He could hear Zoe’s voice rising in distress as he drew closer. “I don’t want to talk to you. I have nothing to say to you.”
Marty Johannsen spread his hands wide even as he loomed over her.
“Don’t be like that, Zoe, baby. I’ve come all this way to see you after I heard about your little act. I’ve been telling my boys how we knew each other back in the day,” he said, his smile suggestive.
Liam was two strides away when Johannsen made the mistake of reaching for her, grabbing her upper arm as he tried to halt her retreat. Zoe jerked backward, attempting to break his grip. As if in slow motion, Liam saw Johannsen’s arm tense as he pulled her toward himself, dragging Zoe off balance. Liam could see the fear in her eyes, and his mind flashed to a hundred other memories of a woman wide-eyed with terror and fear. Then he was on the other man, his fist smashing into bone as animal instinct took over.
This was the man who had taken away Zoe’s future. This was the weak shit who had taken advantage of her vulnerability and taken what he wanted without thought of the consequences—
consequences Zoe would live with for the rest of her life. This was the man who hadn’t had the guts to meet Zoe’s eyes the day after he’d taken her virginity but who could turn up twelve years later to assert his bragging rights and see if he could get lucky again.
White-hot rage took over as Liam threw another punch then another. Johannsen staggered backward, reeling from the unexpected attack. Blood spurted as Liam smashed his fist into the other man’s nose. Johannsen tried to draw up his arms to protect himself, but Liam was faster, stronger. Then Johannsen was on the ground and Liam was on top of him, pounding him with blow after blow. Vaguely he heard screams, felt someone tugging at his shoulders, trying to haul him off the other man. Then a thick arm snaked around his neck and he was being hauled backward.
He choked, struggling for air. His right arm was bent up his back and used to force him to his knees. Then the arm around his throat was gone and he could breathe again.
Panting, sweat dripping from his face, he lifted his head and saw what he’d done, the pulp he’d made of Marty Johannsen’s face. Then he saw Zoe, a hand pressed to her mouth, tears in her eyes as she met his gaze.
He dropped his head, hating what he’d recognized in her face: fear.
Zoe was afraid of him.
It was his worst nightmare.
He was his father’s son, after all.
ZOE’S ASS WAS NUMB from sitting on the hard wooden bench at the police station. Her stomach was hollow and empty, her eyes sore from lack of sleep. She’d been waiting for nearly ten hours—overnight, in fact—for Liam to be released.
He’d been charged with assault. She’d called Tom because she didn’t know what else to do, and Tom had roped in a lawyer friend to take care of things. Lincoln Scott had arrived two hours ago, disappearing into the realms beyond the front desk. She hadn’t heard a word since.
She rubbed her tired eyes. It had all happened so quickly—Marty appearing out of nowhere, trying to grab her, then Liam rushing past her, fierce and unstoppable. She’d tried to pull him off the other man, but it had taken the brawny bouncer to break up the fight. The police had arrived within seconds, closely followed by an ambulance. Liam had gone to the police station, Marty to the hospital.
Tom had offered to drive into town and wait with her, but she’d assured him she was okay, that she just needed help finding a suitable lawyer. The truth was, she was a million miles from okay.
Seeing Marty Johannsen after all these years had shaken her to her very foundations. The way he’d looked at her, the sound of his voice. Memories she’d long buried had risen up inside her—
those horrible, painful minutes on the ground, Marty on top of her, his alcohol breath in her face.
The shame in the weeks that followed. Then the guilt and anger in the months and years after her operation.
When he’d appeared in front of her so suddenly she’d recoiled instinctively, but he’d been determined to show off his great conquest to his buddies. She’d seen the way they all looked at her, as though she was for sale and Marty owned the deed of title. She could guess what he’d told them. Only now, twelve years after the fact, was he willing to own his part in what had happened between them, and only because Zoe Ford had suddenly become a scalp worth claiming.
He was beneath contempt. She disliked him so much she couldn’t summon even a shred of disquiet or sympathy over what Liam had done to him. He’d recover from a broken nose and a few facial lacerations and go about his life as he always had. She would always be barren.
It was Liam she was concerned about. Lincoln Scott had revealed that Liam had an old assault charge from when he was nineteen. While it had been a long time between incidents, the wrong judge could choose to make an example of him. The thought of him going to jail for her was unbearable.
She stretched her legs in front of her and dropped her head against the wall.
She would never forget the look on his face when he’d met her eyes after the fight. On his knees, his arm bent up behind his back, sweat and blood dripping from his face. He’d looked broken, shattered. Numb. She’d tried to talk to him but he’d turned away. Then the police had arrived and they’d been separated.
He’d been protecting her from harassment but also avenging her, making up for past wrongs—
his own and Marty’s. She knew he blamed himself for leaving all those years ago, for not being there. And, of course, he blamed Marty for taking what she’d so drunkenly offered.
The sound of voices beyond the counter alerted her to new activity and she straightened. The opaque security doors darkened with the silhouettes of two figures. Then the doors slid open and Lincoln Scott exited with Liam.
Zoe stood. Tears filled her eyes as she saw the bruises on Liam’s face, the swelling on his lip.
His expression was closed, withdrawn.
“Are you all right? Did they let you see a doctor?” she asked, reaching for his arm, needing to touch him to reassure herself that he was okay.
“I’m fine,” he said. He barely looked at her, instead turning to Lincoln.
“Thanks for your help. I appreciate it,” he said. He offered the lawyer his hand.
“Not a problem. We need to make an appointment to discuss your defense. I’ll call you later in the week.”
“No defense. I’ll plead guilty.”
Zoe frowned.
“With your injuries, we’ve got a strong case for assault against Johannsen, as well,” Lincoln said. “The best-case scenario all around is if both of you choose not to press charges against each other.”
“No charges, no defense,” Liam said firmly.
“Liam, he hit you, too. Look at your face. Why should he get off scot-free just because you won?” Zoe demanded.
Again Liam barely looked at her.
“We’ll talk later in the week,” he said to the lawyer.
Zoe followed Liam outside. What was going on? Was he angry with her because of the fight?
Did he think that she’d incited it in some way with her provocative performance? Was that why he was being so cold?
“What’s going on?” she asked once Lincoln had left to find his car.
“Nothing. Listen, I’ll get a cab to my place. You should go home, try to get some sleep.”
Still no eye contact. Zoe wanted to grab him and force him to look at her and tell her what was going on. Instead, she shook her head.
“I’m driving you home,” she said.
He looked as though he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. Traffic was heavy with the morning rush and they made the entire half-hour trip from the North Melbourne police station to St. Kilda in heavy silence. By the time she was pulling into his driveway, Zoe’s stomach was churning with anxiety.
She didn’t understand what was wrong, but she knew something was. Badly.
She followed him into the house, past the funky hat stand she’d made him buy the previous weekend and the hall table she’d picked out for him the weekend before that.
He stopped in the living room and turned to face her.
“Thanks for contacting Lincoln for me,” he said.
She couldn’t stand the distance he was putting between them and she moved closer and reached for his hand.
“What if we clean up your face before we do anything else, okay?” she said.
He pulled his hand free from her grasp. She met his eyes, and what she saw there made her heart contract in her chest.
“What’s going on, Liam?” she asked for the second time that morning.
“This can’t happen anymore, Zoe,” he said.
She frowned.
“What? What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s over. I don’t want to see you anymore.”
She flinched. This was the last thing she’d expected. Anger, perhaps. Frustration, definitely, and concern about the police involvement. But not complete rejection.
Hurt unfolded inside her, fresh but familiar.
“Right,” she said.
She couldn’t think. She stared at a spot on the floor, trying to pull her thoughts together.
“Is it because of what happened?” she asked after a few beats. “Because you got into a fight over me?”
“Something like that.” He headed for the stairs.
She stared at his back, shock slowly giving way to dawning anger.
After five weeks of every night and every day, that was all the explanation she got?
She raced up the stairs after him. She found him in the bathroom, tugging his T-shirt over his head. She gasped when she saw the bruises on his chest and belly.
“Liam, my God, you need to see a doctor,” she said.
She moved toward him but he stepped away from her.
“You need to go,” he said.
“I’m not going anywhere until you’ve seen a doctor and we’ve talked properly.”
“There’s nothing to say. I’ve made my decision,” he said.
“What about me? Don’t I get a say?” she asked.
“No.”
She blinked at his arrogance, then she registered his tension, the way he wouldn’t let her touch him, the way he was standing so defensively, almost as though he was afraid to let her near.
“This is bullshit, Liam. Tell me what’s really going on.”
He closed his eyes. He looked infinitely weary, as though he’d been fighting a battle for a long time and only just admitted defeat.
“It doesn’t matter. This was always going to happen. I told you, I’m not good relationship material. We were never going to be more than sex.”
She shook her head, standing her ground.
“We’ve been about more than sex since we were teenagers, and you know it.”
He stared at her. “Zoe. I’m doing this for you,” he said.
“So am I. Tell me the truth, Liam. Tell me why you’re not good relationship material.” She took a deep breath, forcing herself to go to the scariest place she could imagine. “Or is this about me?
Is this about me not being able to have children?”
She’d rather know the truth. She was almost certain of that, although it was going to hurt like hell if he admitted that, like all the others, he couldn’t get past her essential emptiness. Right from the start, he’d never seemed to care. He’d seemed to see so much more in her than the scar on her belly and what it represented.
“Jesus, Zoe, no. This is nothing to do with you. You’re…There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said.
She studied him, trying to keep her own hurt at bay as she sought to understand what was happening. None of it made sense to her. She had no idea how to get through to him. She had only one card left to play.
“Liam, I love you,” she said quietly.
He stilled, then he sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging. He crossed to the bath and sat on the rim, his hands braced on his knees, his head lowered. He took a deep breath, then another.
“Don’t I at least deserve the truth?” she asked.
He swore and lifted his head to look at her. His eyes glistened with unshed tears. He looked hunted, a man on the edge.
She took a step forward, needing to comfort him. He held up a hand.
“Don’t,” he said.
She ignored him, brushing his hand aside and sliding her arms around him. His head came to rest against her breasts as she embraced him, holding him tight, her hands smoothing down his back.
She loved this man and she didn’t know what was wrong but she wasn’t about to give him up without a fight.
For a heartbeat Liam was stiff. Then his arms wrapped around her and he hugged her fiercely, his muscles bulging with the effort. He pressed his face into her breasts, his breathing ragged.
“I love you, Liam,” she said. She didn’t know what other comfort to offer him.
“God, Zoe,” he said, his voice choked.
He pushed her away and stood, putting distance between them again. They faced each other across the length of the bathroom.
“You know about my father,” he said heavily. “You know what he did to me and my mother.”
“I know he was an alcoholic. I know he was violent.”
“And you saw what I did last night. That’s why I can’t be with you, Zoe.”
It took her a moment to put the pieces together.
“Liam. No. You can’t possibly think…” she said, unable to even articulate the notion it was so impossible, so ugly.
“It’s in my blood, Zoe. He’s my father. Where else does a boy learn how to be a man?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head vehemently. “You are not your father, Liam. You would never hurt anyone you love. My God, you’re one of the most decent, generous, levelheaded men I know.”
He eyed her for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then he lifted his hand and ran his finger along the thin white line of a scar on his right upper arm.
“That’s from where he threw me against the coffee table when I was five,” he said. He slid a hand onto his rib cage. “He broke my ribs twice, once when I was six, the second time on my seventh birthday. He broke my mother’s jaw, her nose. Once, he ruptured her spleen.”
He turned his head and ran his finger up along his hairline behind his ear. His gaze was challenging as it met hers.
“Fractured skull, from a bar fight in Darwin.” He lifted the leg of his jeans and showed her the long scar along his shin. “From a brawl in Kings Cross when I was twenty.”