Trusting Liam(48)

“That past . . . it’s the one we talked about in the ice cream shop?” When Kennedy nodded, I asked, “And you’re still not going to tell me about it?”

“It’s complicated,” she said softly, and I knew from her tone that she once again wouldn’t be going into detail about it.

“Okay,” I said, and studied her closely. “So what are you thinking now?”

Her dark blue eyes met me again, and she shrugged slowly. “I’m thinking that it was my past, and it’s always going to stay there, so I need to move on from it.”

I walked around the bed until I was directly in front of her, and leaned down so my face was within an inch of hers. “What does that mean for us?”

“It means I’m not going to run. You’re safe.” Her lips spread into a wide smile and she closed the distance between us until our lips were barely touching. “For now.”





11



July 17

Kennedy

“WHAT ABOUT THIS one?” My fingers trailed over what looked like a combination of two letters on Liam’s right forearm, close to the inside of his elbow.

He’d been lying on my bed for the past couple hours with his shirt off as he told me stories about all the times he’d gotten his ass handed to him by his dad in the ring, and I’d studied the art covering the left side of his upper body.

When he didn’t respond, I traced the letters again and asked, “Is this a T?” I glanced over to his arctic-blue eyes, and he simply nodded. “Does that mean this is a G it’s connected to?”

Liam nodded again, and I pursed my lips, contemplating asking him more about it since he wasn’t offering anything. Unfortunately for him, I was one of those people who didn’t know how to stop talking even when I knew I should.

“Obviously you don’t want to tell me about it, but can I ask one more question before I drop it?”

“Sure.” The word was soft and deep, and rumbled up from his chest in a way that had me biting down on my lip.

“Um, is it—is it a girl’s initials?”

His eyebrows pinched together and he laughed once. “What?”

“Well, this is the first time you’ve kind of shut down while we were talking. Not that I can say much about that since shutting down is my favorite thing to do—but I’ve never seen you respond this way. And I can’t think of any other reason why you would have two letters tattooed on you.”

He sent me an amused smile. “Do you have a guy’s name tattooed on you somewhere?”

“No.”

“And there isn’t a girl’s name, or anything to do with a girl who has been in my life, on my body.”

“Got it.”

I stopped tracing the tattoo when he looked away from me, and tried to figure out why he was acting like this suddenly. There was an anxious energy rolling off him as he continued to stare up at the ceiling, and the minutes continued to pass without him saying anything. Just when it started to become too much, I began climbing off the bed and he grabbed my arm to stop me. When I looked back at him, he pulled me closer and sighed heavily.

“Don’t leave. I’ve just never had anyone ask about that tattoo, and it caught me off guard. I’ve never told anyone about it. There’s a certain group of people who know the whole”—he paused as he tried to find the right word, and finally just blurted out—“weird and confusing-as-shit story, and not one of those people is someone I’ve told. They all knew long before I did—or before I understood, I guess. The reason behind actually getting the tattoo . . . well, it was kind of for my mom because I’d been a dick to her and my family. It was an apology of sorts.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” I whispered. “I get it, it’s personal. What you’ve already said explains enough, so it’s okay.”

He stared at me for a while before admitting, “But I want to tell you. I don’t know why, I just do. You have this normal family and I have the exact opposi—”

“My family is far from normal,” I scoffed.

Liam raised an eyebrow at me. “Really,” he said, his tone full of disbelief.

“I’m sure there are people who have families far different from mine and Kira’s. I’ve already told you that my dad and uncle Mason are detectives in the gang unit, and you met Mason, so I’m sure you can somewhat understand, and having them hovering over us and just being the way they are as we grew up was an experience in itself. But the older we got, the more stories we heard . . . and I don’t know how to wrap my head around the kind of men that they had to be. So it’s not like I had this insane life growing up, or crazy family who had weird rituals in the backyard on full moons or anything. We just weren’t a cookie-cutter family. I grew up learning how to escape being kidnapped, how to defend myself, how to shoot, and basically having two bodyguards instead of a dad and uncle,” I finished on a laugh.