Wounded Page 7

  And just why am I suddenly ready to build her a patio when I swore there was no way in hell that was going to happen? I haven’t the faintest clue. All I’ve got is that after seeing her so broken last night, the thought of making her smile has me feeling pretty damn good about myself.

  Bailey’s routine is like clockwork. On days she has to work, she’s out of the house before six. Days she doesn’t work? Like today? She sleeps in all the way until seven. I timed breakfast perfectly so it would be hot and ready on the table when she walked out of her bedroom. But as the clock on the microwave ticks past seven-fifteen, and then right on towards seven-thirty, I start to get antsy.

  The eggs are shot. No one likes cold scrambled eggs, and with good reason because they’re disgusting. And if she doesn’t get her ass out here soon, the coffee will be scorched and my grand gesture will be ruined. My good mood dissipates, swallowed up by a cloud of frustration settling around my head like a swarm of gnats. I distract myself by turning on my iPad and opening the tabs of patio ideas I saved somewhere between last night and this morning. This thing is going to be so fucking beautiful when I’m done. She’ll have an oasis in her backyard that puts this dump of a house to shame.

  Bailey finally makes an appearance just before eight, her eyes swollen and bloodshot. “Morning,” she murmurs as she heads straight to the coffee pot.

  So much for gushing displays of appreciation on her part.

  “The eggs are basically ruined.” I gesture towards the pan on the stove. “But please—” I infuse the word with a hefty dose of sarcasm— “help yourself.”

  Bailey shuffles around the kitchen, scooping a pile of eggs onto a plate and popping it into the microwave. “These are delicious,” she says after she’s had a seat and made her way through the first few bites.

  “They would have been better if you’d been up when you normally are.”

  Her eyes flicker to mine and she looks like shit. And she also looks like she’s about to launch into some kind of apology about last night. I’m not ready to talk about it. Not in the least. I hold up my iPad as a distraction.

  “You’re not going to believe the patio I’m going to build for you.” I unleash my most winning smile on her and she pauses, her fork hovering just in front of her open mouth.

  “Huh?” Bailey blinks. “Really?”

  “I’ve got this thing all planned out. It’s going to be fucking magnificent.”

  She reaches across the table for my iPad. “Let me see.”

  “No way, hot lips.” I ignore the look of humiliation that races across her face. “That’ll ruin the surprise.”

  Bailey puts down her fork and licks her lips. “Liam, look…”

  She’s going to talk about the kiss and it’s my fault for hauling out the nickname, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not ready to wade through whatever happened between us.

  I stand, turning my back to her. “I thought we might go shopping today. They’ve got most of this stuff at the Lowe’s in Grayson.”

  If she turns me down, I won’t be too surprised. She looks like hell.

  “Okay,” she says. “But I need a shower first.”

  “Okay?” I whirl, genuinely excited.

  “Yeah.” She laughs, a sweet sound. “Okay.”

  An hour later, we’re in her stinky truck, making the long drive into Grayson. I can’t believe she does this twice a day, especially considering how tired she looks when she finally gets home in the evening. Her twelve-hour shifts sound bad enough, but add on a two-hour commute? No thank you. I keep waiting for her to bring up last night, but she seems to have gotten the message and we’re just going to let that be a thing that happened that we never discuss again.

  “Do you know how long it’s been since I stayed in one place for this long?” I ask, studying the curve of her nose and the swoop of her ponytail. She really puts all those LA whores to shame with her simple beauty.

  “Enlighten me.” Bailey turns a smile my way and something deep within me answers, smiling in return.

  “I seriously hoped you knew because I don’t.” I watch the sky for a few silent minutes. “It’s been nice, waking up when I wanted to. Spending days stretched out on the couch. I can’t even tell you how much noise is in my normal day to day.”

  “I can’t even imagine.”

  “No. You really can’t.”

  She catches the bitterness in my comment and scrunches up her nose. “But I bet your truck doesn’t smell funny.” She glances at me, her eyes gleaming as the ancient thing rattles and bumps over the road. “So there’s that.”

  “You got me there. None of my cars smell even half this bad.”

  Her smile fades as she digests what I said. “Dang. Way to rub it in. I’ve got one stinky truck and you’ve got a whole fleet of cars.” She shrugs and winks, and then laughs.

  We pull into the Lowe’s parking lot and I resent the long sleeves and ball cap I have to wear to keep my tattoos covered. It’s hot as hell and I’m already sweating because Bailey’s rust bucket is too old to have air conditioning. I hop out of the passenger seat and the sweltering August heat takes my breath away. Thankfully, Lowe’s has the air conditioning set to arctic. The moment we walk in, I stand there, eyes closed, reveling in the cold as a bead of sweat forges a path down my spine.

  We wander around the store while I pretend to know what I’m looking at and Bailey tries to sneak peeks at my iPad. She’s small, but she’s got one hell of a stubborn streak. For as many times as I push her away, she just keeps coming right on back. Finally, after her last attempt comes too close for comfort, I decide to walk around with the thing held over my head where there’s no way she’ll reach it.

  “You look ridiculous,” she says, those beautiful eyes of hers dancing in merriment.

  “But I’m winning.” I tilt my chin and look down at her, hitting her lightly on the arm.

  “But are you?” she asks. “Really?”

  We walk for a few more feet before she stops.

  “Seriously though, Liam. I need to see what you have in mind. Patios can get expensive and I really didn’t think you’d ever go through with this.” She gives me a look that says and can you blame me? “There’s a good chance I can’t afford what you’ve got planned.”

  I didn’t even think about the cost involved. “I don’t think it’s that bad.”

  “Yeah, well, my checking account isn’t that good.” Bailey gives me an apologetic smile. “Can I please just look at what you have in mind so we can talk about how much I can actually afford?”

  My cellphone starts vibrating in my back pocket. It’s sure to be Brent or my mom because they’ve called three or four times a day since I’ve been here. I never answer the phone. Just send them straight to voicemail and erase the messages before listening to them. But, right now I’m glad for the interruption, so I hold up a finger to Bailey and answer the call.

  “Liam.” Brent’s smooth as sin voice makes me roll my eyes. “How are you?”

  I could tell him that I’m wrestling an alligator in the Nile and he’d just keep talking right over me. The man never hears anything but himself. “I’m fine,” I say, regretting answering the phone.

  “Listen. Here’s the deal. You need to come to the end of this little temper tantrum of yours and get your ass back to Los Angeles.”

  “Temper tantrum?” I try to keep my voice low but fail.

  “Your fans are actually mourning you. Holding candlelight vigils and shit like that. Some chick literally tried to kill herself because she was so devastated to think she’d never get to see your face again. Some asshole leaked the story that you’ve been disfigured and we can’t get the fans to calm down. You need to come home so we can get on this.”

  “Disfigured.” I run my finger down the scar on my face. It’s a long way from healed, but under Bailey’s careful ministrations, it’s a lot better than it used to be. She massages vitamin E oil into the skin every day and swears the scarring will be mi
nimal.

  “I booked you a flight for this afternoon. It’s not too late to get in with one of the plastic surgeons. We can save your face, man. Salvage your career.”

  I’m pacing while rage wings through my body, tightening muscles and quickening my breath. No one cares about me. They only care about my face. My body. My image. The fans? Those girls who swear they love me? They don’t give two shits about who I really am. How I really feel.

  And Brent? My mom? My whole team back in LA? They look at me and see dollar signs. They don’t see how empty I am. They don’t see the nights I lay in bed in some hotel and wish for it all to end. Scratch that. They see it. They just don’t care. They know how dark I am in the inside but their main concern is how to spin it for the press. Nothing about this has anything to do with the real Liam McGuire.

  I am so tired of all the hollow relationships. So tired of every single move I make being scrutinized by the entire world. Of the responsibility of living up to my fans’ expectations.

  “Is she okay?” I ask, pinching the bridge of my nose.

  “Who?” Brent sounds irritated.

  “The girl. The one who tried to kill herself.” I keep my voice low, hushed out of respect for something so heavy and dark.

  “Does it matter? Besides, it’s fantastic publicity. If you come back now, you can make an appearance, maybe use her name or something. You’ll look like a hero.”

  I refuse to use that poor girl as a way to make myself look better. “You know what, Brent? Go fuck yourself.”

  Brent laughs darkly. “Fuck me? The way I see it, you’re the one fucking yourself,” he says before hanging up on me.

  Emotions churn beneath my skin. It’s too much. It’s all too much and I don’t want to carry any of it around anymore. Guilt gives way to resentment and I slam the phone into the ground. The screen shatters, but it does nothing to satisfy the rage boiling inside of me. “Damn it!” I scream as I throw a punch right into a concrete wall.

  The pain? Now that’s satisfying. The bloody cuts on my knuckles? Totally worth it.

  Bailey scurries to my side. “Liam! What’s wrong?” She takes my hand in hers and turns it over to inspect the damage.

  I yank it from her. “I’m fine.” People are staring. Clerks poke their head around corners while customers wheel their carts over to come and stare at the sweating lunatic with the bloody hand and broken phone.

  “You’re not fine,” says Bailey.

  If I look at her and see pity, I might just lose my mind, so I look everywhere but her. “I am. Let’s go. People are staring.” Without waiting for a response, I stomp out to her stupid truck and climb inside, slamming the door so hard the whole thing rocks with the force.

  Bailey climbs into the driver’s seat but doesn’t start the engine. “Liam, what happened?”

  I look at my knuckles. “I just split the skin. It’s nothing.”

  “I’m not talking about your hand, dumbass. I’m asking about you.”

  I finally look at her and the look in her eyes blasts straight through my rage and I’m dumbfounded. She’s not looking at me with pity. She’s concerned. About me.

  “It’s stupid,” I say, holding her gaze instead of looking away. “You’d think, after all these years, I’d be used to being thought of as a commodity instead of a person.”

  Bailey shrugs and brings the engine to life. “I don’t know. Seems to me that’s not something a person should ever have to get used to.”

  She’s silent on the way home. Doesn’t ask me questions. Just lets me think. Once, she reaches over to squeeze my hand and I stare down at her slender fingers holding onto mine. The simple gesture, just a reminder that she’s here with me, it means more to me than anything I can remember in a long time.

  BAILEY

  We ride in silence for a while, Liam staring out the window while I run through a million possible scenarios as to why he would go off like a psychotic animal in the middle of a hardware store.

  “So,” I say when I can’t stand it any longer. “You wanna tell me what that was about?”

  Liam glares at me. “Not really.”

  “The way I see it, you owe me an explanation.”

  “I don’t owe you anything.” Liam pulls his hat down even lower, hiding in the shadows the bill casts on his face.

  “Ahh. See, that’s where you’re wrong.” I reach my hand out the window, letting it dip and dive through the rush of air. “You owe me big. Remember?”

  He laughs bitterly. “It’s just a bunch of silly nonsense you won’t understand.”

  “It didn’t look like silly nonsense to me.” I shrug. “It looked like something that got deep under your skin. And sometimes talking about that kind of stuff can go a long way to relieve the pressure that’s building up inside, you know?”

  Liam meets my gaze and then swallows. “My manager just knows exactly what to say to make me feel like I’m not a real person. It’s hard to explain.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “So, this girl tried to kill herself because of me.” His words cut through my sense of calm and slice right into the part of my heart I save for Tyler.

  “Shit,” I say because I can’t think over the rush of memories.

  “Right? And here’s the thing…” Liam trails off, looking for words. “I feel awful for her. I really do. But she doesn’t know me. And I don’t want the responsibility of her doing something that drastic, you know? That sounds super shitty and selfish but I’m so tired of people wanting to use me. Like, her doing that puts all the weight of her decision on my shoulders.” He runs a hand over his mouth. “And Brent wants to try to use it to make me look like some kind of a hero and I don’t want to be a hero. I just want to be me. And I want people to be okay with that.”

  I bob my head. “I get that.”

  “I know it makes me sound like a douche.”

  “It really doesn’t.” I pull my hand back in the window as I slow for a turn. “And Liam?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m totally okay with you just being you.”

  He studies me, trying to make sense of what I said, quite obviously looking for the catch. I can’t even begin to understand what it’s like to live his life. It’s so outside of my normal he might as well be from a different planet. But from what I gather, everyone who has connected themself to him sees him as a tool more than a person. Something to use to further their own motives, instead of someone with thoughts and feelings of his own.

  “So,” I say after a bit. “I feel like we need to get on the same page about this patio.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know how there are parts of your life that don’t make a lot of sense to me? The fans and the obligations? All the stuff about being true to a brand instead of who you are?”

  Liam draws his eyebrows together. “Yeah?”

  “Well, I think it’s safe to say there are parts of my life that you don’t understand.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like how much money counts as a lot.”

  Liam rolls his eyes. “I understand the concept of money.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. “I’m sorry,” I say, trying to get myself under control. “But I saw the price tags on the materials you were looking at. There’s no way you understand the concept of money in relation to my life.”

  “Alright then.” Liam takes off his ball cap and runs a hand through his hair. “Enlighten me.”

  “I don’t have that much.” I lock my eyes on the stretch of road in front of me. “Feeling enlightened yet?”

  “Not really.”

  I glance at him, self-conscious. “So, when my parents passed and left me the house, it was paid off. But there was still property tax and stuff like that. I was only eighteen and had a job at McDonald’s making barely enough money to support my brother and me. Then you add in student loans and bad decisions with credit cards.” I sigh. “Things are getting better. I make enough to get by and have sta
rted building up a little savings. But there’s not enough in there to even make a dent in what I think you have planned.”

  Liam eyes me thoughtfully. “Then let me pay for it.”

  “There is no way that’s happening.” I flip on a turn signal and pull into my driveway.

  “Why not?”

  “Same reason I’m not opening a credit card to charge the materials. I don’t want to be in debt anymore.”

  “Okay then,” Liam blows a long breath out of his nose. “How much?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, even though I know exactly what he means. I’m just not sure I’m ready to be this open with him.

  “How much do you have?”

  I pull up in front of the house and kill the engine, barely able to look his way. This whole conversation has made me feel completely naked. Like he’s going to judge me for the tiny little bit of disposable income that I’m actually quite proud of.

  “Come on, Bailey. First you make a big deal about me building this thing, now you’re making a big deal about doing it on your budget. You need to open up to me if you want it done your way.” He undoes his seatbelt and twists in his seat. “Besides. I told you about my silly nonsense. I showed you mine. Now show me yours.”

  I roll my eyes. “I have fifteen hundred dollars and I’d prefer you don’t spend it all.” The admission brings warmth flaring up my chest and across my cheeks. I’m both ferociously proud of that number and terrified he’s going to laugh in my face.

  Liam’s lips part, surprise and pity playing across his face before he skillfully schools his features into a very sweet smile. “Okay then. Now I know.” He swings open the truck door and steps outside.

  I scurry out after him. “That’s it?” I ask.

  “What do you mean, that’s it?”

  “You’re not going to laugh. Or tell me you make more than that in one hour? Or, I don’t know, congratulate me?”

  Liam walks around to the front of the truck and leans on the hood. “Why would I do any of those things?”