Worth The Fight

by Rachael Brownell

  Rolling back over, I remove the pillow and force myself into a sitting position. That's when I spot the bottle of water and two little white pills on the bedside table. I'm going to need those.

  Tossing back the pills, I crack the seal on the bottle, the sound echoing through the room and causing me to cringe. I swallow a few gulps along with the pills and am about to slide off the bed when someone clears their throat behind me.

  "Feel like shit, don't you?" Liam asks.

  "Nope," I lie. "I feel like a million bucks."

  My words lose their conviction when I stumble getting out of bed, catching the bedspread and pulling it to the floor with me.

  Liam's there in an instant to help me up, a wicked grin on his face. He's not even trying to hold back his laugh, and I don't blame him. If I can't even stand up this morning, I probably look like shit as well.

  "My father's here," he states, releasing my hand once he's certain I can stand on my own.

  Shit!

  "You might want to fix your hair before you come out. He wants to talk to you."

  Of course he does. Because just like his son, Michael Fell is nothing if not protective of his own. That includes me. I'm family. I'm the daughter he never had.

  Liam closes the door behind him, leaving me to figure out my next move. I need to get a good look at myself, so I slip into the bathroom and immediately wish I hadn't. Crawling back in bed sounds like the best option.

  My hair, which was once pinned back perfectly with every hair in place, is sticking out in all directions. Pins hang loosely from strands, yet the bun behind my right ear looks undisturbed.

  If I take it down, my hair is going to be kinky and out of control. If I leave it up, I'm going to need a can of hair spray to fix it, and I have a feeling Liam doesn't have any hidden in here. Plenty of women have stayed here, I'm sure, but he makes it a point not to let them leave anything behind when they go.

  He's a womanizer. A playboy. From what I've heard—because he refuses to talk to me about that part of his life, he always has—he's very clear when it comes to his expectations.

  Take what you brought with you. He'll call you if he wants to see you again. He doesn't do relationships.

  And apparently, he tells them all this up front.

  Which is why when he left his date to fend for herself yesterday, she didn't call or come banging on his door expecting an apology. She knew she wouldn't get one.

  Slowly and carefully, I begin pulling out pins and letting my hair free. For every pin I find, there are two more hidden beneath the outer layer of my hair. By the time my hair is flowing freely down my back, there's a pile of pins on the counter bigger than I imagined. There had to be at least a hundred pins holding my hair back, and I'm wondering if I actually got them all out.

  I massage my sore scalp for a minute before searching the bathroom for something to smooth out the knots I created. The only thing I can find it a small comb, so I wet it and start the tedious process of running it through the long strands of hair until I'm satisfied enough that Michael won't panic when he looks at me.

  As soon as my hair is under control, I wash my face and use Liam's toothbrush to get rid of the layer of sugar on my teeth. There's a reason I don't like drinking soda. It leaves a film on my teeth and a bad taste in my mouth. I guess it could have been the rum that left that taste.

  Running my hands over my long locks one last time, I take a deep breath and then open Liam's door. Michael is waiting for me on the other side, his arms wide open. Walking into them, I'm in tears before he even wraps them around me.

  "I'm so sorry, baby girl. He's a worthless piece of shit. Better you found out now, before you married him."

  He knows.

  I didn't tell him, yet he knows.

  Pushing out of his embrace, I whip around and search the room for Liam.

  "He went to get food. He knew you'd be pissed he told me, so he ran before you could yell at him."

  "That asshole," I curse under my breath.

  "That asshole loves you. He'd do anything for you, including telling me the truth so you didn't have to."

  Damn it. He has a good point. I wasn't looking forward to telling him. In fact, I wasn't planning on saying anything if I didn't have to. Liam saved me the trouble of lying to him, something I'd rather not do.

  "I know." I let out a deep breath and take a seat on the couch. "I'd rather not talk about it if you don't mind. I'm so embarrassed."

  "Why? You have nothing to be embarrassed about. He's the one who should, though. He made the mistake. He fucked up. When people find out why there was no wedding, why you left him, they'll be proud of you, and their anger and hatred will be directed toward him. Hold your head high, baby girl. You're better than that. Better than him. You always have been."

  He sure knows how to make a girl feel special, whether I want to believe him or not. My heart might still ache and my head may be pounding against my skull, but I feel a little lighter now. Better. Not healed by any means, but ready to face all the challenges I have ahead of me.

  And there are going to be plenty.

  Starting with moving out of Garrett's house.

  To where is the big question of the day. I can't cramp Liam's style by getting drunk and passing out in his bed every night. I feel bad enough about last night. I'm sure he had better plans than dealing with me and my pity party. Not that he would have left me alone even if I had tried to push him out the door.

  "What are you going to do?" Michael asks, his voice sounding distant. When I turn, he's no longer in the living room.

  Following the sound of his voice, I round the corner into the kitchen as the front door opens, the smell of greasy fries permeating the air.

  "Is it safe?" Liam whispers through the open door.

  "Define safe," I state firmly, snatching the brown bag from his hands.

  "Are you mad?"

  "Why would I be mad?" The condescending tone in my voice fades as I shove a fry in my mouth. "I mean, you told your father my personal business and then ran away so you didn't have to deal with the consequences."

  I stuff another fry in my mouth to hide the smirk I can feel growing as Liam finally steps inside and closes the door behind him.

  "You do realize that he's standing behind you trying not to laugh, right?"

  Looking over my shoulder, I see Michael covering his mouth with his hand, his eyes glistening in the light from the kitchen. Yep. He's laughing at me.

  "Fine. I'm not mad at you but only because your daddy made me feel better. You should thank him."

  Leaving the two of them to talk, I retreat to the kitchen for plates and napkins. My fingers are already covered in a thin layer of salt and grease. The restaurant Liam lives above has the best fries in town, and their burgers aren't that bad either. We tend to hang out there more often than we should, so they know what I like.

  Tons of salt on my fries and extra mayo to dip them in.

  "You don't look as bad as you did when I left you," Liam praises as I hand him his plate.

  He always orders something boring. Today's choice is a turkey club on wheat bread with a side of sweet potato fries. He eats healthier than anyone I know. He runs every morning, and it always seems like he's at the gym when I call. He's fit but not bulky. With as much effort as he puts into keeping his body in shape, I'd expect him to have bulging muscles or something.

  Nope.

  He's just Liam.

  He looks the same as he did in high school. The same as he has since he hit puberty the summer we turned thirteen.

  That was fun.

  He suddenly grew four inches, his voice deepened, and he put on a good chunk of weight. Not fat, muscle.

  I remember going away for soccer camp and coming back to find my best friend grew up without me.

  Then it was my turn.

  It was as if my body knew his had changed, so mine jumped on the train and started to as well. My boobs blossomed, the leg hair that had been starting t
o grow was now in need of being shaved, and I received my first visit from Aunt Flo.

  I hated her then, and I hate her now.

  The one thing that didn't change that summer was our friendship. If anything, we grew closer. It didn't matter that we were growing up and finding ourselves. That our bodies were changing. We were bound and determined not to lose each other through the process, and we didn't.

  "Thanks. I still have a little bit of a headache, but I think it was because of all the pins in my hair."

  "Or the bottle of rum you drank last night," he mutters under his breath loud enough for his father to hear.

  "Rum, huh? I thought you gave that stuff up," Michael notes, stabbing his salad with his fork.

  How do you explain to the man who raised you as his own, who's like a father to you, that you’re broken? That it was the only thing you thought would erase the visions and dull the pain?

  You don't.

  He knows why I drank last night. He knows how hard it was for me to take that first sip.

  He should also know I don't plan to make a habit of it.

  Last night was . . . the exception to the rule.

  Was it a mistake? Maybe. Do I regret it? A little. Would I do it again? Probably.

  And if he asks, that's what I'll tell him.

  Why?

  Because for a little while, I forgot why I was drinking. I forgot my fiancé fucked my best friend and threw away our relationship like it was a piece of trash. Threw me away.

  For that same period of time, I wasn't thinking about my parents. About their absence on the biggest day of my life. Or the fact my own father couldn't walk me down the aisle and give me away.

  What I was thinking about was how tingly my body was. How my jaw hurt from laughing at Liam's stupid antics.

  And in those moments, everything felt okay.

  My life wasn't falling apart.

  The future was still bright.

  And even though I literally couldn't hold my head up, it felt like I was. Like I was strong enough to get through this, through anything. Because I wasn't alone.

  I was at my lowest point, but I knew I'd get back up. I'd been pushed down, but I wasn't going to stay down. I was a fighter—

  Shit!

  I think I tried to fight Liam last night. Actually fight him. As in, fists swinging.

  "I did," I finally answer Michael as I feel the heat creep onto my cheeks. Liam and Michael are both staring at me, each with one eyebrow raised.

  When I don't elaborate on my answer, they return their attention to their meals and we eat in silence. As soon as lunch is cleaned up, Michael heads home to spend the remainder of his day with his wife, Betty. According to him, she wanted to come over and see for herself that I was okay but didn't want to overwhelm me with visitors since they didn't know what had happened yet.

  I'm sure she'll make it a point to see me later this week, if not call me tonight once he tells her what's going on.

  "So, we need to talk about your next move, Cass. I know you don't want to think about it, and things happened really quick, but I can't let you go back to that house. I’m guessing you don't want to either."

  Liam's settled on the couch, and I was about to sit next to him when the tone of his voice put me on edge. There's concern mixed with anger. Not toward me, toward the situation. I heard it when he said “that house” and then his voice softened.

  Pacing the length of the area rug in front of the couch, I contemplate my options. The very few I have.

  With school out for the summer, I could take off for a while. Travel and try to heal. I have a little bit of money saved up that we were planning on spending on our honeymoon. It's enough to last me a few weeks but not much longer.

  The sensible option would be to take that money and put a security deposit down on an apartment here in town. I can pick up a waitressing job for the summer to make extra cash until school resumes in the fall. After that, I'll have to pinch my pennies, but I'll survive.

  I survived on less in college.

  My need to get away outweighs the sensible option. Still, after thinking it over for what feels like hours and talking it through with Liam, I decide to stay in town.

  I can run from my problems, but I can't hide. It's a temporary fix, just like last night’s downward spiral.

  "Or," Liam begins, "and please, just humor me for a second. You can move in here and have someone to come home to at night. You won't be alone. You can come and go as you please. I won't charge you much for rent as long as you help me keep it clean and bake me something sweet every now and then."

  "You want me to be your roommate?"

  We spent four years at the same college. Hours from home. Struggling to pay our bills, and we never once lived together. The idea never crossed my mind.

  "Why not?"

  "Won't that be weird when you bring home your next conquest?" I joke, but in all reality, it was the first thing that popped into my mind. I don't want to hear him banging her through the walls.

  "That's what a ball gag is for."

  Liam attempts to keep a straight face but breaks down in hysterical laughter before I can even comprehend what he said. When I do, I join him in laughter, plopping down on the couch next to him.

  "What about your office? You need it." My protest is weak. I kind of like the idea of staying here. Even if this is only temporary.

  "The nice thing about a laptop is that it's portable, Cass. Just consider it. I'd feel better if I could keep an eye on you for a while, and as much as you don't want to admit it, I know you feel the same."

  Damn him for always being right. I love that he knows me so well, but it also sucks sometimes.

  Chapter Three

  Five days is a long time to stay in one place. To lock yourself away from the rest of the world and feel sorry for yourself. A long time not to smell fresh air or feel the breeze brush your face.

  The closest I've come to the outside world is staring out Liam's living room window at the downtown shopping mall below. I feel like a castaway locked in a castle as I stare down at the people moving around below, going on with their lives as the summer sun beats down on them. Shopping and dining out. Some headed to yoga, others to the art studio across the street.

  So I live vicariously through each one of them. I imagine grabbing an ice cream cone from down the block or trying on the sundress I've been staring at in the window of the upscale boutique on the corner. Because five days is a long time, but it's not long enough to heal, as evidenced by the events of this morning.

  When Liam suggested we go to Garrett's and start moving me out, my body shut down. I forgot to breathe for a few seconds, and then a panic attack followed.

  The thought of seeing him, of stepping foot back through those doors, sent a wave of nausea through me. The last time I saw him, his head was tilted back, his eyes closed, as Kendra bounced up and down on his lap. He was gripping her hips as he thrust upward, her dress riding up a little each time to reveal the tattoo on her outer thigh.

  Thinking about Garrett brings back that image every time.

  I've lost all memories of the way he used to smile at me. The feel of his hand wrapped around mine. How our bodies always felt like they were made for each other every time he wrapped his arms around me after sex.

  It's all gone.

  I know it happened. I know there was a time when even the sight of him would make my heart skip a beat, but I can't feel it anymore. I can't feel anything. It's as if my heart’s been removed from my chest. If I couldn't hear it beat every time I laid my head on my pillow, I'd believe it wasn't in there anymore.

  Still, I know I need to go back there eventually. To move out so I can begin to move on.

  "Are you ready?" Liam asks as we take the elevator down to the main floor of his building.

  He went back to the church and picked up my car yesterday along with everything else I left in the bridal suite. My phone was long dead, and even though I've charged it, I have yet
to turn it back on. There's no one I want to talk to who doesn't know how to contact me, but there are plenty of people I'd rather not speak with yet.

  Both of them have been blowing up Liam's phone for the last few days. He finally blocked their numbers in hopes they'd get the message. Garrett's been relentless. He's stopped over every day before and after work to try and talk to me. That's how I know he won't be home right now.

  "No, but I need to get it over with," I confess as the door slides open into the foyer of the lobby.

  "I have plenty of boxes in my truck. All you have to do is fill them up. My dad said he'd meet us over there if you needed anything heavy moved."

  "I don't want much. Just my clothes and personal items. He can keep the rest. It'll just be a reminder of the shitstorm that is my life right now. I don't need that."

  As true as that statement is, I'm still thinking about a few things I might want to take. Things we've acquired together that once had a sentimental value to them. Things I know he'd miss if they aren't there when he gets home.

  I don't plan on keeping them long.

  For instance, our engagement photo that's framed on the mantel I'm planning on burning, along with any of his band T-shirts I can find. They’re his favorites, and they can't be replaced. A few are even signed.

  Then there's the swing on the front porch he built for me last summer right after I moved in. If Liam can find the sledgehammer, I plan to break it into as many pieces as I can manage. It'll be the first thing he sees when he pulls in the driveway, and he'll know it was me.

  Lastly, there's his collection of comic books. The value is astronomical. He's been collecting them since he was a kid, and all but a few are in mint condition. I won't destroy them, but I do plan on taking them with me. He can have them back when I'm satisfied he's suffered enough. Maybe I'll send them back one at a time.

  Liam does a drive-by to make sure there's no sign of Garrett before backing into the driveway. I pull up in front of the house, parking my Jeep in front of the rose bushes I planted last fall. They're in full bloom now, the vibrant red of the petals accenting the red shutters on the house.