By midafternoon he could stand it no longer. He phoned Tom, calling himself ten different kinds of pathetic as he talked around the subject, finally asking if he’d spoken to Zoe recently.
There was a short pause before Tom spoke. “She came over here yesterday.”
Liam nodded. That was good. She’d gone to family. She had someone looking out for her. He cleared his throat.
“Okay. Good. I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t doing anything too crazy,” he said.
“You could always call her yourself, you know,” Tom suggested.
“No,” Liam said.
“If you want to grab a beer or something, I’ll be leaving the office at around seven tonight,” Tom said.
Again Liam was forced to clear his throat. The Fords had always come through for him. That was the kind of people they were.
“Thanks, mate, but I’ll be all right,” he said.
Liam sat with his hand on the phone receiver for a long time after the call had ended, tempted to pick it up and dial Zoe and damn the consequences. He battled with himself, forcing himself to remember the fear in Zoe’s eyes and the terrifying moment when his temper had slipped its leash. He flexed his hand, staring at the rawness of his knuckles.
Remember who you are, where you come from.
ON TUESDAY Liam sent Vinnie to Sydney to attend the biker build-off judging. Liam had planned to go personally, but he couldn’t concentrate, and the last thing he felt like doing was schmoozing a bunch of potential customers. He was still at his desk late on Tuesday night when Vinnie rang through to deliver the news: Masters Mechanics had come runner-up to Perth-based Western Choppers. Vinnie was pissed off and more than a little drunk. Liam reminded him that their chopper would still feature in a number of magazines and that they’d get more than their fair share of inquiries from the comp. When he hung up, all he could think about was that the news would give him an excuse to call Zoe.
He didn’t. He’d broken it off with her. The least he could do was have the guts to stick to his own decision.
Later as he was at home picking at dinner in front of the TV the doorbell rang. Despite all his best intentions, he couldn’t help hoping it was Zoe. Almost as much as he hoped it wasn’t.
He opened the door to find a pet carrier on the doorstep. A note was stuck to the top: “Because someone needs to look out for you.”
He stared through the wire at Little Dude’s small furry body, then he walked out to the driveway then into the street. He wanted a glimpse of her, that was all. Halfway up the block, a car pulled out from the curb. He watched until she turned the corner, then returned to his house and his new cat.
That night he lay in bed with Little Dude’s tiny claws kneading his shoulder. The myriad pinpricks were nothing compared to the ache in his chest.
On Wednesday he phoned Jacinta to get another third-person update on how Zoe was doing. It wasn’t enough and he wound up calling Tom again. He knew it was tragic, but he couldn’t stop himself. If he couldn’t have her in his life, at least he could know that she was doing okay.
Both Jacinta and Tom assured him that was the case, that Zoe seemed solid and on top of things.
Liam wanted to shake them both, remind them that Zoe was a master at stuffing her feelings down deep and ignoring them. He wanted to demand one of them go to her at night to make sure she wasn’t drinking herself to sleep and that she was eating properly. God knew, he wasn’t, and he didn’t have the luxury of anesthetizing himself with alcohol.
But not knowing what was going on with Zoe was going to be the hard reality of his life. He might as well get used to it. That night he gave in to the urge that had been dogging him all week and brought the painting of Zoe back into the house. He hung it above his bed, even though he knew it was dumb and torturous. Between Little Dude and the painting, he at least had the illusion that she was in his life.
Thursday afternoon he was contemplating the joys of his first weekend without Zoe when he heard the steady, measured tap-tap of boot heels on concrete. He knew before he swiveled in his office chair who it was.
Sure enough, there she was, standing in his doorway. He drank in the sight of her—long legs in dark denim, a black T-shirt stretched over her breasts. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, her hands tucked into the pockets of a black leather bomber jacket.
His chest tightened.
Damn, she looked good. She looked like the best thing under the sun.
Her gaze was steady as it met his. “Hi.”
For a second he couldn’t speak. Then he found his voice. “Zoe.”
She stepped over the threshold into his office.
“Bummer about the biker comp. Vinnie tells me we were robbed.”
“Vinnie’s a little biased. I’ve already had eight phone calls from people who saw our bike, so the comp served its purpose. You’re going to be busy.”
“Good. How’s Little Dude?”
“Hungry. Demanding. Yet to be litter trained.”
“I knew you two were made for each other.”
She dropped into the seat opposite him and met his eyes squarely. “I don’t suppose you’ve come to your senses yet?”
He didn’t bother answering. He studied her face. “You look good.”
“Do I? I feel like shit. Can’t sleep, no appetite. When I do sleep, all I dream about is you,” she said matter-of-factly. “But I’m guessing you know what that’s like.” Her green eyes were challenging.
“It’ll get easier,” he said.
“What if I don’t want it to? What if I don’t want to stop loving you, Liam Masters?”
He stared at her. She had no idea how much he’d wanted to hear her say those words again. Even though he knew they wouldn’t get either of them anywhere, he still wanted to hear the words.
“It’s for the best,” he said, his mouth dry.
“Bullshit. You and I have wanted each other since we were kids. That kind of feeling doesn’t fade away, Liam. It stays with you your whole life. It’s rare and it’s precious and I’m damned if I’m going to give up on you without a fight.”
Her eyes flashed and her cheeks were pink with emotion. He wanted to kiss her so badly it hurt.
“You can’t change what I am,” he said.
She leaned forward, her face intense.
“I don’t want to change what you are. You’re an amazing man. Beautiful, generous, kind, honorable. You’re nothing like your father, Liam. I know he hurt you, I know you have scars on the inside as well as the outside, but you are not him. You could never be him. You’ve spent your whole life making sure that would never happen. Do you really have that little faith in yourself?”
“You saw what I did to Marty Johannsen. I was out of control, Zoe. If that bouncer hadn’t pulled me off him, God knows what would have happened.”
“You would have stopped.”
“You know that for certain, do you? Because I don’t.”
He stared at her, grim. She held his eye.
“I know it, because I know you.”
He shook his head. “I saw your eyes, Zoe. I saw the way you looked at me afterward. You were right to be afraid of me. Smart. Smarter still to keep your distance.”
She frowned as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“Afraid of you? I wasn’t afraid of you, Liam. I was afraid for you. The police were on their way, you had blood on your face, some huge damned bouncer had you in a headlock. I was terrified for you.”
He stared at her, saw the unflinching truth in her eyes. He sat back in his chair, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.
Zoe watched him patiently, a small frown between her eyebrows.
“Don’t let him do this to you, Liam. You and your mom survived so much. Your injuries, the escape. You made a new life for yourselves. And when she was gone, you kept surviving on your own. Everything around us is a testament to the power of your will and the goodness and strength in you. Can’t you see that?”
>
He wanted to believe what she was saying. He wanted relief from the ache in his chest that had settled there since he sent her out of his life. He wanted to wake to Zoe every day for the rest of his life.
He pushed back his chair and stood. He was trying to do the right thing here, protect her. Why couldn’t she see that?
“You don’t know what it’s like to be afraid of someone who’s supposed to love you,” he said.
“I know that.”
“Do you? You know what it’s like to lie in bed at night and nearly piss yourself when you hear his footsteps on the front path? You know what it’s like to hear your mom screaming for help and to know that no one will ever answer her? Do you have any idea what that feels like, Zoe?”
he demanded. He was yelling, his hands shaking.
Zoe looked at him, compassion in her eyes. “No. But I know what it’s like to believe you’re broken, that something inside me isn’t enough. I know what it’s like to be scared of living.”
He swore, long and loud. “I’m not afraid. Jesus Christ, can’t you see that this is the only way?”
He felt as though he was clutching at straws, as though any moment he was going to give in to the need to hold her and touch her and then they would both be lost because he wouldn’t have the will to let her go again.
“You’re not your father, Liam,” she said. “I know you believe you are, that the anger in you came from him, but it’s not true. You’re entitled to be pissed at life. You got dealt a shitty, shitty hand. If you didn’t raise hell when you were a kid, it would have been a bloody miracle. When I think of all the people who have let you down over the years, all the people who should have stepped in and stopped what was happening, it makes me want to punch a hole in the wall. But just because you’re angry doesn’t make you your father. Not by a long shot.”
He stared at her, exhausted. She didn’t understand. Maybe she couldn’t. It was up to him to protect her.
“You don’t know that,” he said wearily.
“I do. But you don’t. Not yet, anyway.”
She stood and pulled a folded piece of paper from her back pocket. He frowned as she passed it to him. He stared at the address scrawled across the page.
“He’s still alive. He lives in a trailer park outside of Brisbane. He works as a mechanic,” she said.
He went cold. He shook his head. He could feel Zoe watching him.
“Go talk to him, Liam,” she said. “Go see for yourself who he is and who you are.”
To his great shame, a wash of fear tightened his gut at the mere thought of being in the same room as his father. He took a step backward, shaking his head.
“No. I don’t need to see him to know what he is.”
Zoe moved closer. She reached out to fold her hands over his as he gripped the piece of paper.
“Please, Liam. Please do this. For yourself, for us. I love you so much and I know you love me.”
He stared into her eyes, seeing the love and the will and the hope there.
“Please do this one thing for me. And if you still feel the same after you see him, I’ll back off.
You’ll never hear from me again,” she promised.
He thought about what she was asking. Then he thought about all that she’d said to him, about how much he wanted to believe what she was saying. He’d always believed it was impossible to drown out the memory of his mother’s screams, that remembering them kept him strong and resolute. But what if Zoe was right? What if he could have what he wanted—her in his life, his bed, his heart? What if he didn’t have to be alone?
“There’s a flight to Brisbane first thing tomorrow. We could be there and back in one day,” she said.
He shook his head. There was no way he was taking her within a mile of his old man. Hell would freeze over before he let that happen.
“If I go, I go alone,” he said.
Zoe frowned. He waited for her to argue, but she was simply quiet for a moment before she nodded.
“Okay. If that’s what you want,” she said.
“It is,” he said.
She nodded and moved to his desk, reaching for the mouse on his computer.
“I’ll book your flight.”
He watched as she tapped away at the computer.
Tomorrow he would see his father for the first time in more than twenty years. The thought made his gut churn.
He started to pace, unable to stand still. Useless to pretend that he wasn’t scared. Rationally he knew he could take anything his father threw at him. Graham Masters would be in his fifties now, and years of alcohol abuse would have taken their toll. Liam was younger, stronger, fitter.
But it was impossible to get past the fear that had been bred into his bones where his father was concerned.
He tried to imagine the scenario in his head, what he’d say to his father, what his father might say back, but he drew a blank. The truth was, he’d never even contemplated making contact with his brutal parent. He’d simply channeled all his energies into escaping him.
And now he was coming full circle.
Zoe moved to collect a page from the printer.
“You leave at six, arrive at nine. I booked you a rental car at the airport,” she said as she handed him his flight confirmation.
She cupped his cheek in her hand.
“I know this is hard, but it’s worth it,” she said.
He stared at her, hope warring with fear and doubt.
He wanted her to be right. He didn’t want to contemplate the alternative.
BY THE TIME the plane landed in Brisbane the following morning Liam’s agitation had settled into a grim determination. He had no idea what to expect. He was doing this for Zoe. He didn’t let himself think beyond that very simple motivation.
He hadn’t been to Brisbane since he and his mom fled. For obvious reasons, the place held no appeal for him as an adult. In the back of his mind there had always been the thought that he might run into his father if he set foot in the city again.
He forced himself to look around as he drove alongside the Brisbane River. The sun was shining, the city looked prosperous. It was a place, like any other. At least, that was what he told himself.
His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he neared the southwestern suburb of Inala. This was where they had lived for much of his eight years with his father, moving from one rental property to the next. He hadn’t been surprised to learn his father still worked in the area. Graham Masters had always been a creature of habit.
Liam had to use the street directory to find Robard and Son Mechanics, the motor garage where his father worked. He parked out the front of a shabby cinder-block building, eyeing the garage’s faded signage and the rusting car hulks on the asphalt pad out front.
He wiped his hands on the seat of his jeans before heading for the door marked Reception. A bell rang as he entered, and a thin, gray-haired man standing behind the front counter looked up from a stack of invoices. Liam studied the man’s prominent cheekbones and big nose, noting his grease-stained overalls. Not his father. Not unless his memory had really done a number on him over the years. His gaze dropped to the name embroidered above the man’s heart: Keith.
Definitely not his father, then.
“G’day. How can I help you?” Keith asked, pushing his paperwork to one side.
Liam forced air into his lungs.
“I’m looking for Graham Masters,” he said.
“Graham? Sure. I’ll go get him.”
The other man gave Liam a curious head-to-toe before disappearing through a doorway that Liam assumed led to the workshop.
Liam took a deep breath and wiped his hands on his jeans again. His breakfast sat like a lump in his stomach and he turned to study the old motor parts calendars and posters on the wall, looking for distraction. His eye was caught by a wall of certificates, proud evidence that the mechanics at Robard and Son made a point of keeping up with their training. He moved to stand in front of the o
ne certificate with his father’s name on it. He was still staring at the faded print when he heard the scuff of footsteps behind him.
“Better not be trying to sell me anything, not when I’m in the middle of cleaning out a fuel injector,” a voice said.
Low and deep, it was terrifyingly familiar. Every muscle in Liam’s body tensed. His hands curled into fists. A rush of anger, decades old, roared through him.
Jesus, how he hated this man. The feeling was hot and visceral, burning its way through his body. The impulse to punish and destroy that came hard on its heels was almost undeniable. He was a man now, not a child. He could give as good as he got. More, even. He could serve up what his father had dished out so easily, smash his father into oblivion, make him hurt and bleed until he was begging for mercy, the way he’d made Liam and his mother beg for mercy all those years ago.
Suddenly Liam understood one of the reasons why he’d been so scared of coming here today.
Yes, he was afraid of his father, but he was more afraid of himself, of what he might do to the man who had beaten his wife and child so relentlessly year after year.
“Well, you want to talk to me or what? Ain’t got all day, you know,” his father said from behind him.
Liam forced his hands to soften, made a conscious effort to relax his shoulders. Then he turned and met his father’s eyes for the first time in more than twenty years.
And felt a chill race up his spine. Because he could have been staring into his own eyes. The same color, the same shape, sitting in a face that was also disturbingly familiar. The square jaw, the cheekbones, the nose—they were the same features he stared at every morning when he shaved.
Talk about a chip off the old block.
“Jesus Christ almighty,” Graham Masters said, shaking his head from side to side. “Look what the cat dragged in!”
Liam had no time to think as his father stepped forward, his hand extended. Before he knew what he was doing, Liam was having his hand pumped enthusiastically, and his father was slapping him on the arm.
“This is unbelievable,” his father said. “Unbelievable. After all these years.”
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