them shoved a T-shirt in my mouth and put duct tape over it so I couldn’t scream. They carried me into the dunes, under the cover of darkness, and started to taunt me. They said I had to learn a lesson in loyalty and how not to turn my peers in. They tied my hands behind my back. In the beginning, it was just shoving and pushing. Then the punches started. They made sure not to hit me in the face or any place marks would show. They told me if I talked, they’d come back and kill me. It would be easy. Friendly fire in the chaos of battle. It would come, I’d just never know when. I tried to fight back and the more I kicked at them or shoved back, the angrier one of them got. He said the beating was not breaking me down. He said there’s a sure way to break a man and I would soon learn how.”

  I let go of River’s hand and fist my own. The rage and fear come back to me. I breathe through it, willing the anger away before I speak again.

  “This one guy told the others to hold me down. Then he told me he was going to rape me. It would be my punishment for not keeping my mouth shut. Two of the marines holding me tried to talk him out of it. He threatened them as well. They shut up and held me down. I fought them even harder, but they were marines. They had the same training I did. One of them put me on a headlock—while the others held me still—applying just enough pressure so I wouldn’t be able to fight but not pass out either.”

  New tears pool in River’s eyes, and she’s shaking.

  “Hannah saved me. She came to the barracks to check on me and she heard sounds coming from the dunes. She saw the lights from their flashlights and followed it. She walked up to them and pointed her rifle directly at the head of their ringleader.”

  “They didn’t . . .” she whispers.

  “They didn’t. Hannah stopped them before they could do anything. She stopped them just in time. Two days later all five of them had been transferred to different units. I don’t know how or what happened to them. Hannah never said a word about it to me, but I have a strong suspicion she was behind their transfer. We never talked about it or what happened. I owe her my life. Three times over.”

  “Three times? What do you mean?”

  “On our last tour, we were working at a village together. It was a show of goodwill toward the villagers. We vaccinated kids, treated the elderly, pregnant women, and anyone who needed help. At the end of the day we were packing and about ready to leave when the first shot broke the quiet. Everybody ran for cover, hiding behind trucks and walls. I ducked behind our medic truck and Hannah was across the road. She ran and hid behind a crumbling wall. It was barely big enough to give her cover. It wasn’t safe. Nowhere was.” I have to stop and take in a few breaths before I allow the barrage of images flooding my mind to come forth.

  “Training kicked in and our group assessed the situation from whatever position they were in. We located three shooters on top of a building fifty or so yards away from us. Hannah was in a bad spot and she knew it. We decided to lay down cov
er fire so she could move to a safer spot. The team started to shoot at them, but when Hannah tried to run across the road, the first bullet hit her.”

  River gasps at this and reaches out to me, her hand finds mine, our fingers lace and I draw strength from her touch.

  “There was a fourth shooter, hiding behind us—we didn’t see him. We were trapped between them. I ran to her and trying to shield her, to get to her before any more shots came. The truck I had been hiding behind exploded. It’d been hit by a grenade. That was the second time Hannah saved me. If I hadn’t run to help her, I would’ve blown up with that truck. I got to her just as the truck exploded and another bullet hit her. I caught her before she hit the ground, but I knew it was too late. As I held her in my arms, her body shielded me from the explosion and took most of the impact, most of the shrapnel. That’s how she saved me a third time. We both fell to the ground. I rolled her under me. I refused to believe she was dead. A secondary explosion knocked me unconscious but not before I felt the impact of hot metal hit my back and side.”

  River’s face is washed in tears now. My own vision blurs, my voice trembles.

  “When I came to, two of my men were dragging me into a building. I was still holding onto Hannah. The rest of it is fuzzy. I was in and out of consciousness. A backup team arrived soon after. They caught the shooters. All of them. Hannah and I were airlifted to base. The only next-of-kin I had listed in my records was Mary. She was the one they contacted. Mary knew the last thing I wanted was for my parents or Logan to know what happened to me and she kept my secret. I know it cost her, but she did it because I asked her to before I left—if anything happened to me, I didn’t want my parents to know—and she promised me she would keep her word. Mary was the only one I communicated with regularly. I called Logan every so often—he sent me a lot of text messages, but I never responded. I think Mary kept him informed too, but she didn’t say anything to anyone about me being hurt. She kept her promise.”