Page 48 of Southie
“No, I have no appetite,” I said, walking over to my camera bag because my phone was ringing. I sighed. Whoever it was, I didn’t have the energy to deal with. The past two days had been exhausting, and I was sure the day would get worse when Liam and I finally sat down for our much-needed conversation. I didn’t have the energy to deal with my father or Frankie’s bullshit.
The phone stopped ringing before I had the chance to answer. The screen revealed over forty missed calls from various numbers. I shook my head, released a humorless laugh, and tossed it on the counter, not caring whether I damaged it.
“Of course,” I mumbled, leaning on the island. “I need something to drink to deal with this shit. This is way too much.”
“Was that him?” Liam asked.
I shrugged and pushed the phone over to him. It could’ve been him or someone he’d put up to it. Since we’d have this talk about Frankie anyway, he might as well see what I dealt with every day.
“Him or someone he knows. I stopped answering phone calls a long time ago unless I recognize the number. Sometimes, I check the messages.”
His eyes widened when he picked up the phone. “Camilla, forty fucking missed calls! Have you told your father about this shit? Why haven’t you gotten your number changed?”
“Yes, he knows.” I was so tired of dealing with this. Why couldn’t he leave me alone? Move on with his life, with someone else? “Since I’ve been in Boston, I’ve changed my number at least three times. He always gets it. And we’ve tried to get something done, but the police refuse because he hasn’t harmed me.”
“They’ve filed fucking charges against him. What the fuck do they mean he hasn’t harmed you?”
I threw my hands in the air. “He’s the hometown hero, okay? That means more than my life, I guess! I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
When I tried to walk around him, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into his chest.
I wrapped my arms around his waist. “I’m tired, Liam. I’m tired of crying because I’m stuck with a stupid decision I made as a child, to be with someone I thought loved me. Why can’t he just let me go?”
“Because he’s a fucking lunatic, Camilla. It has nothing to do with you. This shit is all on him.”
“Liam, what if he did this to her because of me? It’s all my fault she’s gone. It’s my fault he took her from you.”
“Camilla, it could’ve had something to do with me. Regardless, even if he had something to do with this, it’s not your fault. And like I told Rizzo, either way, I’ll handle it.”
“What do you mean, you’ll handle it?”
He shrugged but remained silent. Liam couldn’t deny the truth. Sooner rather than later, he’d blame me for his grandmother’s- death if Frankie had done it. Shit, I blamed myself, so how could he not?
Pushing away from him, I ran upstairs, ignoring him calling my name for me to stop. I prayed he didn’t follow. I needed to be alone to gather my thoughts. This was too much. I’d brought danger to my friend’s life which had caused her death.
In the master bathroom, I filled Liam’s extra-large jacuzzi bathtub and sank into the warm water. I laid my head back and let the heat soak my skin. I inhaled the steam wafting up from the hot water, hoping calm would overtake my body and mind. After a while, my eyes drifted closed.
I didn’t know how long I’d been in the bath before my body shifted and I opened my eyes. Liam smiled and slid in the tub behind me, laying my body against his large chest.
“I fell asleep?”
“Yeah. I wanted to be close to you, but you looked comfortable. I joined you so we could talk instead of waking you to get out.”
That was the last thing I wanted to do.
He moved my wet hair from my shoulder and placed a kiss in the crook of my neck. “I don’t want to talk, Liam. It’s already been a long ass day. I just want to forget everything that’s happened.”
“I know you don’t want to, but I’m not asking, Camilla. There are things we need to know about each other. Important things. So, we’re having this conversation anyway.”
He was right. Regardless if the situation had drained my body and mind, we couldn’t move forward if we didn’t have this talk.
“Okay,” I muttered.
“I’ll go first. But you have to promise to hear me out before you judge me for what I’m going to tell you.”
I agreed, although I knew this conversation wouldn’t be good, and I had to at least hear him out regardless of what it meant for him and me.
“I need to hear you say it, Camilla. Promise me.”
