Page 38 of Just Between Us

I don’t say it, but Austin is persistent with our mom. Knowing he’d have a chance to see her, I can’t imagine anything stopping him from trying.

“Cassie,” she says softly, “I promise I’ll keep you updated. If she asks for you, I’ll call immediately.”

I close my eyes, struggling to push down the helplessness threatening to swallow me whole.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

When the call ends, I sit motionless, the phone still clutched in my hand, wishing the distance between my mother and me wasn’t measured in miles and years of silence.

Wetness splashes onto the screen, and it’s only now I realize I’m crying hot frustrated tears. With the back of my hand, I swipe halfheartedly at my damp cheeks, but it’s a pointless act. They keep coming and I have no choice but to let them.

In a daze, my hand drifts to touch that damn widow’s peak at my hairline, the one distinctive feature I inherited from him. The monster. The man who caused a lifetime of pain for my mother.

Before I can think it through, I’m on my feet moving to the drawer where I keep the kitchen shears. The metal is cold in my hand as I head to the bathroom.

I take a second to stare at my reflection in the silver surface. Red-rimmed eyes. Tear-streaked cheeks. My chest heaves, breaths coming in quick, ragged gasps that echo off the bathroom tiles. And that fucking dip at my hairline. His mark on me.

“I hate him,” I hiss through gritted teeth.

My hands are trembling so violently I almost drop the scissors, but I force them steady. I gather the hair at my forehead, feeling each snipped strand fall, mingling with the tears streaking down my cheeks.Snip. Snip. Snip.Each cut is loud, a staccato punctuation in the suffocating silence. My shoulders shake but I keep going, trying to outrun the hate, the disgust, all the pieces of him in me I want gone.

Finally, the uneven fringe falls across my forehead. I drop the scissors into the hair-covered sink, heart hammering, and stare at my reflection—the strands of hair, the tears, my nose which is red from crying.

Shit.Shit, shit, shit.

This is bad. What have I done? This is a mess. Choppy and jagged.

I sink onto the toilet lid and drop my head into my hands, crying harder this time. Because I’m still his daughter. His DNAstill runs through my veins that no amount of cutting can erase, even if I try.

Out of nowhere, a knock startles me from my trance. It’s a little rhythm, almost like the beat to a song, and in an instant, I know who I’ll find standing on the other side of that door. And he’s the only person I want to see right now.

Swiping under my eyes, I run a hand through my hair and stand, taking a restorative breath.

When I open the door, Liam is there holding a small bouquet of wildflowers, wrapped in a damp fast food napkin. He’s looking at the bouquet, wearing a lopsided grin.

“I was about an hour out from Nashville when I saw this field of wildflowers. And a little voice saidLiam, I think Cassie will love those.”

His gaze shifts to me and his grin slowly falls as he takes me in. His eyes roam my face, from my red rimmed eyes to the downturn of my lips. Then they catch on the mess I’ve made of my hair.

“Oh, angel,” he breathes out. “What fresh hell is this?”

Shame floods me, hot and prickling over my skin. My hand flies to my forehead, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already seen it.

I can’t find the words, my mouth just opens and closes like a fish. And Liam, my sweet, sweet friend, opens his arms, no more questions, just a silent offer to sit in my sadness with me.

Stepping into him, I fold like origami against his solid chest. Liam’s arms come around me, anchoring me to him while my entire reality shifts. He smells faintly of cigarette smoke and mint, and it’s so familiar I feel my heart rate slow as it registers his closeness, his scent.

“Something happened,” I manage, the words sticking in my throat, thick and heavy as the tears return, turning everything a blur of color. I hate the sound of my own voice right now. I sound broken. And I hate that Liam keeps seeing me like this, the worn-down edges of my heart exposed when I’ve known him a mere two months.

“Is it Austin?” Liam asks, and I feel his breath ghost across my hair.

I shake my head and try once more to find the words for things I rarely talk about. “My mom—she—” I break off, unable to find the words.

“Shh,” he murmurs, pulling back to look at me. With the pad of his thumb, he wipes the dampness from under my eyes and swipes the hair that’s gotten stuck to my cheek, tucking it behind my ear. “You don’t have to talk about it unless you want to.”

Liam’s presence right now, having him to lean on without asking for anything in return, is a balm to my weary soul. I’ve spent so long attempting to be the strong one for my family. But everyone knows even the strongest of us need shelter from time to time. Nobody is meant to stand in the rain forever.

I don’t even realize he’s guiding us away from the doorway until I feel us shift, Liam lowering to the couch and guiding me sideways across his lap, his arm still around my waist. On instinct I curl into him, notching my head in the crook of his neck. For a fraction of a second, a tiny flicker of self-awareness, I wonder how I got so comfortable with Liam, how my trust grew roots so quickly. But then he gives me a quick assuring nod, like I’m allowed to share what I want at my own pace, or nothing at all. But I want him to know.