Page 147 of Back to Willow

“Hmmm,” he pretends to enjoy it, but I can see the twitch in his mouth and how much his eyes are narrowed. What is he doing? “It’s good.”

I mentally facepalm myself. He’ll force him to eat it every time from now on.

I freeze as my brain just realises what I thought. From now on? Who’s to tell me this isn’t the last time I see them together? He’s probably here to say his goodbyes—for good.

“You’re up,” Liam breathes.

My eyes snap up to his, wide and expectant. Waiting for the moment the shoe drops because…how can it not?

“I–” I stumble over my words, not knowing what to say under his intense gaze.

This is the moment I’ve been dreading, and right now, there’s no way I can escape it.

“Remember what we’ve talked about?” Liam mumbles into Dylan’s ear.

He nods eagerly before jumping off his lap and heading my way. He hugs my hip and quietly tells me he’ll be waiting for us in the living room while watching a movie. Throughout the whole ordeal, I’m speechless. My brain is reeling with questions I’m afraid to ask because it will open the door for a conversation I absolutely don’t want to have.

“Lo?” Liam calls me in a surprisingly gentle and warm tone.

Still, I can’t bring my eyes to his. Focusing on his shoulder, chin, or hands is way easier than the ocean-like irises that keep begging me for attention.

“Can we just get it over with?” In contradiction with my words, my voice wobbles.

“What do you mean?” He stands and slowly walks to me.

His movements are so measured, so slow, that it feels like he is approaching a cornered animal.

“I know you must hate me,” I confess when he takes another step, stopping right in front of me. “You probably believe them, so just…” I cut myself off to breathe, wringing my hands together in stress. “Get it over with.”

“Look at me.” Two fingers gently grip my chin, tilting it up, and I shut my eyes tightly. “Baby…”

There’s a desperate edge to his voice now. I’ve never heard him call me baby this way, and it shatters my resolve. Giving in to him like a kid gives in to candy, I finally stare into his breathtaking eyes. They’re so deep and vibrant, overflowing with so many different emotions. I see concern, guilt, and regret, and I recognise them because I feel them, too. But what strikes me the most is that he isn’t angry or showing hate towards me.

Automatically, my tense body relaxes.

“Never,” he whispers slowly. “Ever,” he emphasises. “In a million years would I doubt you. I know you avoid confrontation like the plague, and I know you’d rather run away than have it all blow up in your face, but if there is one thing I know, it’s that you wouldn’t lie. Not to me and certainly not about this.”

Reeling but not letting his words sink in, I open my mouth to argue—to defend myself—until I realise I don’t need to.

He believes me.

“But your parents said–”

“Fuck what my parents said,” he cuts me off. “I want to know what you say instead.”

“I–”

“Can you tell me what happened?” Pulling my hand towards the kitchen stool, he forces me to sit down on his lap. His hands grip my waist, manoeuvring me until we’re both comfortable, and he places his chin on my shoulder, intertwining our fingers in front of my stomach.

It’s astonishing how easily he knows what I need. The need for the proximity of his body to feel safe, and yet, not being able to face him while I recall the worst night in my life. Taking a deep, encouraging breath, I start, “We were supposed to meet that night, but you weren’t there. I was going to go back home, but your brother said I could wait inside, that you’d be back soon, and I believed him.”

My hands start shaking involuntarily, and he cups them, trying to get them to stop. When they finally cease, his thumbs start to draw little circles over my skin. It calms me down some more, enough to keep track of what I have to say.

“I sat on the couch, watching some TV to kill time while waiting for you. After a couple of minutes, he came and sat down next to me. At first, he was silent and kept his distance, so I let it go, but then he started throwing out some weird comments. How cute I was when I stuttered and how the good girl appearance suited me so well…”

His chest vibrates, and a low growl forms in his throat as his hold on me tightens. Through a shaky whisper, I confess, “He came on to me. I tried to stop him–” A sob cuts off my words. “I swear, I tried!”

“Shh,” he coos when the sobs intensify, his hand finding my cheek. “I am so sorry, baby.” He turns my head to the side, resting his forehead on mine. “I should have been there. I was out to buy us some condoms, but the goddamn shop was closed, and it took me so long. Then when I got home, there was no sign of you, and the house had been robbed. I didn’t even know you were inside the house, I–” He stops himself for a second. “When you told me you had been attacked, I assumed it had happened in a dark alley on the way to your house…”

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