Page 120 of My Wife
“What about Liam? Was he injured?”
“Just a few stitches. He was never like Hendrix, but his personality changed. He retreated, hardly talked to us.”
I see so clearly that this is where his need to tightly control everything comes from. It breaks my heart to think he blames himself.
Later that night, it’s no surprise that I can’t sleep. For one, I’m in Liam’s childhood bedroom and it’s impossible not to be nosy. I study the framed photo of him and his high school hockey team, wondering which one is Franklin. I imagine Marci and Allison, cheering them on at games. It’s all so tragic.
I also can’t stop thinking about how I imagined that the man of few words came from one of those families that are posh and snooty, who live in the same house but don’t know each other and never eat at the same table.
But I have a strong suspicion Belinda made casseroles and they all gathered around the big farmhouse-style table, said grace, and then talked for hours, debating hockey game outcomes, fishing lures, and when chickens molt—Aunt Goldie is thinking of getting a flock.
That’s what transpired earlier at the pizza place while the kids colored on their placemats, played with dough, and then played Uno with a deck of cards Colette had in her purse when our conversation lengthened. All the while Grandma Dolly and Grannie Bell signed a blue streak.
Liam wasn’t raised by wolves or possums but by a lovely family. It’s the kind of family I always wanted.
When the glowing digital clock clicks to one a.m., I toss off the sheet and gaze out the window at the shining water beyond the sprawling backyard.
How would my life have been different if I had grown up in a place like this? Made memories with cousins instead of trying to remain unseen. It wasn’t that I was shy, more like scared if I let anyone know me, they’d reject me. Would I have come out of my shell sooner?
I know better. It somehow would’ve all fallen apart. The truth is, everyone in my life leaves. Maybe I am a witch bride as Liam said. Or at least, I unintentionally curse things. Ruin them. If he and I really were together, he wouldn’t have the bandwidth for hockey and I’d tank his career.
Nope. It’s better for me to be invisible.
The old house creaks and groans, but it doesn’t feel haunted. Not like the place I lived in for six months while in sixth grade. That place was spooky.
At my back, I feel a gust of warmth, and then a pair of big, rough hands drop onto my shoulders. I’m about to scream bloody murder when a soapy masculine scent reaches my nose and Liam’s breath tickles the loose hairs on my neck.
He whispers, “It’s just me.”
Without thinking, I press my hand onto the top of his. It’s to steady myself so I don’t pitch over with fright. Also, for a guy who spends so much time on a frozen rink, he’s surprisingly warm.
He says, “I figured you’d be awake.”
“I figured you’d want your bed. I’ll take the couch in the TV room.”
“I’ve slept on it many times, having fallen asleep watching old games.”
He twines my fingers through his and then sits down on the bed. Wearing just a T-shirt and shorts, the moonlight catches the Brookking Sound Hockey logo.
“You were hot stuff in high school,” I say before realizing that was a mistake, given what his sister told me.
He snorts. “That was a long time ago.”
Yet, he’s carried the wounds with him all these years. I wonder if it’s hard for him to be here.
“Ingrid told me.” My voice is so low, I’m afraid he didn’t hear.
Liam tugs me down to sit on his lap and wraps his arms around me. Ordinarily, at his touch, I get all swizzly inside, and I do, but not as much as normal. And not because I’m any less attracted to #MrDarcysAbs. But right now, it feels like he needs a hug and this is the closest he can come to admitting that.
I lace my arms around his neck.
Our gazes meet for a long moment. Sadness and pain fill his eyes.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I fully expect him to say no, but let the invitation hang.
Instead, he nuzzles into my neck. The brush of his eyelashes on my skin tells me he closed his eyes.
“You always smell so good,” he whispers.
