Page 17 of His Heart

Especially not Liam.

Pity and anger stormed in his eyes as he looked me up and down. I’d never felt so ashamed. So dirty. He was seeing the truth of me in all its ugliness. My mother, her baggy clothes hanging off her emaciated frame, the last vestiges of a cigarette in her hand. The door to my disgusting house, wide open, the mess in plain sight.

And me, bleeding, my skin burning, my eyes filled with tears. I’d been so careful not to let him see this. Always met him at the street so he wouldn’t come up to my door. Aired out my clothes in the window every night so they wouldn’t smell like smoke. Tip-toed around my mom, lying to her, so I wouldn’t give her a reason to be mad—a reason to leave a mark on me.

“Listen, you little shit,” Mom said to Liam, breaking me from my stupor. “Get your ass back in your house. This has nothing to do with you.”

Liam moved in front of me, placing himself between me and my mother. “Don’t you dare touch her.”

Mom snorted. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said. “Don’t touch her. You’re never laying a hand on her again.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” she asked. “Hit me back? Go ahead, hit a woman. That’ll go over well.”

He took slow steps toward her, his body tense. Mom’s eyes widened and the color drained from her face.

“I won’t hit you,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “I don’t have to because you’re going to walk back into that house right now. And Brooke is coming home with me.”

“Like hell,” Mom said, but there was a lot less conviction in her voice.

Liam shifted toward her and she flinched. “Yes, she is.”

“I’m her mother,” Mom said weakly.

“Not anymore.” Liam turned away from her, as if she no longer existed. “Come on, Bee. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I trembled as he led me into his house, too shocked to process what was happening. Liam spoke softly to me, words of encouragement that I couldn’t understand. My breath came in shaky gasps, and I clutched my scraped hands against my body.

“Liam, what’s going on out there?” his mom, Mary, called from the other room.

“Brooke needs help,” he said.

Mary met us in the kitchen. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. “Brooke, what happened?”

“Her mom,” Liam said, his voice thick with anger.

“What?” Mary asked.

“I went outside and her mom was hitting her in the street.”

“Oh sweetheart, you’re bleeding.” Mary dug through a few drawers and came at me with damp paper towels and bandages.

Someone lifted my backpack off my shoulders. Olivia. She gave me a sympathetic smile and set my bag down.

“I fell,” I said while Mary attended to the worst of my scrapes.

“Bee, your mom was hitting you,” Liam said. “I saw it happen.”

I met his eyes, biting my lip to keep from sobbing. What did he think of me now? He was going to see what everyone at school always did—the real reason they ostracized me. They could tell. I was a nobody with no father and a drug addict mother who slapped me around when she got mad. Who wanted that girl around? No one.

But I didn’t see disgust in Liam’s face. It wasn’t even pity that shone back at me in those bright blue eyes. Anger, yes. He was mad. But there was something else behind the spark of rage. Sadness.

“I know things are awful for you at home,” Liam said, his voice soft. “You don’t talk about it, and I didn’t want to make you. But we know. We’ve heard things.” He glanced at his mom. “Mom suspected there are drugs involved. I wanted to ask you, but I didn’t want to make you feel bad. And I wasn’t sure if there was anything I could do.”

Liam’s dad, Brian, had come into the kitchen while Liam spoke. I could see him from the corner of my eye, wearing an expression just like Mary and Olivia. Just like Liam. Sadness.

I gaped at Liam. He knew. They all knew. And they didn’t hate me. They didn’t think I was awful just like her.

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