He extended his hands in front of him, displaying them for her.
“Two broken knuckles and a fractured metacarpal on this hand. A dislocated thumb and a broken finger on the left.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Still think I’m decent, that I’d never hurt anyone?”
“You’re not your father, Liam,” she said.
“You don’t know that. And I’m not willing to gamble with your life, Zoe,” he said. His smile was bitter, tight. “I know I should have kept my distance, kept my hands off you in the first place. But we both know I wasn’t strong enough to stay away. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
She wanted to shake him. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to wipe the ugliness of his childhood away and make it all okay for him. But she knew, better than anyone, that that wasn’t the way life worked.
“I’m going to have a shower. Then I’m going to go to bed. I want you to go home,” he said.
He turned away from her and reached for the snap on his jeans.
“Liam.”
“Go home, Zoe,” he said, his back still turned.
Zoe stared at him, lost in a memory from twelve years ago: Liam standing with his back to her just like this, waiting for her to get dressed and leave his studio, her precious virginity still intact.
He’d climbed on his bike and ridden out of her life that night, saving her from himself. Now he was trying to do it again.
At fifteen, she’d been crushed by his departure. At twenty-seven, she didn’t want to contemplate the hole his absence would leave in her life.
She opened her mouth to argue, ready to fight him tooth and nail for the happiness they’d created between them. Then he tugged his jeans down and her gaze found the three small, round scars that ran along the side of his right hip. She’d seen them, felt them dozens of times over the past month and always assumed they were an artifact of a motorcycle accident or some childish injury. With sudden clarity she saw them for what they were—cigarette burns. Three precise, measured punishments inflicted by the one man who should have loved and protected Liam above all others.
Liam hadn’t mentioned them in his roll call of scars. He probably had dozens of other injuries that he hadn’t cataloged for her. No doubt he didn’t deem them important enough or noteworthy.
But they were, like every other scar or mark on his body, like every memory of pain or fear in his mind.
He was so big and strong, so sensible and reliable. He lived in a big house, drove expensive cars, ran his own very successful business. Looking at him, no one would ever know that his childhood had been filled with fear and darkness.
Liam worked hard to keep it that way, too, she suddenly understood as she watched him step into the shower. He was always calm, always in control. Until last night she’d never seen him lose his temper, never even heard him raise his voice. He never got drunk, never acted in haste.
And yet underneath all the ease and the charm and the confidence and control, Liam carried his history with him as surely as she carried hers. Not as obviously, perhaps. Not as rawly. But it was there, informing everything he did.
It was inescapable, after all. It was part of him. And it was exacting its toll now that he was on the verge of starting his own family and building his own life. Because that’s what she and Liam had been doing together, despite their best intentions, despite their mutual resistance: they’d become a couple, a unit. Intimate, connected, loving.
Zoe turned on her heel without saying any of the angry, fighting words that had been on the tip of her tongue. She needed to think. She needed to see past her own panic and hurt and work out a way to get through to Liam. Words were not going to be enough to change the belief—the fear—
of a lifetime. Her own experience had taught her that, if nothing else. Only Liam’s concerted tenderness and repeated kindness and constant passion had convinced her that she was lovable, that she deserved happiness and laughter in her life.
All the way home, her mind churned and spun.
She remembered the dead, withdrawn look in Liam’s eyes as he rejected her. She remembered the feel of his arms around her as he struggled to control himself. She remembered the finality in his voice when he told her to leave.
She also remembered his distress when he learned what had happened to her all those years ago, and the way he’d weathered the storm of her anger to show her work to Jacinta. Lastly, she remembered how she’d felt when he caught her arm four weeks ago and told her not to go home, to stay with him till the morning.
She wiped the tears from her eyes as she stopped for a red light. Liam had some jumbo-size demons to deal with. So what? Who didn’t? She had more than her fair share. She refused to let his past ruin their future. She refused to let Liam’s father steal his happiness as an adult.
The car increased in speed as her determination hardened. She loved Liam, and she was going to fight for him this time. She’d lost him once to his mistaken sense of duty and honor, and he’d come back into her life and helped her find her way out of a deep dark hole.
It was time for her to return the favor.
LIAM SLEPT THROUGH THE DAY and woke when it was dark. He hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours and he forced himself to swallow a bowl of cereal even though he wasn’t hungry.
He’d done it. He’d told Zoe the ugly truth and set her free. He should feel lighter or at least moderately relieved that now she was safe.
He felt like shit.
He’d hurt her. He’d let things get out of hand between them. And now he had to live with the eternal punishment of having had Zoe and lost her.
Because he didn’t know where to put himself, he did laps of the house, walking from the dining room to the kitchen to the living room in a never-ending circuit. Eventually he went back to bed.
Sleep at least gave him a few hours’ peace from his thoughts.
Zoe had finished her work at Masters Mechanics with the completion of the competition chopper so at least he didn’t have to face her the next day when he went into the workshop. It didn’t stop him thinking about her constantly. He wanted to call her, check on how she was doing. But he was the last person she would want to hear from.
He loved her more than anything or anyone and he’d hurt her. The knowledge sat in his gut all day, gnawing away at him.
By midafternoon he could stand it no longer. He phoned Tom, calling himself ten different kinds of pathetic as he talked around the subject, finally asking if he’d spoken to Zoe recently.
There was a short pause before Tom spoke. “She came over here yesterday.”
Liam nodded. That was good. She’d gone to family. She had someone looking out for her. He cleared his throat.
“Okay. Good. I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t doing anything too crazy,” he said.
“You could always call her yourself, you know,” Tom suggested.
“No,” Liam said.
“If you want to grab a beer or something, I’ll be leaving the office at around seven tonight,” Tom said.
Again Liam was forced to clear his throat. The Fords had always come through for him. That was the kind of people they were.
“Thanks, mate, but I’ll be all right,” he said.
Liam sat with his hand on the phone receiver for a long time after the call had ended, tempted to pick it up and dial Zoe and damn the consequences. He battled with himself, forcing himself to remember the fear in Zoe’s eyes and the terrifying moment when his temper had slipped its leash. He flexed his hand, staring at the rawness of his knuckles.
Remember who you are, where you come from.
ON TUESDAY Liam sent Vinnie to Sydney to attend the biker build-off judging. Liam had planned to go personally, but he couldn’t concentrate, and the last thing he felt like doing was schmoozing a bunch of potential customers. He was still at his desk late on Tuesday night when Vinnie rang through to deliver the news: Masters Mechanics had come runner-up to Perth-based Western Choppers. Vinnie was pissed off and more than a little drunk. Liam reminded him that their chopper would still feature in a number of magazines and that they’d get more than their fair share of inquiries from the comp. When he hung up, all he could think about was that the news would give him an excuse to call Zoe.
He didn’t. He’d broken it off with her. The least he could do was have the guts to stick to his own decision.
Later as he was at home picking at dinner in front of the TV the doorbell rang. Despite all his best intentions, he couldn’t help hoping it was Zoe. Almost as much as he hoped it wasn’t.
He opened the door to find a pet carrier on the doorstep. A note was stuck to the top: “Because someone needs to look out for you.”
He stared through the wire at Little Dude’s small furry body, then he walked out to the driveway then into the street. He wanted a glimpse of her, that was all. Halfway up the block, a car pulled out from the curb. He watched until she turned the corner, then returned to his house and his new cat.
That night he lay in bed with Little Dude’s tiny claws kneading his shoulder. The myriad pinpricks were nothing compared to the ache in his chest.
On Wednesday he phoned Jacinta to get another third-person update on how Zoe was doing. It wasn’t enough and he wound up calling Tom again. He knew it was tragic, but he couldn’t stop himself. If he couldn’t have her in his life, at least he could know that she was doing okay.
Both Jacinta and Tom assured him that was the case, that Zoe seemed solid and on top of things.
Liam wanted to shake them both, remind them that Zoe was a master at stuffing her feelings down deep and ignoring them. He wanted to demand one of them go to her at night to make sure she wasn’t drinking herself to sleep and that she was eating properly. God knew, he wasn’t, and he didn’t have the luxury of anesthetizing himself with alcohol.
But not knowing what was going on with Zoe was going to be the hard reality of his life. He might as well get used to it. That night he gave in to the urge that had been dogging him all week and brought the painting of Zoe back into the house. He hung it above his bed, even though he knew it was dumb and torturous. Between Little Dude and the painting, he at least had the illusion that she was in his life.
Thursday afternoon he was contemplating the joys of his first weekend without Zoe when he heard the steady, measured tap-tap of boot heels on concrete. He knew before he swiveled in his office chair who it was.
Sure enough, there she was, standing in his doorway. He drank in the sight of her—long legs in dark denim, a black T-shirt stretched over her breasts. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, her hands tucked into the pockets of a black leather bomber jacket.
His chest tightened.
Damn, she looked good. She looked like the best thing under the sun.
Her gaze was steady as it met his. “Hi.”
For a second he couldn’t speak. Then he found his voice. “Zoe.”
She stepped over the threshold into his office.
“Bummer about the biker comp. Vinnie tells me we were robbed.”
“Vinnie’s a little biased. I’ve already had eight phone calls from people who saw our bike, so the comp served its purpose. You’re going to be busy.”
“Good. How’s Little Dude?”
“Hungry. Demanding. Yet to be litter trained.”
“I knew you two were made for each other.”
She dropped into the seat opposite him and met his eyes squarely. “I don’t suppose you’ve come to your senses yet?”
He didn’t bother answering. He studied her face. “You look good.”
“Do I? I feel like shit. Can’t sleep, no appetite. When I do sleep, all I dream about is you,” she said matter-of-factly. “But I’m guessing you know what that’s like.” Her green eyes were challenging.
“It’ll get easier,” he said.
“What if I don’t want it to? What if I don’t want to stop loving you, Liam Masters?”
He stared at her. She had no idea how much he’d wanted to hear her say those words again. Even though he knew they wouldn’t get either of them anywhere, he still wanted to hear the words.
“It’s for the best,” he said, his mouth dry.
“Bullshit. You and I have wanted each other since we were kids. That kind of feeling doesn’t fade away, Liam. It stays with you your whole life. It’s rare and it’s precious and I’m damned if I’m going to give up on you without a fight.”
Her eyes flashed and her cheeks were pink with emotion. He wanted to kiss her so badly it hurt.
“You can’t change what I am,” he said.
She leaned forward, her face intense.
“I don’t want to change what you are. You’re an amazing man. Beautiful, generous, kind, honorable. You’re nothing like your father, Liam. I know he hurt you, I know you have scars on the inside as well as the outside, but you are not him. You could never be him. You’ve spent your whole life making sure that would never happen. Do you really have that little faith in yourself?”
“You saw what I did to Marty Johannsen. I was out of control, Zoe. If that bouncer hadn’t pulled me off him, God knows what would have happened.”
“You would have stopped.”
“You know that for certain, do you? Because I don’t.”
He stared at her, grim. She held his eye.
“I know it, because I know you.”
He shook his head. “I saw your eyes, Zoe. I saw the way you looked at me afterward. You were right to be afraid of me. Smart. Smarter still to keep your distance.”
She frowned as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“Afraid of you? I wasn’t afraid of you, Liam. I was afraid for you. The police were on their way, you had blood on your face, some huge damned bouncer had you in a headlock. I was terrified for you.”
He stared at her, saw the unflinching truth in her eyes. He sat back in his chair, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.
Zoe watched him patiently, a small frown between her eyebrows.
“Don’t let him do this to you, Liam. You and your mom survived so much. Your injuries, the escape. You made a new life for yourselves. And when she was gone, you kept surviving on your own. Everything around us is a testament to the power of your will and the goodness and strength in you. Can’t you see that?”