A Perfect Love (8 page)

Liam was being a weird-arse and had been the last few days. I needed to get him to spill, which was rare. It was unlike him to keep crap to himself. If he continued, I was not impartial to pummelling his arse into submission for him to spill the goddamned beans.

One minute, he was being overly attentive to the point where I wanted to punch him if he stroked my growing tummy once more, while in the next moment, he disappeared to make a call. I knew he had been on the phone to Mace a fair bit. He’d told me several times, “Just need to check on something with Mace.” He’d then disappear for five, ten, sometimes twenty minutes at a time, before coming back like a bear with a sore head. I was close to smacking him in the head, the turd. His weirdness and occasional sharpness, which did not fly with me one iota, was giving me whiplash.

Things at work had finally settled down with a big contract being signed, and plenty of work was coming in. This meant I knew he wasn’t stressing about work, but it also made me curious as hell why he’d be talking to Mace. I refused to call him ‘Mace’ to his face on principle; it was always Simon. I’d forgotten what that principle was over the years, but calling a thirty-something-year-old man by a nickname rather than his name seemed a bit dense; it wasn’t even as though it was a shortened version of his name, like mine. That could happily be my new reason for sure. Plus, I knew it pissed him off. It was the little things in life that made me happy.

But the fact that Liam was on the phone with him a lot concerned me. Our contact with Mace was sporadic at best, and tended to be only business-related. A long time ago, I thought I’d put my demons to rest, and to be honest, I was ready to make peace with Mace. I thought it would actually be a good thing. Liam was the one who remained hesitant.

Standing up and preparing to take our dinner plates to the dishwasher, I stopped Liam with a hand on his forearm. He looked at me and smiled in question.

“Sit,” I ordered. I didn’t return his smile, resulting in his immediately disappearing.

“What’s wrong, babe?” He sat the plates down in front of him.

“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what on Earth is going on.” He went to speak, but I cut him off immediately. “No bullshitting, no
nothing
. Something is off, and it stinks of something I need to know about.”

“Shit.” He looked pained as his brows furrowed, head lowering and face blanching. My heart plummeted in response, even though that was exactly what I smelt—shit. Whatever he was keeping from me, his reaction was enough to let me know I was not going to like what he had to say. And he would be telling me. He knew better than to continue to keep stuff from me. The thought that he’d already been lying, or possibly just not letting me in on something important, should have pissed me off. Okay, I
was
pissed off, but more than that, I knew Liam, soul-deep knew him. I knew he would only be doing whatever the hell he’d been doing, if he was trying to protect me. It was that knowledge that triggered my heart to sink before it started racing.

“I’m ready.” I really,
really
wasn’t, but I was rarely a coward, unless it involved spiders, and I didn’t think he was hiding a nest of fat, hairy huntsmen in the garage.

He nodded, stood up, and removed something from his jacket pocket, which was hanging up. Sitting back down, he reached out and took my right hand in his.
Bugger, this is definitely not going to be good.
“It’s best if you just read this.” He handed me a folded and creased piece of white paper. I could see handwriting through the page, but had no idea what could have caused this reaction.

Liam didn’t release the paper immediately. Instead, he held on to it at the same time I did without saying a word. Regret, worry and a glimmer of anger were evident in his eyes.

“I can handle whatever this is,” I said, pleased my voice did not quaver, despite my rising panic.

He nodded and removed his hand.

Cracking my neck from side to side in attempt to release the tension, I proceeded to unfold the piece of paper. It was a letter.

Chapter Six

Liam

I didn’t know what frightened me more: the lack of emotion springing from Jo or the fact that she’d kissed me on the head and had left the room, heading to our bedroom. I sat at the table feeling numb. None of the crap that played out should have ever happened. It certainly should not be rehashed, especially at a time when Jo was at her most vulnerable. She’d never admit she was vulnerable, but the reality was she was pregnant, plus she had to face a past which we’d tried damn hard to deal with and leave behind.

Jo was always a straight shooter. After the nightmare of seven years earlier, we’d dealt with the chaos head-on. We’d also separated for a time. The memory of our split always hit me hard when I thought about it, but I also knew Jo needed the time to grow and deal on her own terms. There was no ignoring, no sweeping under the carpet. At the time and three years later, even more so, we’d talked and cried, screamed and shouted, until there were no longer any more words, just a distant, albeit painful, memory.

Standing, I picked up the letter, refolded it, grabbed my jacket, and returned it to my pocket. I couldn’t sit on my arse and do nothing. Before I headed out, I kissed Jo lightly on her head and pulled the covers under her chin. I knew she feigned sleep, but she was also doing what she needed to in order to survive. “I love you,” I whispered as I closed our door.

Before I started my bike, I called Ella. She remained silent as I gave her a quick rundown. She promised me she’d be by Jo’s side in under ten minutes. Knowing Jo was safe and that she didn’t need me at that moment, I revved my bike and headed to Mace’s. He said he would call when he had something, but the thought of sitting around doing jack-shit was more than I could handle.

I enjoyed the pull of gravity as I opened my bike up, needing the spike of adrenaline to help me keep a balance. In too short a time, I pulled up outside Mace’s house. There was a collection of Harleys outside. Removing my helmet, I headed around the back to the kitchen where I knew Mace and some of the boys would be hanging out. I was right.

The door was open, a barbeque was lit, and a group of seven or so people were milling around. I recognised the familiar faces and nodded in greeting. I headed straight inside where I found Mace with his head in the fridge. “Get me one while you’re there, brother.”

Mace pulled back with two beers in his hand, closed the fridge, and handed me a cold beer. He indicated to the door leading to the rest of the house. Wordlessly, I followed, closing the door behind me.

He sat on the leather sofa in his sitting room. I grabbed the chair opposite, taking in the modest room decorated in neutral colours, with a few photographs dotted around. Considering Mace’s greaser ways, it never failed to amuse me how sophisticated his tastes were.

I stood up and headed toward a photo frame on one of the shelves. Lifting it to take a closer look, I smiled at the memory. It was taken when I was barely twenty. Jo sitting on my lap, head thrown back laughing at something no doubt ridiculous Mace was saying. He was sitting to my side, Abi standing behind him, arms draped over his shoulders.

We were so young, so delusional to the shitstorm heading our way just a few years after. Seeing Abi reminded me that it wasn’t just Jo and me who were hurting. Mace was hurting, too. I replaced the frame without saying a word and sat back down.

“You told her then?” I nodded in response. “What did she say?”

“Nothing.” I swept my hands through my hair. “Nothing at all. She’s not ready. El’s with her now.”

Mace pursed his lips, clearly wanting to say more as he leaned his elbows on his knees.

“Out with it,” I prompted.

“It’s screwed. We know it. There’s shit-all we can do. I’ve tried to find an in, but it’s impossible. Frank, you know, from the Goldie, is in there at the moment, but shit’s too tight there.” He looked at me pointedly. “We can sort this shit out when he’s released.”

I knew what he was saying, what he was suggesting. I also knew there was no way I could even consider travelling down that path. Mace was a lot of things, and he’d been in more scrapes than most people I knew. Yet to suggest what I knew he was suggesting, what he was implying, despite the fact that I wanted nothing more than to destroy the man who’d changed Jo’s life irrevocably, was not me. I also knew Mace, like me, was not a murderer. Hell, he’d been a cop in a former life. The thought drew my attention back to the photograph of Abi, the final nail which dragged him out of the force and into the life he since led.

I shook my head. “No.” My voice was firm, resolute. “We will deal with this. He will continue to pay, but not that way. Never that way. The last seven years have been hard enough. The guilt has been enough;
my
guilt has been enough. I won’t be taking any more shit, not anymore.”

Mace did not look pleased, but I also knew he would never recover if we took the next step. There had been enough guilt over the past seven years, enough for a lifetime. “So, what do you want to do, Liam?”

“We wait.” It wasn’t what I’d set out to do. To be honest, I had no idea what my intentions were when I came to see Mace, but this wasn’t it. For the time being, until I could do more, until I could stand in front of the man who raped Jo—my father—this would have to do. I’d wait.

Some things constantly play on. They play in slow motion. No matter what you do to avoid, to forget, they remains. We survived the trauma, the pain, and somehow came out on the other side. We were stronger for it. Jo had maintained her crazy-arsed self, finished university, and we’d managed a decent crack at our lives. We’d reached the point when everything seemed to make sense. Until that damn letter.

Three weeks had passed since I’d shown Jo the letter. We’d talked and she’d cried, yet once again, she still managed to wear a smile. What was even more miraculous was that her smile was real. I knew when her smile was painted on, which was very rare, and for the most part, it was genuine. It was the baby. It kept her grounded, kept
me
grounded.

In less than three weeks, David Mason would be released from prison. I’d still yet to see my mum, and I had no desire to. What I did find the need to do, though, was figure out why the hell David had written Jo a letter.

After emptying my pockets, I was patted down. The guards moved down the line of visitors, carrying out the same search. Finally reaching the last person in line, a buzzer went off, signalling the release of the metal door, and they ushered us through.

I was directed to a seat waiting to confront the man who I hadn’t seen in almost seven years, one who I would have been quite happy to never see again. Hearing another buzz, I looked down, wiping my sweating hands on my jeans, and forced myself to control my breathing. I felt his presence immediately and then the shift of the benched table as he sat down opposite me. I counted to ten before I was able to control my heart rate and my features. I then looked up at him.

His eyes were wide, searching my face. Clearing his throat, he started, “Son—”

I cut him off immediately. “Don’t. My name’s Liam. Don’t ever call me that,
David
.”

He nodded in acknowledgment, his mouth in a hard line. I took the moment to study his face. The last seven years had not been kind to him, which I was so bloody pleased to see. Deep wrinkles framed his eyes and mouth, and a scar marred his cheek. His eyes, the same colour as my own, appeared duller, different. I assumed that it had been so long since sober eyes looked back at me, I no longer recognised them.

David was a meth addict. He hadn’t spent much time in mine or Mace’s lives growing up. At different times, he would show up, turning our lives momentarily into chaos, begging for money, usually stealing and causing as much trouble as he could muster. A fist to the face wasn’t something rare.

Many times growing up, I’d wondered what it would be like having a mum who gave a crap and a dad who wasn’t a meth-head. The first glimpse I had into such a life was when I met Jo. She introduced me to the world I wanted and one I didn’t think I truly deserved. But Jo, being her stubborn self, had soon brow-beaten me into submission, allowing me to see I deserved more and I deserved her. Even after what
he
had done to her, she never turned her back on me. When we had parted for that time, it was never about me, or our lack of love.