Bullets & Bonfires Page 8

  The last traces of anger evaporate and he reaches over to touch me, but it’s too late. “Bree, baby, I don’t—”

  No. No. No. Pity shines in his eyes and I can’t take it. Flinging off my seatbelt, I throw the door open, ready to run into the darkness rather than hear another word.

  “Bree, don’t you dare!” He lunges across the seat, almost grabbing my arm, but I slip free and jump out of the truck.

  Staring up at him, I spit out words that aren’t fair. “You’re only here out of obligation to Vince. So don’t act like my big protector, swooping in to save me. I saved myself. I don’t need you taking care of me. I don’t need Vince. I don’t need anyone!” Done with my idiotic rant, I slam the door shut and stalk down the shoulder of the road.

  We’re miles from Vince’s house, so maybe jumping out of the truck wasn’t the best idea. But I’m committed now, dammit. All my thoughts race through my head at an alarming rate. Home. Pack. Leave. Or maybe just lock Liam out.

  As if that would ever work.

  Tears blur my vision and I stumble over the uneven ground.

  Liam’s heavy footsteps snap over the gravel behind me.

  Oh, hell no. I don’t waste time looking over my shoulder. I break into a flat-out run and pray I don’t trip.

  But goddamn Liam and his long, muscular legs that catch up to me in no time. He hooks his arms around my waist, lifting me off the ground and slamming my back against his chest. Wild and furious, I kick and struggle to get free.

  “Let me go!”

  “No.” He buries his face in my hair, his lips briefly skimming my ear. “Shh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, Bree. I’m sorry.”

  The raw agony and regret in his voice squelches my fury, and my body sags against him. Liam holds me a few more seconds before loosening his grip and setting me down.

  Spinning, I fling my arms around him, crying into his shirt. He wraps me up in his embrace and runs his hands over my hair and down my back. “It’s not your fault, Bree.” He keeps holding me and speaking sweet, soothing words in my ear.

  All the fury, all the fight, melts from my body as he holds me, rocking me from side to side there on the shoulder of the road.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  What the fuck did I do?

  I hadn’t realized how riled I was until Bree started firing off question after question about my love life.

  Mentioning Meredith only made it worse.

  A ball of dread landed in the pit of my stomach earlier, when Bree casually told my parents about starting graduate school at the end of August. I can’t stand her leaving again, even though I know I have to let her go.

  Then there’s the shit Chad said about Bree always coming back to him. Haven’t stopped thinking about that either. Yeah, I’ll admit, the fucker hit a nerve there and I hate myself for entertaining the thought. Bree’s strong. She’s a survivor. She’s not going back to him. I shouldn’t doubt her.

  Ultimately, I’m furious because I can’t express how I feel about her. Not now.

  Slowly other sounds of the night filter in over the blood pounding through my ears and Bree’s soft sobs. Her arms tighten around my waist and her cheek rests over my heart. My hand moves in circles over her back, her silky hair tickling my fingers. Eventually her body stops shaking and her tears subside.

  A car slows behind us and comes to a stop. A short sharp blast of the horn makes me groan.

  “Everything all right?” a man calls out.

  I turn, my movement stiff because Brianna clings to me even harder, hiding her face from the good Samaritan who I recognize as one of my dad’s bowling buddies. Before I can answer, he asks, “What’re you doing out here, Hollister?”

  “Hey, Henry. Nothing. We’re fine. Thanks for stopping and checking.”

  He stares at us a few minutes longer. “All right. See ya later.”

  Once he’s gone, Bree lifts her head. “I’m sorry. I’m sure this will get back to your parents now.”

  “I don’t care about that. I care about you.”

  “I know you do. I shouldn’t have…I didn’t mean it.”

  “I know, baby girl.”

  After a few more minutes, I take her hand and walk her back to the truck.

  The silence is awkward at first. We’ve never fought before. I’ve never been angry with Bree in my life. How could I be?

  This has bothered me for so long and now seems like the right time to apologize. “That night, Bree. I’m so sorry I didn’t stand up for us.”

  She doesn’t ask which night I’m referring to. “Vince is your best friend. Of course you’d take his side.” She lets out a dry laugh. “You were just humoring me anyway.”

  I slide my hand over her leg and gently squeeze. “I wasn’t humoring you.”

  “You gave me my first real kiss that night, so thank you.”

  “That was your first kiss? How is that possible?”

  “I don’t know. You and Vince scared any guy who looked at me away.”

  “You had a boyfriend for a while there. Robbie Whats-his-face.”

  “Robbie Norton? He gave me a kiss on the cheek once. It was awkward as hell and he smelled like onions.”

  It’s time I tell her the truth. “I broke up with Meredith before your graduation because all I thought about was you and I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

  She sucks in a sharp breath. “What? No you didn’t.”

  “Yes, I did. I wanted to talk to your brother first. But then you so sweetly ambushed me outside.”

  “Ugh. Don’t remind me. That was so embarrassing.”

  I pull into Vince’s driveway and shut off the engine. “Why? I loved every minute, until your brother ruined it.”

  She whips her head around and nails me with a hard stare. “What a load of shit. You did nothing. You went home. Didn’t call me. Didn’t even say goodbye.”

  My blood boils at her words. She’s partially right. “Well, you got even, didn’t you? You left for college early and never looked back.”

  She returns to staring out the window. “I didn’t see the point in sticking around all summer and having you ignore me. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “The next I knew you were hooked up with Chad. You seemed happy. I didn’t want to mess with that.” I drop my gaze to my fists resting in my lap. “I really wish I had, though.”

  “Don’t take this on, Liam. It’s not your fault. I’m responsible for my own mistakes.” She jerks her door open and jumps down, racing over the lawn to the front door. Part of me wants to go home, but I can’t stand the thought of leaving her alone.

  “Hey,” I call out when I enter the house and find her in the living room. “Are we all right?”

  Her wide eyes stare at me for a few seconds. “Why are you still here?”

  Now, more than ever, I can’t leave her. Not after the fight we just had. The things we said to each other. Even if she won’t speak to me for the rest of the night, I don’t want her all alone. “Vince asked me to look after you until he comes home.” It’s a weak answer and doesn’t come close to the full truth.

  Her jaw tightens. “Right.” She glances down at the couch. “Do you need blankets to make this up?”

  The meaning is clear. “Sure. I’ll sleep out here tonight.”

  “I think that’s for the best.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  As if last night’s argument with Liam didn’t leave enough emotional scars, this morning I’m supposed to meet with a therapist. I hurry and dress, eager to leave the house before Liam wakes up.

  Am I really doing this?

  “Where are you going?” Liam’s gruff words from somewhere in the vicinity of the couch stop me in my tracks.

  Shadows surround him, but I can still make out his wide, male form as he sits up, shoving blankets to the foot of the couch.

  Even though I helped him fix the temporary bed last night, part of me is surprised he’s still here. I’d certainly been a big enough bitch to him.


  All night I thought about the implications of the things he admitted to me on the way home.

  “Bree?”

  The muscles of my throat work hard to swallow, but I can’t.

  Oh, good God.

  Liam. Shirtless.

  I’m itching to flip on the overhead light so I can take a better look.

  “Bree, where are you going?” he asks in a sterner voice.

  I don’t like answering to anyone. Not even Liam. No, especially Liam.

  “Out.”

  He blows out an irritated breath. “The purse. The keys. I get that. Where are you going?”

  My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as I watch him stand up.

  “Bree?” he prompts again. A little softer this time.

  I’m still embarrassed to tell him about the therapist Maggie referred me to.

  Straightening my spine, I lift my chin. “If you must know, I have an appointment with a therapist.”

  His shoulders drop and he seems to relax. “Do you want me to go with you?” he asks gently.

  Hell no. I can’t think of anything I want less.

  What a contradiction too. Being with Liam makes me feel safer than I have in a long time. But having him drive me to therapy like I’m a child? Nope. Not happening.

  “No. I’ll be fine. The first session is one on one and then there’s a support group I might stick around for.” It’s not easy to tear my gaze away from his beautiful bare chest.

  “That’s great. Did Maggie suggest it?” he asks.

  “Yes. I guess she works with this therapist and…” My voice trails off as he moves closer, and I struggle not to stare at his boxers, which are ever-so-slightly tented in front.

  I can’t meet his eyes or finish my sentence and after a second I think he realizes why. It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but a slight flush seems to stain his cheeks.

  “I’ll be right back. Don’t leave yet.”

  God, why can’t I pretend none of this ever happened? Why in a moment of extreme pain and loneliness did I cave to my brother’s demand that I come home? And why did he have to call Liam to come babysit me?

  Logically, I know I have to talk to someone. I’m tired of the fear that cripples me every time I hear a floorboard creak or an unfamiliar car drives by.

  The only time I can relax is around Liam.

  Unacceptable.

  I’m working so hard to be more independent. I can’t throw that away to wind up needing a man to feel safe.

  So therapy it is.

  Worse, safe isn’t the only thing he makes me feel. For a moment last night, I thought he might admit real feelings for me.

  He steps out of the bathroom, pulling a shirt over his head, giving me one last glimpse of abs and skin.

  Sigh.

  Sharing space with him has me so tied up in knots, I’ll never unwind. But he’s made it clear he’s not interested in me as anything other than a friend. Maybe not even that after I’d been such an ungrateful brat.

  “You’re sure you don’t want a ride?” he asks from a few feet away.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Having him take me to my therapist? No. That’s a cherry I don’t need topping off the shit-sundae my life has turned into.

  The small waiting room looks nothing like I expected.

  Diana Ford, LCSW, keeps a homey office with over-stuffed armchairs and a fireplace that give the place a living room feel. Anxious, I pick up a magazine and flip through it. I can’t concentrate on any of the pages, but at least it keeps my fingers busy.

  “Brianna?” A soft, feminine voice jolts me from the magazine.

  “Yes.” Should I stand or stay put?

  “Diana Ford.” She holds out her hand and we shake. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. Follow me.”

  With an extended arm, she directs me to the largest office at the end of the hall. There’s a desk in the corner with neat stacks of folders and charts, but she takes a seat in one of the comfy chairs and indicates I should do the same.

  Deciding between the loveseat or a chair feels like a test I’m not in the mood for. Finally, I pick a chair covered with decorative pillows and sink into it, clutching one of the fringed cushions to my lap.

  “Ms. Ford—”

  “Please, you can call me Diana.”

  “I’m really nervous.”

  Sympathy shines in the woman’s eyes, and I think I already like her. I sink farther into the chair while my fingers tug at the lose edges of the pillow clutched to my chest.

  “That’s completely normal. Why don’t I tell you what I want to accomplish today, so there are no surprises. Then you can give me your thoughts.”

  Not what I expected. “Okay.”

  “First, I want to do a general risk assessment. Then I’d like a little more detail and we can go from there.”

  I nod. Okay, no different than some of my coursework where I’d drafted these types of questions. Dry air ghosts over my lips, distracting me. Shifting, I pull out a tube of lip balm and smooth some on.

  “Do you want some water?” Diana asks.

  “No. I just want to get started.”

  She gives me a slight nod and picks up a folder full of forms. “On the phone you indicated that you just separated from your boyfriend?”

  “Chad. Yes.” I can’t stand having him referred to as my boyfriend.

  “What prompted the separation?”

  I take a deep breath and meet her gaze. My bruises are still visible. I didn’t bother wearing makeup today. “He’s very controlling. I had a light bulb moment at the end of the semester that I needed to get out.”

  “And?” she prompts.

  “I packed up my stuff first. I planned to leave him a note and take off, because I knew he’d lose his shit. But he came home early. Flipped out when he saw the boxes. He went after me…” Good God, how many times am I going to have to tell this story? “Thankfully our neighbors heard and I guess someone called the police. I blacked out during the…and I woke up in the hospital.”

  Diana doesn’t blink. “This wasn’t the first time, then?”

  “No.”

  “Was it the first time you had to go to the hospital?”

  The muscles in my throat constrict. “Once,” I whisper. After a few heartbeats, I find my voice and continue. “When we were first dating, he smashed my hand in the car door after he saw me talking to a male friend on campus. He swore it was an accident, and at the time I believed him.”

  “It could have been an accident. Did you see a doctor?”

  “Yes. The ring and pinky fingers on my right hand were broken.” Wiggling the fingers brings on the faint, familiar ache. “I had to be creative that semester.”

  “When was the next time he hurt you?”

  “The night we moved into our apartment. My brother helped us move in and he expressed some disapproval. After he left, Chad and I got into a fight. I thought we resolved it, but later he wanted to have sex. I was exhausted and he got pissed. He slapped my face, but claimed it was an accident in his sleep.”

  “Lot of accidents?”

  I let out a snort. “No. That was the last one. Every time after that was deliberate. I used to think that he finally had me where he wanted me, locked into a lease, all my stuff in that apartment, financially dependent on him, my family an hour away so I couldn’t easily leave him.”

  “Are your parents supportive?”

  “They’re both dead.”

  My bluntness leaves Diana staring at me for a second. She recovers quickly, though.

  “So just your brother? And you said he didn’t get along with Chad?”

  “Not so much.”

  My brother called him a pretty boy. Not to Chad’s face, but on the phone with me. So are you and pretty boy coming home for Christmas?

  The answer, of course, was always not this year, because Chad expected me to spend Christmas with his family. He and his well-mannered family reeked of money. For a girl who’d grown
up in a run-down house and frequently wore her brother’s hand-me-downs, Chad impressed me. He seemed safe.

  “What about friends?”

  “They think he’s wonderful. He comes from a wealthy, well-respected family. He’s exceptional at playing the loving boyfriend. But over time, he tried to restrict my contact with my closest friends.”

  “Did he succeed?”

  “In some ways, yes.” Eventually they got tired of my excuses and stopped inviting me places. “I found ways around his restrictions until it got too complicated.”

  Diana nods knowingly. “You’re a very strong-willed woman.”

  I swear there’s a touch of admiration in the woman’s voice. My vision blurs with unshed tears. “I don’t feel very strong.”

  “Well, you’re away from him. You’re here. It takes strength to do both.”

  When I don’t answer, she continues her questions.

  “Is there a current Order of Protection?”

  “Yes. He’s still in jail too.”

  Diana raises an eyebrow. “That’s excellent. Has bail been set?”

  “No. The judge took one look at my face and heard the threats Chad made to me after his arrest and said no.”

  “Is there a chance that could change?”

  I lift my shoulders in a casual shrug, but inside my heart’s pounding. “His parents were mortified. It was in the papers, so I think they’re trying to distance themselves.”

  She seems to be going through a standard checklist of questions. Oddly, that seems to relax me. “Have they contacted you?”

  “No. Well, just his brother. He’s been relentless.”

  “Have you reported it to the police?”

  Does Liam count? “Not yet.”

  “Where are you staying now?”

  “At my brother’s house.”

  “Good. You should be with family. Is he supportive?”