Wounded

by Abby Brooks

  “I don’t know.” I shrug. “Because it’s not a lot of money.”

  “The way I see it, that fifteen hundred dollars is the culmination of a lot of hard work and sacrifice on your part,” he says, taking my hands in his and pulling me close.

  “It is,” I whisper.

  “Then why in the world would I laugh at you?” He rubs a thumb over one of my knuckles. “I’m proud of you. At the end of the day, a number is just a number. If you worked your butt off to earn it, it’s worth celebrating.”

  I stare up at him. “You’re nothing like I thought you were.”

  Liam throws his head back and laughs. “Well thank goodness for that,” he says, smiling down at me. “Because you sure hated my guts when we first met.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  “No. I guess I can’t.” He drops a wink and starts towards the house, my hand still wrapped in his. “But I sure am glad you’re changing your mind.”

  BAILEY

  “Have you kissed him again?” Lexi asks over the clangs and bangs that are part of her everyday life as a mom. “Gabe!” she calls out. “Come finish cleaning your room, baby.” There’s a brush of static on the line, probably her hand uncovering the phone. “Sorry,” she says to me.

  “No worries.” I take a seat at the piano and run my fingers along the keys. “And no. I haven’t kissed him again.”

  “Damn, Bay. You are literally zero fun. If you’re going to have the world’s sexiest man living in your house, you might as well go ahead and sleep with him. Especially if the chemistry between you is as hot as it sounds.”

  I rise off the bench and twist open the blinds to let in some light. “There will be zero sleeping with anyone around here, thank you very much.” Movement through the window catches my attention, Liam pacing off the space he wants to use for the patio. “Although I’m not going to lie,” I say, watching him. “The thought has crossed my mind once or twice. Okay, at least twice. I mean, really, probably more than that.”

  Lexi gasps. “I knew it,” she says, a smile in her voice.

  “But that, dear friend, is exactly why I won’t do it. The last few days have been…” I sit back down on the bench and stare at the ceiling, looking for the right words. “It’s just a million tiny moments, you know? And each and every one of them feels special. I can’t do anything, say anything, hell, I can barely move without Liam laughing at me for it.”

  “And he’s still alive?” Lexi sounds genuinely shocked.

  “Yes.” I widen my eyes as I say the word. “He’s still alive.”

  “Because, you know, I’ve seen you rip into someone just because he kinda almost sort of a little bit looked like he might be laughing at you…” Lexi chuckles. “I’m just saying…”

  “I know.” Liam catches my attention again and I bite my thumbnail before continuing. “It’s different with him.”

  “Right.” Lexi draws out the word. “Sure it is.”

  “No, really. He’s not laughing to make fun; he’s laughing because it is fun.”

  But it goes beyond even that. The very sound of his laughter, it’s multi-layered and complex. The rich twining of velvet and whiskey. Of chocolate and amber. It’s beautiful and it reaches down deep inside me and makes me feel … what?

  Alive.

  Real.

  Warm.

  None of those words work. It’s a feeling I can’t remember ever experiencing before. Like a piece of the puzzle that makes up who I am has been slipped into place and everything makes more sense. Except, with gibberish like that running through my head all the time, nothing really makes much sense at all.

  “Bailey Schultz.” Lexi uses her mom voice. “Are you…” She pauses for dramatic effect. “Experiencing feelings for him?”

  “Nope. Zero room for feelings of any kind.”

  “How many times have you thought about kissing him?”

  “Oh, come on now.” I switch ears with the phone. “There’s no harm in me appreciating the kiss. I haven’t exactly had many kisses in the last few years.”

  “How many times, Bay?”

  “What? How many times have I been kissed?” I laugh. “Do you really expect me to keep a running tally?”

  “You know what I mean. Stop stalling. How many times have you thought about making out with Liam McGuire?”

  “Not that many,” I say, even though it’s a total cop-out. That kiss is the first thought I have before falling asleep each night. It follows me through my day. One minute, I’m working, the next I’m staring off into space all starry-eyed with the strangest flip-flopping nerves sparkling in my stomach.

  “Sure. We’ll just go with that.” Lexi pauses to answer a question from Gabe.

  “So,” I say when she’s done. “He showed me his ideas for the patio last night.”

  “No way! He’s really going to do it?”

  “Well, not if he doesn’t get a good grasp on reality.” Outside, Liam takes his shirt off and wipes it across his forehead before tucking one end into his back pocket. I shift on the piano bench so I can get a better view of him.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “We had a very real conversation about my finances yesterday.” Liam shifts and the muscles in his back and arms twitch and flex. I wet my lips, my gaze traveling along the tattoos twisting around his body. I wonder if they mean anything.

  “Bay?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Where’d you go?”

  “Huh?”

  “Liam’s in the room isn’t he?” Lexi laughs like she’s got everything all figured out.

  “He is not.” I tear my eyes off him and start picking my nails. “He’s outside.”

  “Uh-huh. And you can’t see him at all.”

  My eyes bounce to the window and I drag them back down to my fingers. “I can see him,” I admit. “Do his tattoos have any meanings?”

  “No. Way. He’s got his shirt off and you’re sitting in the house on the phone with me?”

  “Priorities,” I say with a smile even as my gaze wanders out the window again. Outside, Liam shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair before turning towards the door to let himself back in the house.

  “Oh shit, Lex. He’s coming back in. I’ve got to go.”

  My best friend laughs. “Priorities. Gotcha.” She says a quick goodbye and ends the call.

  I sit back so he doesn’t catch me staring, put my phone on the bench beside me, and begin playing a melody.

  Liam closes the back door behind him and I hear him pull open the fridge. A few seconds later, he appears in the doorway holding a bottle of stupidly expensive water. “That’s really pretty,” he says, gesturing towards the piano. “What song is that? I don’t recognize it.”

  He takes a swig and I pull my hands off the keys and put them in my lap. “It doesn’t have a name.”

  The truth is, I’ve never played it for anyone. Not Michael. Not Lexi. No one. The melody came to me the winter after Tyler and my parents died, and I’ve spent the last eight years refining it, adding to it. Up until today, it’s been for me, and me alone.

  Liam’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit. Did you write that?”

  “Yeah.” I offer a weak smile. “It’s just something I play for myself.”

  “That’s just tragic because that song deserves to be heard. It’s really beautiful. Like, I’ve heard a lot of music in my life and that song is one of the best I’ve heard.” He gestures at me to scoot over and takes a seat next to me.

  The smell of summer and sunshine came in on his skin and all I can think about is putting my lips to his and breathing it in. His proximity and the intimacy of sharing this song with him do a number on my ability to communicate. So, I nod and stare at my hands before clearing my throat and meeting his eyes.

  Liam puts the lid on his water bottle and sets it on the floor next to the bench. “Play the melody.” He furrows his brow and waits for me to move.

  “I can’t. I mean, I can. It’s
just…” I roll my eyes at my own embarrassment. “I’ve never played it for anyone else.”

  And it’s got all my sorrow and hope and fear, and so many little pieces of me wrapped up in it that I might shatter if he so much as chuckles.

  “That’s silly, Bailey. Play.”

  And, because I agree with him, I do.

  I close my eyes and put my fingers on the keys, the familiar melody pouring out of me. It’s my story and this is the best way for me to share it with him. The pain of losing Tyler, of knowing how long he suffered and that I never noticed how depressed he’d become. The knife twisting in my gut, knowing that my parents are dead because of me. The terror of children’s services coming to take Michael and the desperation of proving I was ready to become his guardian. And the guilt, oh the guilt, to see what he’s become.

  It’s all there for him, moving through the melody, right there for him to see and understand. If only he spoke the language.

  He sways beside me, his shoulder bumping mine from time to time, and then he joins in. Tentatively at first, just a few notes here and there to augment my song, but then he adds a secondary melody coiling through mine. It’s sad and it’s sweet and it reaches into my soul and touches something I thought had died a long time ago.

  I couldn’t open my eyes if I tried. The music is too beautiful. Too honest. Goose bumps shiver across my skin, and my past and future fall away and it’s just the two of us here in the moment. An eternity spent between each note, each breath, each beat of our hearts.

  And then Liam begins to sing. First, he just hums, but then he finds words, beautiful words that express my sorrow. My eyes fly open. Maybe we speak the same language after all. Tears surprise me and I blink them away. I take my hands off the keys and stare.

  “I didn’t know you could really sing.”

  Liam shakes his head. “Wow. And just what do you think I do for a living?”

  “I mean, I’ve heard your music. It’s just so poppy. What you did just now had so much more soul.”

  “I’m more than just a dancing monkey, you know.” Liam smiles, but the look in his eyes is raw and open. Whatever just happened between us, it was powerful stuff indeed. “I write a lot of songs they won’t let me play.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because my brand is just so poppy.” He widens his eyes at me as he parrots back what I just said to him. “And the songs I write really aren’t.”

  “Play one.”

  Liam holds my gaze, his eyes flickering across my face. For a split second, I think he’s going to tell me no, but then he puts his hands to the keys and starts to play. A new set of goose bumps rush across my skin and I sigh, closing my eyes and letting the music move through me. When he sings, I smile, tears burning in my eyes once again. Music does that to me. Well, the right kind of music does that to me. It renders me immobile, roots me in place, makes me feel so much, so deeply, that all I can do is smile and shiver and cry.

  I never thought Liam McGuire, master of pop and tabloid headlines, would ever have the right kind of music in him.

  I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. My hands find their way to the keyboard without my permission and before I really know what’s happening, I start vamping on his song. He sings and it’s gut-wrenching, a song of despair and pain and hope, and I recognize every single piece of it. I hum along, letting my voice, one that has no place being heard next to his, duck in and around his music. The effect is chilling. So hauntingly beautiful that it surprises us both.

  We stop playing and stare at each other. The memory of the music fills the room while a flock of birds takes off from the ground outside the window.

  My gaze drops to his mouth. I want to kiss him but am afraid to move. Afraid that my heart and soul are too close to the surface. That a kiss would fill me and open me and make me admit that Liam is working his way into my life and I like him being here. That I look forward to coming home to him, stretching out on the sofa together, laughing and talking late into the night.

  And then he takes the choice away from me.

  He runs a hand along my cheek, threads his fingers into my hair, and presses his lips to mine. This is no polite kiss. There’s nothing tentative or mannered about it. He devours me, a starving man at a banquet. A soldier preparing for war.

  And I kiss him right back. I pull him in close to me, desperate to fill the holes in my aching heart with all the things that he is. He fists his hand in my hair, pulls back so I’m staring at the ceiling, kisses down my jaw, along my throat and collarbone.

  My eyes roll closed and I steady myself with a hand on the piano, two fingers striking discordant keys. The moment he releases his grip, I search out his mouth with mine. As good as it feels to have his lips on my skin, I want to participate, to reciprocate.

  I bring my hands to his back and revel in the way the corded muscles bunch underneath my palm. He groans as I dig my fingers into his skin, grabs my thigh, guides me onto his lap so that I’m straddling him, my back to the piano. He grabs my waist and pulls me down onto the hard bulge of his cock. I rock my hips, tilting my head back as his mouth travels down my throat and his hands come to my breasts.

  I make a sound I don’t understand—raw, unadulterated. Uncensored. It should unnerve me but it lights me on fire instead. I should stop this. I should get off his lap and walk away because nothing good can come of this. Not when he’s this temporary. Not when he makes me feel this alive.

  But I’m way past caring about shoulds and coulds. I fell in over my head the last time he kissed me and have been treading water ever since, just waiting for this moment. I want this. I need this. He is fire and I’ve been cold all of my life.

  His hands slip under my shirt, slide along my ribcage, scorching my skin. I moan again and Liam rocks his hips up into mine. “Yes,” I whisper. “I want it. God, I want it.”

  He pulls my shirt over my head and unhooks my bra, worships my breasts with his teeth and tongue, while I reach between us and struggle with the button on his shorts. Without a word, Liam slides his hand under my ass, lifts me up and sits me on the piano, a dissonant chord filling the room. I brace my feet on the bench and lift my hips while he slides off my shorts and panties. Another jarring set of notes clang from the piano when I lower myself again.

  “Are you sure?” Liam pauses, his hands on his zipper.

  I nod, chest heaving. “I need you.”

  A few seconds of fumbling with clothing and he’s inside me, so deep it hurts. I wrap my legs around him and pull him in even further. I cry out at the peak of each of his thrusts, my voice keeping time with random notes from the piano. I cling to him, wrap my arms around him, and bury my face in his shoulder. I breathe in the sunshine that still clings to his skin and nip and suck at his earlobe and neck.

  He moves with confidence, driving into me, chasing after whatever it is we discovered in each other today, and I spiral further and further from myself. He fucks me against my piano, a warrior, a Viking, and I come harder than I ever knew was possible, screaming his name, my head falling back so that my hair tickles the skin at my waist. As I clench around him, unaware of anything but him and me and our music filling this old house, he growls and grits his teeth, lifting my face so I can meet his gaze when he comes with a shudder and a groan.

  I’ll never forget the look in his eyes. Whatever happens between us from this point forward, whether he stays or goes, whether he builds me a patio or that just fades into a funny story about my past, this moment will be with me for the rest of my life. We’re connected now, the two of us. Maybe we always have been, twin souls living separate lives, just waiting to finally come together. The look in his eyes is changing me. Unlocking some part of me that’s been lost.

  I don’t know whether I should laugh or cry.

  I choose both.

  LIAM

  Bailey smiles at me, tears brimming in her eyes. “Well, that happened.”

  I want to kiss away the tears but I don’t. It seems to
o personal.

  “It sure did.” I’m still buried inside her, one knee on the piano bench, one foot on the floor. This would normally be my cue to gather my clothes and make a hasty exit, but not only do I not have anywhere to go, I don’t exactly feel like leaving either.

  “Come on,” she says after I help her off the piano. “Let’s go get cleaned up.”

  She leads me into the bathroom and the weight of what we’ve just done hits me. “Uhh. We didn’t use a condom.” I always use a condom. Always. The fact that I didn’t think of it until just now should scare me to death, but it doesn’t. Instead of worrying about pregnancy and disease, I’m turned on as fuck realizing that I just came inside her. Somehow, that makes her feel like mine.

  Bailey looks up at me through her eyelashes as she flips on the bathroom light. “I’m on the pill. And I’m clean.” She seems just as unsure how to process what just happened as I am.

  “I am, too. Clean. Not on the pill.” I wink at her and she giggles.

  “You know what?” Her eyes wander down my chest and settle on my growing dick.

  “What?”

  “I think I need a shower.” She looks up at me, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “And I think I want you to join me.”

  The water runs cold before we’re done and we finally emerge from the shower, limp and lazy and totally satisfied with each other. While she takes a few minutes to dry her hair, the haphazard melody her poor, tortured piano sang for us while I fucked her against the keys plays through my mind. The ugly notes change shape until they’re beautiful and I hum along, pruning the melody while I get dressed, shaping it into something worthy of whatever it was that just happened between us.

  Bailey’s still messing around in the bathroom. So, still humming the blossoming little tune, I step outside to study the space that should be one hell of a patio instead of a bare expanse of brittle grass. I totally understand why she wants to pay for the thing herself, even if I do wish she would let me put some of my own money into it. But the very fact that she won’t let me proves how different she is from everyone else in my life. Bailey doesn’t want me for the things I can do for her. She just wants me for me. I’d be one hell of a hypocrite if I started getting mad at her for the one thing that makes her so unique. No one stands up to me. No one except Bailey Schultz, the little nurse with the big attitude.