Page 136 of Back to Willow

Finally, her eyes snap back to mine, just now awakening from the daze she was in. Then, mumbling something incomprehensible, she rushes to the bathroom, pulling Dylan behind with her.

I’m about to follow them when my father calls me. The door clicks shut behind her and the lock turns, letting me know I just missed my chance.

Fuck.

Turning around, I see my parents with the other person who had abandoned me—Mason. I guess this is a year for reunions, not that I wanted to see them today. But fuck, a whirlwind of mixed emotions hits me upon seeing him after all of these years.

He looks slightly better than the last time I seen him. Though from the aftermath of doing drugs non-stop for so long, he looks way older than just twenty-five. Still, he’s put on some weight and has some more colour on his skin. What concerns me are the looks in all three sets of eyes, all focused on me. Mason and our mother’s are wide-eyed and seemingly surprised. While my father’s is the same as usual…angry.

“Weren’t you supposed to come for New Year only?” I can’t help the snark lacing my words.

“We wanted to surprise you,” my father claims.

“Except we’re the surprised ones,” my mother comments, a hint of disbelief in her voice. Then she corrects her stance, straightening her spine while her face morphs into a distant, cold expression. “What is this?”

“This is my house,” I bark out the words. I am my father’s son, after all. “And you’re not supposed to be here today,” I comment, trying to snap out of my light daze. “You were supposed to come for New Year.”

“What’s this, Liam?” my father asks, completely disregarding my comment about them being here early.

He glares over my shoulder in the direction Willow just fled towards, letting me know to whom he is directing his anger. Just the realisation of it, of someone targeting Willow, makes my blood boil.

I am about to answer back when he beats me to it, “Excuse us!”

The man who raised me under the unattainably high expectations he created pushes past my body, entering the living room and making himself at home. My mother mimics him, walking inside with a poker face, and my brother hurries after them, not even looking me in the eye. Good, if he starts to act like them now, I might not answer rationally.

“I called you,” my father informs me, a tightness in his voice, giving away more than he wants to. In response, I can’t help but huff.

“What now?” I ask, clearly irritated. “As you can see, I was busy!”

“Oh, we understand now. It’s loud and clear.” The bite in his voice is strong, only feeding my annoyance.

“Wasn’t it clear we were supposed to spend the 31stand the 1stof January together instead?” I ask. “Since when is it acceptable to appear unannounced in someone else’s home? To cause all of this ruckus, on top of it all!”

“What part of ‘surprise’ have you not understood, boy?”

“John,” my mother chimes in hesitantly. “How about we all sit down and talk? Surely, Liam has an explanation.”

There is zero will or patience in me to deal with them and their prejudice. Sure, my parents provided me with a lifestyle just a few can brag about, but when it came to everything else, it was very lacking. The love, support, andunderstanding—especially the latter.

We never came first to them. They surely don’t come first to me.

In my brain, I’m checking in on her; it’s an automatic response.

Yes, I’m choosing her.

In reality, I shouldn’t need to choose one or the other. But if it comes down to it, there’s one thing I am sure of…I’m not letting her go again. Not after everything.

Without bothering to answer his wife, John Davis glares at me, wanting me to back down and bend to his will. Except, I’m not the same kid who left for college. I’ve been living on my own ever since I started college, free from their control.

I’m not handing it back to them now—not anymore. That’s why I ignore them as I walk down the corridor to the door she disappeared into.

“Lo?” I call, knocking on the bathroom door. “Baby, what’s wrong? Let me in.”

The wood blocks my view but doesn’t smother the sounds coming from inside. Short and uncontrolled breaths fill the room, alongside Dylan’s soft whispers. It doesn’t matter that I keep calling her—she doesn’t answer.

How can I break her out of it?

“Dy, buddy?”

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