Page 76 of Back to Willow

“Hey.” I awkwardly smile. “Welcome back.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“We can go somewhere we can calmly talk. Would that help?” A sob racks through her chest as her head shakes aggressively. “I can’t understand…”

“I can’t talk about it.” She shakes her head some more. “Please don’t make me.”

“Did someone hurt you?”

She nods, and the blood in my veins turns cold. My heart skips a beat, opening the gates of guilt. Letting my knees hit the ground, I shuffle closer to her, placing my forehead on her temple.

“I need to know, baby. I–we can’t continue like this.”

“You won’t believe me.” She hiccups. “You’ll hate me.”

“If I can’t hate you after all of these years…” I admit. “I could never.”

“Oh, Liam!” She drops her head back on my chest. “This—how—”

One of my hands gently caresses her back while the other plays with her hair in a weak attempt to stop her crying. I have always hated seeing her upset. “Slowly,” I encourage her. “I’ve got time.”

I am about to give her lips a light peck when the collar of my shirt is abruptly pulled back. I grunt with the force of the collar, almost choking me, falling on my ass. A big and bulky shadow moves in my periphery and I turn to see a man crouching down right by Willow’s side.

“What the fuck?” I growl.

“Oh god—”

“Are you alright?” the man asks her, completely ignoring me.

“She’s fine.”

“She can speak for herself,” he counters as I notice him helping her stand.

I do the same, noticing we’re about the same height, though he has dark hair and eyes. He looks older, too.

“I’m alright,” Willow mutters, cleaning the back of her jeans.

“Look, we’re having a private conversation–”

“Ha, that’s a good one,” he cuts me off, laughing sarcastically. “Private conversation? I saw you forcing yourself on a crying woman. You should be ashamed, man.”

“Who the f—” I push forward but Willow’s hands and voice stop me.

“Stop it!” Her voice still quivering. “Liam isn’t dangerous; he wasn’t hurting me, Arthur.”

“You know this dipshit?” I spit the words, jealousy burning inside me.

“Watch it, punk,” he sneers.

But I ignore him, unfazed, and keep my attention on her.

"Arthur’s a friend.” Her hesitancy doesn’t make it convincing. “Can we meet tomorrow to finish this conversation?”

“And him?” I can’t help but ask.

The silence stretches to an uncomfortable length, and it dawns on me. She was by herself here in the parking lot. Waiting for him. Noted.

“Right,” I scoff. “I’ll leave. I only came here to pick Johanna up, anyway.”

---