Burn (Brothers of Ink and Steel #2) (20 page)

“Two years … it’s not really that long to wait. You’re worth it.” She kisses me this time, and I want it to last forever.

Chapter Nine

2015

Quinn

It’s cold out here, but I don’t care; it feels so much like old times, as if I went through some amazing time portal and hurdled back to 2005. World War III could be raging around me and I wouldn’t care. Liam’s warmth is bringing me life once again, his stormy eyes are drinking me in like they used to, and his deep, resonating voice makes me remember him telling me stories, reminding me of everything good in the world, everything I miss with a heartache that never stops.

“So, did you go to college, like you wanted to?” he asks me.

“Yeah, I’m in my last year.”

He stares at me, waiting for more. “Well??” He jumps ahead of me and walks backwards while he examines my expression. “What did you end up majoring in?”

He knows it was my biggest dream to go to school. “Interdisciplinary studies,” I confess. “I couldn’t make up my mind once I got there, so I’ve studied a little of everything.”

“Hmm …” he cocks his eyebrow at me.

I slap his shoulder. “Don’t judge me!”

He laughs and pretends to be wounded, grabbing at his arm.

“What about you, Mr. MMA fighter and tattoo-creating badass? Couldn’t choose just one thing to be amazing at?” I tease.

“Don’t forget, I still work for Cade,” he says as he falls back in next to me.

“I didn’t forget.”

Liam’s a man with incredible talents. I’m fortunate he’s been in the spotlight. His celebrity has let me watch him secretly, from a distance.

“Which is your favorite thing to do?” I ask.

“That question’s been thrown at me a lot lately.”

I shrug. “It seems like you can’t make up your mind, like I can’t.”

“Who says I can’t do all of it?”

“No one,” I answer him. The next thought pops out of my mouth before I can stop it, like some part of me wants him to know what another part of me wants to keep a secret. “I catch your fights, you know, every once in a while.”

“You
watch my fights?” He doesn’t believe me.

“Yeah …” Hell with it, I’ve already leaped. “I went to the convention center in College Park when you fought Palomino last year … and Fuentes the year before that. He dealt you a cheap shot.”

“
What?!
Wait a minute!” He leaps ahead of me and grasps my shoulders. “You … YOU went to my matches? Live?”

I lift my chin to keep myself strong after letting my defenses down. “Yes, why wouldn’t I?”

He opens his mouth to answer me, but no sound comes out.

“I’m proud of you. You’ve really made an incredible name for yourself. You deserve all your successes. Plus, I got to show you off to my friend Shellie and brag that I knew you.” All of a sudden I feel like I’m digging myself into a hole. A deep, wide hole I may not be able to get out of.

“Why didn’t you come backstage to see me?” he croaks.

I didn’t think of him asking me that. “I don’t know, I didn’t want to mess up your mojo.” God, that sounded stupid.

He looks off to the side, visibly shocked.

“I’ve also watched each time you were on
Ink Master
,” I say, and he makes a noise beside me. “I’m really happy you continued with your art. You’ve always had an amazing gift, and I’ve loved watching you showing it to the world.”

“I had no idea you even knew,” he says in a low tone.

“You’re a celebrity, Liam,” I say, trying to lighten the conversation up.

“You hate fighting,” he accuses.

“Yeah, so?” I laugh. “At least the MMA is sanctioned with rules and not fighting to the death.”

He doesn’t say anything and we walk a little in silence. I desperately wish that I knew what he was thinking. Then I wonder if maybe he’s thinking I’m a crazy stalker.

“I think my favorite subject in my interdisciplinary studies program is art history—and the humanities. Definitely. I’ve contemplated becoming a museum curator after I graduate,” I say out of nowhere, trying to turn the silence around.

“What period are you most into?”

I’m relieved he picks up the conversation.

“I don’t really have one favorite time period. Actually, I’m more intrigued by the people who created the art and what was happening to them, the world and their society at the time. For example, the Chinese art made by women from the Hunan province, they were so oppressed by the men in their society that they formed a secret language to communicate with each other called Nushu. They embroidered the words into ornate fans, cloth books and other things that could be passed to each other as gifts without being detected. Egyptian art is so cool too. You know, they never recorded their failures or defeats, only their victories. The Bauhaus Movement, DaVinci and Galileo …”

“How were they intriguing?”

“Because the church was the almighty power, and their philosophies, art, science and religion didn’t usually mesh.”

He smiles at me like he already knew that.

“Are you teasing me?” I ask.

“No. No, not at all. I’m just remembering your passion and your fire. And the sound of your voice. I could listen to it all night,” he says. “So please, keep talking.”

Of course, what he confesses takes my breath away, and I can’t form a word.

When the pause gets too long for Liam, he says, “I assume you attend the University of Georgia?”

“I was offered a scholarship at Georgia State.”

“What do you do for fun?”

I laugh. “Fun? Well in my free time, I help build houses with Habitat for Humanity. Oh, and I volunteer at the city’s homeless shelters. Especially the halfway house for teenagers.”

“Of course you do.”

“Don’t make fun.”

“I promise, I’m not. It all just sounds very much like you.”

“I have a few good friends that I keep close to, but really, school and my volunteer activities take up a lot of my time.” I gather my thoughts. “What about you? Did you … go to college?”

“Minneapolis College of Art and Design.”

“Liam, really? They’re so prestigious!”

“Cade and Debra put me through. I kept living at the home while I studied and worked for Cade at the gym—training with the kids that came through. After I graduated, I never stopped. That’s my most rewarding job.

“Cade recently paired me up with a thirteen-year-old boy—his name is Jonah. He’s bright, but he’s autistic, so he’s quiet, and it’s obvious that he’s frightened and lonely. My entire purpose since he came into my life a few weeks ago is to break through the shell he’s built around himself. He doesn’t talk, but he can. I know his mother tried drowning him when he was around five years old and he’s been in foster care ever since, but I think something else has happened, something in more recent history that’s sealed him off even more from the world.”

I look up at him as he formulates his next thought. Good God, he’s so amazing and so gorgeous. He hasn’t changed at all.

“My art gives me a way to express the deepest part of who I am. Tattooing also allows me to draw out someone else’s essence. When you create a tattoo on someone’s body, it’s art for life. You help them express themselves, and a piece of you becomes immortal.”

I pull on a string unraveling from my mitten, and I find it ironic. Liam is unraveling me.

“Thank God,” he says as we round Lake Nokomis. “My house is right around the corner.”

“You have a place near the lake?”

“I bought it a couple years ago. I’ve got a big dog that needed some extra space.”

He said “I” both times.
Maybe he doesn’t live with his girlfriend
.
Maybe it’s horrible of me to think that way.

I assume that he and Adrienne are together, considering the fact that he felt the need to kiss her goodbye when he left the shop. At least he only kissed her on the cheek—probably in an attempt to make me feel less uncomfortable.
Uncomfortable
doesn’t really describe the feelings I had in that moment—I’ve always been intensely jealous of other girls around Liam, more than I’d like to admit. All of these years, keeping tabs on his life the way I have, I’ve relished every article that called him a playboy; it let me imagine that maybe a part of his heart still belonged to me. I know I don’t deserve the claim—I just wish …

He kissed me at The Core, but he hasn’t mentioned it since. With Adrienne in the picture, he could have chocked the kiss—the ravaging, soul-reaching kiss—up to a mistake.

“And there it is.”

“That’s your house?”

“Don’t you believe me?”

“I believe you, it’s just huge,” I observe. Too huge for a single man.

Could he actually be married? I think I’d have seen something about it if he was, but the press has pretty much stayed away from his private life for some reason. Josh has been in the tabloids a lot, but Liam really hasn’t. I wonder how he’s managed that. Could Cade’s influence have anything to do with it?

I notice him staring at me.

“It’s stunning,” I say finally.

The house is constructed mainly of glass. Massive windows are set in rough-hewn wood and slate.

He hasn’t mentioned children, but a ball of ill energy forms in the pit of my stomach. “Do you … have a boat?”
Do you have kids?

“Yeah, a rowboat. It helps me keep in shape.” He smiles and pats his abs.

I’d like to see his abs.

He opens the front door and holds it open for me. I hold my breath against what I’m going to discover—all the things he hasn’t talked about—when a mammoth bear-dog comes running up to me.

“Oh my God!” the biggest black Newfoundland I’ve ever seen greets me before he greets Liam.

Happily, he jumps up, getting his paws onto my shoulders and subsequently pushing me against Liam. I have no choice but to fall backwards and let Liam catch me, while the dog licks my face. I’m thankful he’s licking me, because he’s big enough to consume me in one bite!

“Get down,” Liam commands.

The dog doesn’t listen, and Liam takes him by the collar and sets him straight with a firm tug.

“Sit. Now.”

The pooch does.

“He’s a big baby. He’s not even a year old yet.” Liam is stroking his soft, dark fur.

“What’s his name?” I kneel next to them and scratch behind his ear.

“Bailey.” Liam’s eyes pierce mine.

Bailey, like
Bailey’s Irish Cream
?? No, he couldn’t mean that.
Could he?

“You must be starved,” he says finally. “Why don’t you take your coat and wet boots off and relax. I’m going to change and then grab a couple takeout menus. Oh, do you need to be someplace? I’ll give you a ride. Or you’re welcome to stay and have dinner with me … since lunch is long gone.”

“Dinner would be good. I’ve got nowhere I have to be,” I answer.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, um … bathroom?” I can’t even imagine how terrible I look after a five mile jaunt.

“Sure, right down the hall.” He points.

“Thanks.”

He leaves me to myself. After I slip off my boots and socks, I set them by the door and soft-foot down the hallway and into the bathroom.

It’s plain, with next to nothing for décor. Rustic wood beams and paneling and simple fixtures. I open the medicine cabinet, and it’s bare. No medications or women’s pads. I dig around the drawers. No sign of femininity.

I feel somewhat relieved, but a house this size could easily have multiple bathrooms—his and hers.

I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror. “Oh my God!” My hair is a hat-head disaster and my eyeliner and mascara is in streaks down my face.
Perfect.
Great impression.

I wash my face clean with the pump soap that smells like man. I almost start to cry. I can’t even say it smells like Liam. I don’t know what Liam smells like anymore.

I dry my face with the towel and can’t help but smile.
It
smells like Liam. My Liam.

“Oh, Quinn, what are you doing here?” I ask my reflection in the mirror. My voice quivers and I can’t even think of how much trouble I’m in.

I should have stayed away from him. I should have come here and dealt with everything surrounding my mom and what her death means … I shouldn’t have added Liam to it all.

“Dear God. I still love him,” I whisper.
My heart still aches and burns and hurts so bad, I can’t think straight. He’s never stopped being everything to me.
I swipe the tears from my eyes.

I run my fingers through my tangles until my hair takes a better shape.

I turn and grip the doorknob, but I don’t want to go out there. I don’t want a tour through his home, to see how he’s moved on.

Fuck! I don’t even have my phone to call Shellie. She’d talk me through this.

Back straight, breathe.