Hush Hush #2 (14 page)

He sighs and pulls away. My mind reels as I watch him walk over to the truck. What’s going on here? This is
Riley
, the kid who used to stick peanut butter in my hair and who made fun of me for listening to Kenny G.

He returns and places the sandwich in my hands. His fingers graze mine, but now I can’t tell whether this is an accident or not. I try to push these confusing questions out of my mind. There are enough worried thoughts in there already.
 

We stroll halfway down the block and plop onto an empty bench. Riley immediately begins unwrapping his sandwich, but I stare at mine blankly. I had thought I could convince myself to take a few bites, but my nerves are zinging around my body like a pinball machine. With each minute that brings me closer to Liam, my anxiety mounts.

I turn to him suddenly. “How is it possible that you’re so
brave
all the time?” I ask.

“Huh?” Riley says thickly through a mouthful of sandwich. He swallows and says, “
Me?
Brave? Sorry, you must have me confused with someone else.”

“Stop it.” I give him a gentle shove on the shoulder. “You know you are. You never seem fazed at all when you talk about the Hawthornes. You invited the Benzes over like it was nothing, even though you knew that Mr. Robinson was after them.”

“Ah, so you’re clearly conflating stupidity with bravery,” he says. But then he catches a glimpse of my expression, and the joking tone drops from his voice. “It’s not like I’m charging into battle or anything. I’m just trying to do what’s right. And besides, I don’t feel very brave.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. “In the last couple of weeks, I haven’t seen
anything
that scares you. And we’re starting to see some pretty scary stuff.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then says, “You do.”

My eyebrows shoot upward. “
I
scare you? Which one curdles your blood more—my wet-noodle limbs or my astonishing inability to impersonate a law student?”

“I’m serious,” Riley insists. “Fourteen years is a long time to go without your best friend. And now you’re back—under the sketchiest, most precarious circumstances I’ve ever seen, I’ll add—and it seems too good to be true. Like—one wrong move, and you’ll be gone again.”

“I won’t. I’m not planning on going anywhere for the time being. Not unless I have to,” I say. I’m touched by his words. I never even realized that he considered me his best friend. That I meant that much to him.
 

“I hope so,” he says. He leans back and puts his sandwich down on the bench beside him, momentarily forgotten. “April, I’m worried for you. The more I learn about the Hawthornes, the less I like the idea of you being involved. I hope you’re being careful.”

“I am,” I insist. “Believe me, I’ve never been this painstakingly careful in my whole life. I won’t let the Hawthornes hurt me.”

“It’s not
them
I’m worried about,” he says. He gazes at me with a sad, soulful expression. “I just want to make sure you don’t lose yourself in all of this.”

“What do you mean?”
 

“It’s just…” Riley says, trailing off. He sighs. “I know the Hawthornes are no good, but it’s got to eat up a little part of you, don’t you think? Setting out to ruin someone’s life?”

I shift on the bench uneasily. “I don’t have much of a choice, Riley,” I murmur. “George and Barbara cast a huge shadow over my life. I’ve had to live beneath it every day since I was eleven years old. And so I
have
to do this. It’s the only way I know how to let a little light in.”
 

“How can you be so sure?” Riley says, leaning forward. “What if this makes things worse? What if you can’t live with yourself?”

I just shake my head in response. Riley doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what it’s like, to have this anger bubbling for years on end. Consuming me from the inside out.

Riley reaches out and rests his hand softly on my shoulder.

“Just…watch yourself, okay?”

14

Liam is already waiting when I pull into the driveway at three o’clock. He’s leaning against the hood of his car, dressed in a crisp white button-down and a pair of dark jeans. His jaw is freshly shaven, and his hair is neatly combed back.
 

Keeping his arms crossed in front of him, he glares down at the brick driveway with a steely resolve. It’s only after I’ve gotten out of my car when he finally blinks and emerges from his trance.

“Let’s get this over with,” he says, opening the door for me.

I slide inside, waiting nervously as he circles the car and drops himself heavily into the seat beside me. He runs his hands over the steering wheel absentmindedly, back and forth, staring once again out at the criss-crossing brick pattern of the driveway.

“It would be fine if you’ve changed your mind about this,” he says. “I wouldn’t be angry with you.”

Liam’s eyes are piercing as he stares into mine. I can feel the tension radiating off him in waves. The air between us becomes hot, charged with anticipation.
 

“I haven’t,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

His hands clench. “You might not look at me the same way again. You might not like it.”

My heart leaps.
 

And that’s exactly the point
, I think excitedly to myself. The past few weeks have been knee-buckling—and I have to admit, totally exhilarating—but he hasn’t given me any useful information. Not on purpose, anyway. He’s remained an enigma.

Until now.

I brush a soothing hand over his. His fingers are still wrapped around the steering wheel.
 

The realization dawns on me, and it’s all at once astonishing and thrilling: can it be—the unflappable Liam Hawthorne is getting cold feet?
 

This makes me shiver. I can only imagine what it could be, what dark secret he’s about to reveal to me.

“You told me once, before you took me to your room for the first time, that you’ve done terrible things,” I remind him gently. “And I didn’t care even then. I still undressed myself for you. Still drove myself crazy over you.”

He’s staring out the window, his jaw locked in a grimace. But there’s a twitch at his lips that tells me he’s hearing what I’m saying.

I go on, “When you told me last night that there was more to your story, do you think that I didn’t have
some
small idea what you were talking about? Nothing you can show me will surprise me. And nothing can turn me away from you. That’s just how much you mean to me, Liam.”

His expression starts to soften. His eyes swing back to me, a hint of conciliation in those light blues. And then I deliver the final blow—

“But you
have
to show me. You’re asking me to trust you, and I don’t know how I can possibly do that if I don’t know who you are, inside and out.”

That does it.
 

Sighing, he turns the ignition and the motor comes to life. We pull forward with an alarming speed, away from his house and out towards the highway. Liam weaves between the other cars on the road, going faster and faster until the world is a streaked blur.

“Do you do that on purpose?” he says out of the blue.

I turn to him. “What’s that?”

“I think you do,” he decides. “Don’t think I have’t noticed it. When you want something from me, you tend to bite your lip and give me that little sexy half-smile. And then when you get that look in those big brown eyes, I’m done for. You could ask me for the moon and I’d give it to you.”

Without even thinking, I smile sheepishly and bite down on my lip.
 

His eyes flick over. “Yes, I think you
definitely
know what that does to me.”

The tension in the cabin of the car, so thick and electric only a few minutes ago, has nearly disappeared. Now, Liam speaks with his familiar playfulness. He grins at me.

Even still, I can see the storm that continues to rage in his eyes.

We pull off the highway and down a wide, industrial boulevard lined with gas stations and auto repair shops. Wide swaths of concrete surround us—many of the lots are vacant and abandoned, littered with crinkled bags and shards of shattered beer bottles. Stalks of spindly grass have burst through the concrete on some of these lots, splashes of green on a vast, gray canvas.
 

Liam turns left and we suddenly find ourselves in a hidden subdivision. There’s an entire neighborhood here, I realize, tucked away behind the boulevard. You’d never know it from the road.

At first, I hardly give the neighborhood a second glance—but then Liam’s car starts to slow. Curious, I crane my head out the window for a better look.

Some of the houses here are more dilapidated than others. They’re one-story structures—more like cabins than the two-story houses I was used to seeing in Lakeview—with slanted roofs and dingy vinyl siding. They stand a mere arm’s length apart from each other, looking almost like they’re huddled together along the road.
 

But for all the despair of the architecture, the neighborhood itself is full of activity. Men and women sit on plastic fold-out chairs on their front lawn, sipping beer and reading the newspaper in the afternoon sunshine. A woman in a New Orleans Saints hat kneels over her small garden, shoving a trowel into the dirt.
 

As we continue rolling down the street, heads turn toward Liam’s flashy, expensive car. We stand out like sore thumbs here.

I turn back to him, confused.

This
is our destination?

He pulls the car to the side of the road, in front of a quiet gray house whose front screen door has nearly fallen off its hinges. He nods, gesturing to a spot somewhere ahead of us.

“There it is.”

There
what
is? I search the street, but I only see more houses. Is there one in particular I’m supposed to be looking at?

“Which one?” I ask nervously.

He points at a blue house in the distance. This one seems to be neater than its neighbors: trimmed, green grass, fresh coat of paint, even a wreath on the front door. But there’s something foreboding about it. The curtains are drawn, and even from here, I can feel the despair.

Liam unfastens his seatbelt, and I do the same. My fingers tremble against the buckle. What is he about to show me? I reach for the door—

“Wait.” Liam reaches over and takes my hand. His skin is hot to the touch. “Not yet.”

I don’t know how much more of this I can stand—this delaying and hesitating—but nevertheless I slump back in my seat obediently. We watch as four teenage boys cross the street in front of us. One of them carries a soft, red ball tucked beneath his arm, like the kind Riley and I once used for kickball when we were kids.

What are we waiting for?
I think desperately. I turn to Liam, my breath shallow with expectation.
 

He senses my gaze. His eyes shift over.

“Patience, Sophia,” he chastises me. The playfulness has vanished from his tone. His voice, hard and brittle, begins to quaver.

Could this be right? Liam—
nervous?

I’m seized by a strange impulse to heal the pain on his face. My hands seem to be moving on their own accord when they find this cheek. He leans into my comforting touch, then turns and kisses the palm of my hand. His kisses trail upward to my wrist.
 

Liam’s hand takes my elbow and pulls me forward, until my lips meet his. His tongue is insistent, needy. My scalp prickles with pleasure as his fingers curl into my hair.

When we finally break apart, there’s a burning expression on his face. Even in the bright daylight, his blue eyes seem to flare. The despair of this place—and of the apprehension of showing me his dark secret—has turned him hot and feral.
 

He leans forward and slips a hand in between my thighs. The fabric of my dress bunches in his fingers, sliding upward, inch by inch. A shudder rolls through me as his hands find my clit.
 

Liam flicks his fingers hard across my sex, smirking at the hazy pleasure drifting onto my face. He leans forward and increases the pressure, moving with a desperation that I’ve never seen in him before. He’s pure passion.

A moan escapes my lips as a cloud of bliss settles around me. The muscles in my lower belly clench and unclench, and clench and unclench again, in an erotic rhythm that brings me closer and closer to ecstasy.
 

But then, suddenly, his hands pull away. The skin between my legs twitches, desperate for his touch. I need him.

“Touch me, Sophia,” he commands. His fingers find my hand, wrapping around them tightly. He places them on his crotch. I can feel the hard, rising bulge beneath his jeans—his arousal from watching my pleasure.

I run my hand up and down his shaft, pressing down through the denim, admiring the way it seems to throb beneath my touch. My fingers move to his zipper.

His hand slaps suddenly against mine.

“You need to ask permission.”

I look up at him, my breath ragged. Instantly, I understand what’s happening here. This is the one place in the world that puts him off-guard. This is the one place where he’s not in control. There’s a mysterious power to this neighborhood. It’s evident in Liam’s twitching skin, in the roar in his eyes.

So let me give him what he needs,
I decide.

I lean forward pleadingly, ever the obedient little submissive.

“May I, Sir…?”

His shoulders seem to relax a little. He nods.

The zipper pulls down easily with a soft tug. I slip my hand inside and find his erection waiting for me, swelling inside his pants, eager to be rid of the fabric that restrains his passion.

I trail my fingers teasingly along his hot skin. I wrap my hand around his shaft and move up and down, my movements quick, eager to please. When I give him a squeeze, he groans with pleasure.

“Lean forward. I want to feel your lips on my cock.”

I freeze.

“Out here?” I say tentatively. We’re parked on the side of the street, right beside the sidewalk. Anyone could see us.

His eyes flash at me. “You heard what I said.”