“It’s okay, really.” I smile. The soft patter of rain and the zooming of other vehicles fill the silence between us as we both look at the bonnet, hiding the culprit of this situation.
“I’ll go out and look.” Liam reaches for the door handle.
“It’s raining.” I gesture to the windows, the road to our side a greyscale mess of weather and cars flying past. “You don't have to do that.”
“You got any better ideas?”
Breath flees my chest as I stare at his lips. I can think of a few things I wouldn't mind doing with him in a parked car on the side of the road.
Liam seems to read my mind. His cheeks pinken and he turns away, opening the door and muttering something about a cold shower as he steps out into the elements and away from me.
As he raises the bonnet and looks inside at God knows what, I undo my seatbelt, then pull out my phone and check it for new messages.
Mum: So how’s the date going?
Mum: No, don’t answer that. You’re probably in the middle of some amazing date moment right now.
Mum: But if you get a break between amazing date moments and want to update your mother, that’s fine too.
I grin, and begin to type. While I have told Mum I’m on a date tonight, I haven’t told her who with. I thought I’d wait and see how the night went before confessing that piece of information.
Quinn: Date off to a slow start. His car broke down, so we’re stuck just outside of the Emerald Cove exit on the freeway.
...
Mum: Want me to come chauffeur you two lovebirds?
Quinn: NO!!!!!!!
“Everything okay in here?” The roar of a B-double flying past accompanies Liam’s words as he opens the car door. Rain sticks his hair to his forehead, his cheeks, and I have this irrepressible urge to run my fingers through it.
I reach out over the centre console and push my hands along the side of his face, then further back. His curls mat around my fingers, the hair soft where the rain hasn’t dampened it. I close my eyes and twist my fingers deeper, loving the way this feels. Loving everything about this moment. There’s something so intimate about it, so very revealing that—
God, what am I doing?
I’m touching Liam’s hair.
My eyes snap open. I freeze, studying his face for any tell as to how he feels about the weirdo mauling his locks out of the blue.
All I see are golden-brown eyes staring back at me, hooded lids and half-parted pink lips.
“Don’t stop.” His voice sounds as if it’s being strangled.
My shoulders drop, my hands untensing, and I resume my exploration of Liam’s head. There’s something so intimate about touching someone else’s hair like this—something like giving in, like sharing a secret no one else knows. I run circles over his scalp and he closes his eyes, his head nuzzling the palm of my hand in a silent plea for more.
The traffic, the rain outside—they all fall away in this moment that’s got nothing to do with the internships or my brother, and everything to do with us.
Liam’s eyes blink open and he parts his lips, staring straight through me. “Quinn ...”
“Yes?” I breathe, my hands slowing to a stop.
“I—”
A truck veers dangerously close to the car. A wave the height of the Corolla’s roof rises up and over Liam, splashing past the silhouette of his body and into the car.
I jerk back. Water covers my wrists, my hands, and I rub them together to try and stay warm.
But I’ve been doused nowhere near as badly as Liam. When before he was wet, now he is drowned, his clothing slick to his body, revealing muscles he’d hidden so well under that loose T-shirt. I stare at the sculpted figure in front of me. Between working at the coffee shop and pursuing his photography career, he must spend some serious hours at the gym.
“Are you okay?” he asks. I have no idea if he’s sincere or not because holy abs, Batman, I can’t tear my gaze away.
“I ...” I point a shaking finger at his chest. “Do you work out?”
Ah.
There we have it.
I knew my next idiotic line couldn't be too far away.
But instead of making me feel like some sort of an escapee from a boy-crazy Bieber concert, he laughs, a big, hearty, kind laugh that warms me more than rubbing my hands together ever could.
And instead of wanting to bury my head in the dirt that lines the highway, I laugh along with him. Because somehow, I’ve found a piece of my past that makes my present feel okay.
Better than okay.
Like maybe it was worth waiting for after all.
Chapter Twelve
Walking along the side of a busy road in the rain shouldn’t be part of a recipe for a perfect date. It should be the kind of horror story you read about in teen magazines, under the What Went Wrong Q&A session run by Doctor Love.
Now, though? Right now, it’s something magical. And I don’t question it for a second.
“So Shantel let that guy see your boobs?” Liam gives my hand a squeeze. “What a bitch.”
“I know.” I shake my head, and silvery droplets blur my vision. The rain dances softly around us like a tiny ballerina, little footfalls of beauty.
“She’s clearly jealous of you.”
“Ha! No one’s ever been jealous of me in my life.” I don’t touch the side of my mouth, but it’s only because my hand is so tight in Liam’s grip that I feel I’d need a key to get it out.
Liam stops walking, turning to face me. Those stunning eyes capture my heart. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
“There’s no point beating around the bush.” I gesture to my face. “Look at me. I’m disfigured. Scarred.”
Slowly, carefully, he raises his hand. His finger moves to trace a line over the puckered skin that pulls the side of my lips up and I flinch.
“Please?” His hand stills in its ascent.
I study the fingers so close to my face. The rounded tips glisten with drops of rain turned silver thanks to the sunset breaking through the clouds on the horizon. For so long I’ve wanted those fingers to touch me.
But not like this.
Never like this.
I step back, my hand over the side of my mouth. “This scar is more than just a physical reminder of everything that went wrong in my life. It branded me as an outcast when I went to university. No one ever wanted to talk to the girl with the banged up face.”
“Hey.” Liam frowns. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”
I shake my head as if it’s nothing, but the pain still lingers just under the surface. “It’s true. I used to spend my lunchtimes writing—” I stop myself short. It’s bad enough I send emails to my dead brother that he’ll never be able to read; I don’t need to share this information with Liam, too. “I used to spend my lunchtimes writing and studying. I never really managed to make any friends. That’s why I know I could never just slot in somewhere as glamourous as Lola magazine. It’s everything.”
“Everything?” Liam snorts. “I’ve never met a problem a fashion magazine could fix.”
“You’re a guy. You just don’t get it.” I roll my eyes. “You don’t get that this scar is a big deal to me.”
A car beeps as it speeds by, a polite “watch where you’re going”. Liam’s eyes stay trained on my face, on this ugly reminder of our shared history. Of Braden.
I turn and keep walking toward the highway exit sign. “We’re nearly there. Let’s just keep moving so we can get out of this.” I flail my hand around, indicating the clouds still leaking their heartache all over us.
“I’m not going to tell you that your scar is tiny, or that no one will ever notice it, because I know you know that’s not true.”
His words are like a blunt hammer hitting the nail into a wound that delves deeper than my skin. Still, I stop. Liam’s always been able to do that to me.
“What I will tell you is this: To me, it’s everything, and it’s nothing, Quinn.”
I pivot on my foot to face him, my heel sinking into the mud. “What does that even mean?”
“Your scar is nothing. It’s nothing on your beautiful face.” His face tightens with fierce determination. “And your scar is everything. It’s proof of how much you loved your brother. How close the two of you were.”
“If I hadn’t asked him to leave—”
“He would have found some other reason to be driving that car late at night. Don’t you see that?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I shake my head. “I’ve felt guilty for three long years, three lonely years, without anyone to turn to for advice. That night ... I’d had a crush on you for ages. I finally worked up the courage to kiss you, you didn’t kiss me back—”
“You didn't give me a chance!” He raises his voice.
“And I ran. I needed to get out of there. If I hadn’t been such an idiot, misread your signals so badly, I wouldn’t have asked Braden to drive me home. He might still be here today.”
“You can’t live in the past like that!” Thunder claps in punctuation to the urgency of Liam’s voice.
I point to the side of my lip. “And you can’t say that this doesn’t define me—that it doesn't mark me as someone who made a terrible mistake, someone who isn’t good enough for a job in magazines or a boy with beautiful eyes and hair that sunlight dances in!”
Firm hands grip my waist, jerking my body toward his. Hot lips press against my mouth, begging for entrance, seeking something more. Liam tangles his hand in my wet hair, jerking it back so my neck is exposed. He works his way down my throat in a series of kisses that aren’t sweet, aren’t romantic, but pure need, as if I’m his oxygen and he’s drowning in the sea of rain that bleeds from the clouds above.
He draws back, chest heaving, his eyes dark. “Do you really believe you’re not good enough for that?”
“I ...”
“Do you think I could kiss you like that if I didn’t want you with everything inside me? If I didn't dream about you when I went to sleep? If I didn’t often think back to that night and wonder why I took so goddamn long to get a clue and how if I had just kissed you back like I so desperately wanted to, instead of being scared that your brother would beat me to a pulp, that things would be different?”
“You can’t blame yourself—”
“And you can’t do it, either!” Liam runs his hands through his hair, turning to face the sky. “Fuck!”
“Why are you yelling?”
Hooded eyes flash to mine. “Because I care about you, Q. I like you a lot. But if you don’t like yourself enough to believe that, then there’s no point in us trying to be something. There’s no point in us trying to be anything at all.”
His head turns to the ground, his hands dropped to his sides, and in that moment, that long moment, I finally believe. I believe that he cares for me, that he did back then—it’s written in the slump of his shoulders, the turn of his lips. I believe he likes me now, that he doesn’t see my scar as the disfigurement I do—it’s felt in the heat of his kiss, the pull of my hair as he searched for something more.
And more than that, I believe I deserve this. It’s in the facts that run through my head. It’s in the throbbing of need I get when I look at this glorious man.
But most of all, it’s in the beating of my heart.
I haven’t felt it feel like this in such a long time.
Chapter Thirteen
To: [email protected]:32pm 18/07/2017
From: [email protected]
Re: Feelings happening so fast
Dear Braden,
Tonight, I had what Macy assures me is the worst first date in the history of dates, but I can’t stop smiling.
Liam’s car broke down just a few kilometres out of the Emerald Cove exit. We got out of the car to walk to the service station—you know the one, just a few metres off the freeway exit—when we got into a disagreement about my scar, about what happened back then. I’ve always blamed myself for that night—I know you know that—but I never expected that he’d blamed himself, too. For some reason, that thought had never entered my mind.
And even though I can see how it wasn’t his fault, somehow, talking to him about it all eased some of my guilt. It made me feel as if perhaps I do deserve him. As if perhaps I can have a relationship with him after all.
After we talked about that we—well, we kissed. I know. Ew. Your best mate and your sister. But it happened, and you’re going to have to deal with it because I think it might happen again. We’re seeing each other tomorrow—he’s coming around to take some photos for my assignment, and I’m going to tell Mum how I feel about him. Maybe we can forge a relationship over distance. He still lives more than an hour away, but he does have a car—albeit a shitty one. We can make it work.
Of course, it might not eventuate into anything. He might get sick of dating someone who’s so much hard work. The scars in my mind might grow uglier than the scar on my face until I can’t do this anymore.
But for now, I’m taking it as it comes. For the first time in a long time, I’ve started to feel something, Braden. Something deep. Something real.
And I’m really excited about that.
Love,
Quinn xx
***
“Liam! What a lovely surprise.”
I might live in a studio several metres from the main house, but Mum’s voice carries straight to me, as if hot-wired to my heart. My spine straightens. I glance at the clock. 10:58. He’s here already?
I close my book and stow it safely in the top drawer of my desk. A quick glance in the tall mirror next to the cupboard—jeans fly done up, hair pulled back, shirt with no obvious stains—and most of all, a face free of make-up. For the first time in almost four years, my scar is on display for all to see. I know Liam will be proud of me for this. After slicking some clear gloss over my lips, I slip into my ballet flats and slide open the door, then pad across the grass to the main house.
“Quinn, Liam’s here. You remember Liam, right?” Mum’s voice is too bright as she pulls two mugs down from the shelf above the stove.
“Can you believe he was in the area and stopped by just to see how I was doing?” Mum flicks the switch on the kettle. “What a sweet gesture.” She turns away for a moment, and I reach out and give her arm a squeeze. Tears glass over her eyes. Seeing my brother’s best friend for the first time in four years is no doubt just as hard for her as it was for me.
“I’m fine.” She gives me a quick smile, then turns to Liam, swiping underneath one eye as she does so. “Sorry, it’s just—you and Braden were so close, and I—”
“Don’t mention it.” Liam shakes his hand as if sweeping away the need for her explanation. “I get it. I’m still so sorry for your loss.”
“Ah, it is what it is. No point getting upset about it now.” She shakes her head and becomes overly animated as she speaks, as if this is a show and she’s the main star, the role—caring mother who has it together. “I can’t believe what a nice young man you’ve turned into. How long it’s been. I mean ...” She pauses, seemingly lost for words, before pasting on a hopeless grin. “You and Braden used to do everything together. You even used to have baths together some nights after school.”
“Mum,” I groan, appalled. My mother has seen the man I like naked. This is not exactly textbook dating.
“What? He was just a little boy.” She pauses and walks back around the bench to gather some teabags, placing one in each mug. “Although there was that one time when you were eighteen, and you and Braden decided to do that nudie run around—”
“I’m so sorry about that, Mrs Hamilton.” Liam’s cheeks flush.
A wistful look crosses Mum’s face, and she gazes out the window. Her reflection is a paler version of her usual self, and I realise that’s what Mum is. Ever since my brother passed, she’s been steady, a rock—just a little softer around the edges. A little quicker to tire. A lot quicker to cry.
“You know, if you ever want to talk about him—about the memories ... Thanks.” Liam takes the mug she offers him with a smile. “I’m only a phone call away. I could even come mow the lawns or whatever. I know it can’t be easy, you two out here on your own.”
“Thanks.” Mum’s face tightens, her lips a firm line. “But I’m used to taking care of things myself.”
She doesn’t say it, but the subtext is clear—Mum doesn’t need a man in order to keep her house together. When Dad left us twenty long years ago, she proved that to the world by taking care of Braden and me. Now, the only thing in this home in need of mending is her heart.
Outside, parrots screech as they dart around the side of the house, flashes of colour against staid red brick. Mum presses her eyes shut, and I wonder if she’s remembering him like I’m remembering him, if he’s in every sip of her tea—black, two sugars—and every bird that flashes by—“I found this Lorikeet injured in the woods. Be back in half an hour—just gonna take him to the vet.”
“So ...” Liam’s voice brings me back to the present, away from the memories always teasing the edges of my consciousness, and I smile.
“So Liam is here, Mum, to take some photos for a project I’m doing at the magazine company.”
“Really? And here I was thinking you were paying an old bird a sympathy visit.” Mum rests her elbows on the bench, her hands clasped around her mug of tea.
“I should have come for that. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m just stirring you up.” Mum nods toward me. “I’d a million times prefer you were here to take photos with my Quinn and—” Her mouth rounds into an O. “It’s him, isn’t it?”
I play innocent. “What’s him?”
“He’s the boy from last night. The one who left you smiling so bright I thought your face might split.”
Could she be a little more subtle? I wince. “Yes.”
Mum’s mug clinks as it hits the bench. “I’m so happy! You two are dating?”
Fast (Not Like the Movies #2) Page 6