LIAM

LIAM: It’ll Always Be You

(Book One)

KAT LIEU

Copyright © 2015 Kathleen Lieu

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Kathleen Lieu

Edited by Skylight Editorial

All Rights Reserved.

All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

~*~

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DEDICATION

I dedicate this series to my devoted husband. It would be nice if you could read my books again. You probably won’t even see this, LOL, but you are still the best husband that a girl can ask for.

To the new me, who has decided to be happy no matter what. You only live once. Writing, though it brings me little dough, brings me so much joy, and so I will write again! To carpal tunnel syndrome!

A shout-out to Bethany V. A., and the talented Annalisa and her fun mama, Andrea. Thanks for loving my books and sending me nice emails
.☺

A quick dedication to all the readers who’ve followed me since the days I was known as Bomee or Nummyz. You guys are amazing. <3

TABLE OF CONTENTS

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Book Two Preview

About the Author

“Is everything okay?” She pats my head, and as usual I’m quiet, so quiet that I’d probably bore a mime to death.

“My brother cries like this too sometimes, and ice cream always cheers him up.” She smiles at me. Her brother must be a baby. Or a crybaby, just like me. “Do you want me to get you some ice cream?”

I shake my head.

Maybe she’ll leave me alone now. Instead she says, “We’ve met before but weren’t formally introduced.”

She doesn’t look like I’ve bored her. I like how she’s talking to me, instead of talking down at me.

When she winks, I feel funny on the inside.

“My name is Mandi.” She extends her hand for me to shake, but I ignore her gesture.

I know her and her name. It’s a great name that rhymes with candy. My name, William, rhymes with… What does it rhyme with?

“Your granny calls you Willie. Can I call you Willie?”

I shrug. I hate being called Willie or William. So when I’m eighteen, I’m legally changing my name to Liam. Single syllabled names are so much cooler.

For some reason, though, I won’t mind it if she wants to call me Willie.

Mandi dabs my cheeks with a tissue. She moves aside the wet bangs that hide my eyes. Normally, I don’t like it when strangers touch me, but I don’t move away from her.

“You shouldn’t be hiding those beautiful blue eyes,” she says.

My cheeks grow warm.

“You, my new friend, need a haircut. Stat. Unless you want me to call you Shaggy from now on?”

I shake my head. Who, except for Scooby’s friend, wants to be called Shaggy?

Her soft fingers remind me of Mom’s touch. More tears flood my eyes. I can’t stop sobbing and sniffling. I must look stupid and ugly, like a baby no one wants.

Mandi hugs me like we’ve known each other forever. This is nice. Is this what it’s like to have a girlfriend?

She releases me from the hug and says, “I have a little brother. You have to meet him. His name is Carl and he’s eleven. You’re eleven too, right?”

I nod. I’m almost twelve, I want to tell to her. I’ve seen her brother before. He’s shorter than me. Skinny. Looks annoying. I don’t want to be his friend.

I can be her friend though. She’s nice.

And she’s tall, tall for a girl. She’s probably sixteen or something. I can’t tell. I’m not good at guessing people’s ages.

“Carl loves to play videogames. When he’s not stuck to the couch, he skateboards and plays handball. What do you like to do?” Mandi’s voice is very pretty, like a Disney princess’s.

I shrug. I like videogames but lately, I don’t do much but read. Mom and Dad left me with hundreds of books.  

“I have an idea. When you’re feeling a little better, why don’t we all hang out? You, me, and Carl? What do you say?”

I wipe my nose. “Okay, I guess.”

I like the warm smile on Mandi’s face. She’s very beautiful and has long hair like Mom did.

Mandi is also very nice. Did I mention that already?

This is the first time we’ve met in person since she, her brother, and their mother moved next door to Grams and me. They moved here a little after… after my parents—both college professors—were killed by a gunman on the campus where they worked.

The nightmares I have just won’t go away. Again and again, I hear pop, pop, pop in my head. I imagine the fear my parents must have felt. One minute, they were having lunch—at exactly 12:30PM in the school cafeteria—laughing over stories about their students and probably about me.

The next moment, the gunman’s bullets rained across the cafeteria. My parents never even had a chance against him.

Fuck.

This still doesn’t feel real.

The tears flow again. Mandi hugs me and there’s only silence between us for the next few minutes.

It’s been over six months since I lost my parents, and I haven’t spoken a word to anyone, not even my granny.

For some reason, I am able to speak to Mandi.

When I stop crying, Mandi says, “I’m looking forward to us hanging out.” She glances at her watch. “I gotta go. Feel better, okay?” She pats my head, gives me a sympathetic smile, and waves.

She climbs over the fence that separates our backyards and disappears into her house.

~*~

…The next day…

“Come to the door, Willie,” Grams calls from the first floor, demonstrating the unexpected strength of her impressive 80-year-old lungs. I come downstairs and freeze. Mandi and her brother are outside our door. She waves at me.

“You kids want to come in for a snack?” Grams asks them. For some reason, she winks at Mandi.

“Sure, Grams!” Mandi says. She’s calling my grandma, Grams? Since when have they become best friends?

Mandi pushes Carl through the door. Carl’s eyes are dark brown, darker than his sister’s. His hair is jet-black. Carl rolls his eyes. Seeing this makes me smile. I’ve always wanted a brother or a sister to either boss around or boss me around. Yes, I’m strange. I know.

“Willie, where are your manners? Please bring our guests to the dining room,” Grams says. I guess having Grams boss me around is enough. No siblings then. Not that I’ll ever have any now…

I nod and signal for sister and brother duo to follow me. I hear Carl dragging his feet.  

“This better not be a waste of time,” he mutters. “Ow!”

I turn around and see Carl rubbing his shoulder. Mandi is shooting daggers through her narrowed eyes at her brother.

“Carl’s a little cranky because he hasn’t had his bottle yet. Let me ask Grams to make you some warm milk.”

Carl turns to face me. He plants his palms on my shoulders. “Kid, you’re lucky she’s not your sister. She’s a real mean witch.” He quickly turns to hide behind me as his sister storms toward him.

“She’s… she’s not that mean,” I stutter.

Mandi wags her fingers at us. “You two better behave or I’ll cast a spell on you.”

But Mandi, you’ve already cast a spell on me.

Willie wins for being the saddest boy I’ve ever seen.

Even Carl wasn’t that sad when our father left us for Maggie, our home-wrecking neighbor, and the bastard baby they had together. My brother was relieved that he and I would no longer have to shield Mom from Dad’s biting words and bruising punches.

Sometimes at night, I can hear Willie cry himself to sleep. In the dead of night, he would wake up from nightmares, calling for his mom and dad. My heart can’t help but ache for this kid. Even if Grams hadn’t approached me and asked me to be his friend, I would have reached out to him.

Us broken souls, we need to pick each other up.

I hope the monster who killed Willie’s parents rots in his jail cell.