“Get your hands off her.” My tone low with threat.
The guy jumps and twists. When he sees me, his hand drops from Emma but comes up in surrender. “Whoa! Sorry man, didn’t know she was yours.”
“Mine?” I raise an eyebrow. “She’s not a possession. Next time you touch a woman, you better make sure she wants it.”
“Hey, that’s not what this is.” His hands cross over his chest. Little man, you are out of your league. You wouldn’t last a second if you thought to take a swing.
“No? From where I was standing, she was uncomfortable, and you must have some serious deficiencies if you couldn’t figure it out on your own being so close.”
“No need to get on my ass, man. If you’re some concerned citizen, you can go. I wasn’t hurting you, was I, sweetheart?” He looks at Emma, but I don’t give her a chance to answer.
“She’s my wife,” I growl it, and the guy focuses on me again.
He must see something in my face because he backs away without another word. I only tear my eyes away from his retreat when he gets out of the pool. That’s when I look down and see the goofiest smile on Emma’s face, and before I know it, my anger is seeping from me, and I’m smiling back. This woman, she’s something else.
“Wow. I didn’t see that whole macho act coming. After that, I’ll be surprised if the pool is sanitary.”
“Shut-up.” I chuckle as I sink into the pool and grab her waist. She comes willingly into my arms with a laugh and wraps her legs around me. In that instance I forget we're surrounded by people and perfect targets.
She takes my face in her hands and gives me a quick kiss on the lips. “Thanks,” she says before her hands drop back to my shoulders. “Food?”
“Yes,” I say. Now that everything is coming back into focus, I need to leave. Keeping her in my embrace, I walk towards the stairs and don’t let go, even with her giggles and whispers about people watching. As if I could ignore it. Only when we get back to the corner, and the towels, do I let her slide down my body.
Since Subway closed after the first night, the next morning it was apparent the hotel didn’t have the staff on site to continue providing us meals. So, Emma suggested along with the hotel staff, a few volunteering guests help prepare each meal on a rotating shift. It took some convincing the manager, but he didn’t have much of a choice.
Emma and I discovered after she volunteered us as temp cooks the first night that we move seamlessly in the kitchen, and it is no different this time. She grabs the bread and sets them on the plates as I get the meat, cheese, lettuce, and condiments. Hip checking the refrigerator door, I set them between us. She put the mayo on mine and the mustard on hers before I even slap the meat and cheese on. It is always her that finishes with lettuce and closes with the other slice of bread. With a knife, I slice mine into halves and hers into triangles.
Then, we start preparing sandwiches for the others. Emma labels the type on a ripped piece of paper in front of each towering plate. People are already trickling in to grab what they like from the plates.
The process of making sandwiches might seem insignificant to someone watching, but sharing space and function with me means more than what meets the eye. I haven’t found anything close to this in my life, and I don't know how I am going to give it up. After her brother's wedding, and then after I go home. Home. ---
“Shit.” I breathe.
“What?” Emma asks as we walk back to our room.
“My phone died sometime after the first night, and I forgot to pack the charger.”
“Okay? Do you need to get a hold of someone? You can use my phone.”
“I don’t know the number off the top of my head.”
“What kind of phone do you have?”
I glance down at her. “A Samsung.”
She rolls her eyes. “Which model? They came out with a new one, and the charger is different. If it's before the S8, my charger should work.”
“I’m in luck then.”
Emma is finishing up her sandwich on the couch when I go to plug in my phone. Once it powers on, a flood of notifications bombards it. Ignoring social media, email, and weather alerts, I select my texts. There are fifteen waiting for me, all from Mia. Selecting her contact, I write out a message back.
As I attempt to hit send on the next message, her name comes up, and my heart stops in my chest when I instead hit the answer button. I can already hear the panic in her tone before I bring it to my ear. Well, shit.
“Liam?”
“Mia.”
For a long second, the line is dead quiet, and I know the hurricane is nothing compared to what I’m going to get once she regains her voice.
“Listen ...” I start.
“I could beat the ever-living shit out of you. Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through? After the first cryptic text, I called every hotel in South Carolina near and around airports. Do you have any idea how long that took?”
Rolling my eyes, I start to pace. “M ...”
“Five hours and most of them were being dicks. Then, when one too many wouldn’t give me the information, I called the police. The police Liam! There is a missing person report open for your dumb ass. That makes me look like an idiot. I can’t keep track of my brother in a damn tropical storm. Any normal brother would have called to say they were alright. And ...”
“MIA!”
“No. You don’t get to talk to me. Do you have any idea what I've gone through these past three days? They were sure you were dead.” Her voice hovers over the word dead. “They called me to tell me there were a few bodies unclaimed, but I would have to wait until the storm died down to see if you were one of them.” I could hear the tears in her tone in how it wavers, but her next words bite into my skin. “You were dead for thirty-six hours, Liam. You’re never there for me, for us, and this whole thing proves you won’t ever be. Don’t bother coming home. We will be fine, just as we always are, without you.”
The line grows quiet, everything stills in me, up until the dial tone sounds in my ear, and my hand crashes through the bathroom door.
“What the ...” Emma appears beside me, looks between my hand that’s halfway through the door, then at my face. A few seconds pass, my breath still coming out in puffs. Passed my anger, the pain in my hand registers, but the pain I’m more internally acquainted with clings to every exhale, making my body burn.
“Liam?” Her hand is tentative as she places it on my wrist. “We need to take this out and take a look.”
“Liam?” She squeezes my wrist, not hard, but enough to get my attention. When I look down at her, she’s searching, but I’m not sure for what. My mind is still trying to gather a coherent stream of thought. So, when she tugs on my wrist gently, I follow her silent instruction and pull it out.
Once out, she cradles it into both of hers. Making a noise of distress, she walks me to the bed. My knuckles are a bloody mess, but I feel nothing.
“Sit.” She instructs. “Stay right there! I’ll be right back.” When she grabs the room key, panic has me standing and reaching for her arm.
“It’s nothing.”
Her brows furrow. “Liam, look at it. I’ll be surprised if you don’t need stitches. I’ll be but a second. I’m sure the front desk will have something we can use to bandage it up.”
“I’ll go with you.”
She shakes her arm from my grasp, and her hands ball up before they go onto her hips. “Liam…What’s your middle and last name.” When I’m silent too long, she waves her hands in front of her. “Never mind, I would have liked to make the proper threat, but this one will have to do. Okay, here it goes. Liam, if you don’t sit your ass on that bed right now and let me go get some supplies, I swear you’ll sleep on the couch tonight.” Her arms go across her chest, and amusement shadows through all that has me otherwise clouded.
“Emma, there’s enough in this room to take care of it.” Raising an eyebrow, I wait for her answer.
She acts toug
h for a long second but then gives in with a sigh and the roll of her eyes to emphasize. “Fine. Bathroom.” She leads the way.
Turning on the water in the sink, she tests the temperature before motioning for my hand. Giving it to her, she makes that sound of distress again as she watches the blood fall away and down the drain.
“This may sting.” She takes the hotel soap and rubs it between her fingers before pulling my hand out to probe around my knuckles. Her touch is feather-light.
She keeps looking up with every touch, scanning my face, but the pain making its way to my hand is nothing compared to the turmoil going on inside.
“Will you tell me what that was about?” She’s not looking at me as she asks. Instead, she’s running my hand under the water one more time before pressing hard with a washcloth.
“It’s nothing.”
She looks up, her brows near her hairline. “You threw a punch at a door for nothing?” She flicks her eyes past me. I assume to assess the damage to the door. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
“I’d never hit you. Hitting women is a coward’s sport, and I don’t care to know the rules.”
“Your tone implies you know something about it. Is that what the phone call was about? Did someone hurt Mia? That's her name, right?”
Looking down, I uncurl my hand, hissing in pain. When I look back, Emma’s eyes are still lasers. “Yeah, someone hurt her, but I didn’t have to use my fists to do it.”
Her stare didn’t falter, as if she's prepared for my confession. I expect her to say something, anything. Instead, she releases my hand and walks around me. With a hand replacing hers on the washcloth, I follow her with my eyes then with my body when she leaves the bathroom. She’s silent as she sits on the edge of the bed and stares down the opposite wall.
How in the hell am I supposed to interpret this? Is this her way of pouting? Recalling our conversation, I can't find where I’d gone wrong, but it still left me wondering if I should apologize.
“Did you lie?”
“What?” Jutting my chin, I wait for an accusation.
Tilting her head, she peers through her lashes at me. “I’d understand if you did.” She shrugs and returns her stare to the wall. “Being trapped in this storm probably seemed like a good excuse.”
Opening my mouth to ask what she was getting at, it dawns on me. “Is this where you tell me I’m being predictable.”
Her head whips around, her beautiful eyes wide. “So ...”
“But, you’d be wrong. Mia is my sister.”
With pink cheeks, she licks her lips. “Sorry, it seemed to fit.”
“I’m not going to fit the cookie-cutter shape you believe every man you’ve met to be. I know we hardly know one another, but give me some credit.”
“I know, and I’m sorry, but what I don’t understand is how you hurt your sister? You’ve been here, with me.”
Clenching my jaw, I take a deep breath and let it out. “That’s a long story.”
“According to the news, they have a lot of clean up on the roads, and our plane doesn't leave until tomorrow morning, so we’ve got time.”
Shaking my head, I respond, “It’s not your problem.”
“I stepped between something here. Won’t you let me help?”
“There’s nothing you can do.”
“Are you sure?” She raises an eyebrow and pats the spot next to her on the bed. “Having a woman's take may make all the difference.”
When I sit next to her, the words don’t spill out. In fact, for a long time, all that's heard is the light rain hitting the window and the low hum of the air conditioner. At some point, she leans her head onto my shoulder, her breathing coming and going from her lungs, soothing. Then word by sentence then spilled paragraphs, I tell someone the truth of my past, and it’s as fresh as if it's happening again.
“It was winter break in my last year of college. Usually, I went back to work to help pay my tuition, so it was a surprise to my family when I came home for a visit. My mom was so happy to see me. My dad … ” Voice cracking, I push on when her hand goes through the crook of my elbow and squeezes my bicep.
“Son, it’s great to see you. It’ll be nice to hear something other than how your mom wants you to come home for the holidays.”
Mom throws the towel that she has in her hand, “Harold James.” She reprimands, but when he surprises her by taking her in his arms, she’s already laughing as he attempts to steal a kiss.
“Uh, do I need to go back to school already? I’m sure I can start next semester's syllabus at my dorm.”
“Don’t be silly,” Mom says as she attempts to push dad away. “Dinner is almost ready.” After giving dad one more kiss on the lips, she turns back to the stove, and my dad walks over, putting an arm over my shoulder.
“My dad was happy to see me. We talked about how school was going, and when mom came in from cooking dinner, we ate. I remember laughing a lot that night.”
“Where was Mia?” Emma whispers.
“At a friend's house.”
“But it was Christmas.”
“Not quite, a few days before. She came home often while she was in school, so it was part of her usual routine. Visiting with friends, with our parents, then back to school. My visit disrupted the normal, and I suppose that’s why he didn’t expect me.”
“He? Your dad?”
I shake my head.
“I’m going to my car.”
“Okay, hun.” Mom calls from the kitchen. She and dad are cleaning the dishes together like they always do.
I asked my dad once why he helped her even after she insisted she could do it. He replied that it was another excuse to be around her.
Not bothering to shut the door, leaving it ajar so I can get back inside with my luggage and presents I’d brought, I hit the button to unlock my car. Going to the driver’s side, I pop the release for the trunk. Grabbing all the gift bags in one hand and the duffle in the other, I slam the trunk closed with my elbow and head back towards the house.
“I was almost at the door when I heard it.” My hands shake, and I throw the washcloth across the room. “I was gone only a minute. If I had waited or not gone to my car, I could have stopped it.” Leaning forward, I cradle my head, my hands digging into my scalp, pulling at my hair. Squeezing my eyes shut, the scene continues to play endlessly in my mind.
“What happened, Liam? What did you hear?” Her hand grips me harder, and her thumb rubs over my skin like a windshield wiper.
My eyes pop open, but the floor isn’t what I see. Instead, I see red.
I drop to the ground; the presents crush underneath me. I peer around and see no one; then another shot pops off. My head jerks to my parent’s front door. The door should be open only a crack, but now it’s wide open. Leaving the stuff on the ground, I charge inside the house. My mother’s screams are like a siren that I follow until I’m met with the scene in the kitchen. My body freezes, my heart encased in ice, not chancing a beat, knowing that if it does, it will break.
My dad lays face first in blood, the pool around him growing. I don’t feel the pain of my knees as they crash to the tiled floor as I crawl to him. His body is warm as my fingers tangle in his shirt. His breath is shallow, and the ice cracks. Flipping him over, my hands hover over him, and my name bubbles up from his throat through a cough. I am putting pressure on the nearest wound in his chest.
“You’re fine; you’ll be okay.” My voice shakes.
Red comes through the seams of my fingers, and I look frantically for a towel to stanch the bleeding. Halfway underneath him is the cloth he used to help dry the dishes. I press it in and look back at him to give him another word of reassurance.
“Dad, you’ll be okay as soon as I can get this to stop bleeding.” His eyes fixed on something behind me. I hear my mom sobbing behind me, but I can’t comfort her right now. “Dad?” I try to get his attention. “Dad ...?” When he doesn’t blink, I realize my words mean nothing because they
are no longer for him.
“Dad ...?” His title is stuck in my throat.
“Who the hell are you?” A voice I don't know barks at me.
My head twists. He’s holding my mother’s arm, and with the other hand, his pistol points at me.
Letting my hand drop away, I can still feel the stickiness of my father’s blood on my hands. Twisting my head, Emma’s sad gaze already there.
“I remember thinking that he looked so normal. The frames of his glasses matched his eyes, a deep brown. He’d worn a brown jacket with a pattern close to the hem, which I later realized wasn’t a pattern at all, but evidence from the crime scene. His blue jeans a dark color, but his loafers were the same color as his jacket. Before that night, I wouldn’t have glanced twice at a guy like him, and now I can’t be sure I hadn't seen him. That’s what haunts me, that I could have stopped it before it had a chance to happen.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you and your family, but Liam, you couldn’t have known.” Her voice is as gentle as her touch was earlier.
“I should have known, done something.”
“What ended up happening?”
“He went down easily. I was so angry when I charged, the gun launched out of both of our reach, but a bullet was too good for him anyway.” I clench my fists, the burn from the cuts comforting. “I nearly killed him before the cops showed up. He went to jail, but somehow the justice system found a way for him to get out for good behavior. So, I’m headed home.”
“That’s why Mia's upset. You should go home. Don’t worry about coming to my brother’s wedding with me.”
“That’s not why she’s upset.”
“Then why?”
“When I got out of jail for assaulting that man, I did stay. I stayed until I wasn’t welcome anymore. So I left, and I haven’t been home since. I’ve made promises to visit and never followed through. The one time I got on the plane, she realized what I had known all along, that they are better off without me.” I run my hands through my hair and jerk the ends until my scalp tingles.
“Liam …”
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