Page 44 of Possession

“I love him, Liam.” Paige’s voice wavered and she startled me when she put her hand in mine.

Liam turned and focused on our linked fingers. He knew what Paige and I had been through, he was aware of it all, but still his cold, brown eyes assessed her as he said, “You fucking better.” She stiffened at my side as he took a step toward her. “I almost lost him because of you… if you’re not in this for the long haul, then I suggest you hit the damn road, because if I—”

“That’s enough!” Paige was shaking at my side and I was about two seconds from clocking my brother in the jaw. “Can’t you see you’re scaring her?” I pulled her under my arm and Liam frowned.

“I think that’s the point,” she whispered.

Liam flicked his gaze back to her. He watched us both for a moment and his shoulders sagged.

“It’s too early for this shit.” He ran his hand through his hair again. The dark strands were at odds with each other as he turned and grabbed his mug.

Paige released my hand and moved out from under my arm.

“Paige, don’t.”

She rested her hand on his arm. The tiny fragile bones of her fingers begged him to give her a chance. “I-I know you’re worried, but I can promise—”

“I don’t want your promises, save those for God, just don’t hurt him again.” He snapped his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I won’t.”

He stepped away from her touch and moved toward me. The severe line of his jaw, the creases around his eyes, they relaxed. “I’ll see you at work.”

Paige watched him as he disappeared down the hall. “What did he mean he almost lost you?”

“I told you, it got really bad after you left.”

A flash of panic flickered across her features. “Did you try to—”

I shook my head. “I thought about it, but nothing ever concrete.”

“Liam hates me and it’s for good reason.”

“Come here.” I held out my hand and she took it. “He doesn’t hate you, he dropped it, that’s a good sign. If he hated you, he would have tried to throw you out, and then I would’ve ended up in jail for assaulting my brother. I think it ended well.” I pulled her to my chest.

She huffed.

“Just give him some time, he’ll come around.”

At least I hoped he would.

Declan’s computer screensaver danced with bubbles casting the room in a blue glow, and as the sunlight peeked out of the bottom of the closed window shades, my surroundings became clearer. I sat up, pushing the heavy black comforter to the side. It had tangled around my jean-clad legs. My hair was a little damp with perspiration, my mouth was sticky with thirst, and I was alone.

Declan’s side of the bed was disheveled. I placed my hand on his pillow and the cold fabric sent a chill up my arm. I wondered how long he’d been awake or if he’d been able to go back to sleep at all after our early morning encounter with Liam. Liam had been so abrupt, and he had every right to be, but I hoped he’d give me a chance. He’d been almost like a brother to me once. Being an only child, even if Declan hated it, I loved going to his house most of the time. His father was a drunk, but his mother was the sweetest person I’d ever known. Her paper-thin, frail hands had a history. A history of laundry, housework, and raising three strong boys. Her sapphire eyes were Declan’s and they held secrets, pain, and longing. Their house lived and breathed and creaked and groaned and, over the years, it became mine, as well.

“I guess you think you’re better than us?” Liam was still breathing heavy, his hand gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white despite the cuts and bruising.

My heart was banging and clanging, and the blood whooshed behind my eardrums. “W-what?”

The car rolled to a stop as Liam pulled to the side of the road a few blocks from the O’Connell’s. He shifted in his seat and looked at me. His features were the hardest of the boys, the darkest. His deep brown eyes pinned me to the cushion of the passenger seat. He was attractive, just like his brothers, but in a scary, too manly sort of way. His hair was almost black and too long, dipping past his left eye. He was built bigger than any sixteen-year-old boy should be.

“Is he your charity project?” He raised his hands in question. His knuckles were raw and the image of him taking his father’s punch, his face shocked and pained, blinked vividly in my mind.

I was confused, and as my brows furrowed, his jaw relaxed and he lowered his hands. “We’re a fucking freak show compared to your palace on the bench.”

It was my turn to be angry. “Excuse me?” I sat up straighter and my own hands balled into fists as they sat on my thighs.

“Dex is special. He always has been and if you—”

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