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CHAPTER ONE
LIAM
Liam!” A shout pulled me from my thoughts as I absently stroked the scar on my head, the ridges left by the many stitches they’d used to sew my head back together, prominent.
I looked up. My friend and colleague Drew was glaring at me, his jaw clenched. How long had he been calling my name? Surely, it couldn’t have been that long?
“What?” I asked. What did he want?
He pointed to a customer at the reception desk.
As I lived and breathed. Detective Fucking Palmer.
Well, that was a turn-up for the books. I’d thought I’d never see him again. Why was he here? Did he have news? How long had it been? Shit, five years.
Five fucking years since Stuart had beaten me, leaving me for dead, much the same as he and his brother had done with Ziggy.
Ziggy had met the love of his life, Marc, and had recently married. But I hadn’t been so lucky. I was still stuck in a cycle of self-pity and depression. Barely functioning some days and, on others, just about managing to put a smile on my face and come to work.
We’d kept in touch initially, but as he’d moved on, he’d left me behind. Was I bitter and resentful that Ziggy had what I wanted? Damn right I was.
I’d been unable to get the destructive thoughts out of my head and had been in a series of abusive relationships, along with drug-taking, and self-loathing.
But that was in the past, or so I’d thought. Detective Palmer, looking a little older but still as attractive as when I’d first seen him, brought all the pent-up emotions to the surface.
“Detective Palmer, how lovely to see you again.” I walked towards him with more confidence than I felt, my legs shaking. He held out his hand, and I wiped my hands down my jeans, trying to dry them before taking his hand in mine.
“Liam, you’re looking well,” he said cheerfully.
I knew damn well I wasn’t. I had never carried a lot of weight, but I was barely eating and living on a diet of coffee and cigarettes. My appetite was gone. Life, food, and sex. None of them carried the interest they once did.
Every relationship I’d had since ended. My drive for sexual gratification had disappeared unless my partner punished me. I hated the me that put myself in unsavoury situations and relationships and loathed myself to the point of self-sabotage.
Drew had been amazing. He’d helped me through several attempts to get off the drugs. I’d been clean for six months now, but the craving never left me.
Shit, I was still staring and holding the detective’s hand. I dropped it and shoved my hands deep into my pockets. Damn good job I was wearing a belt, or else my trousers would have ended up around my ankles. Nothing fitted me these days. I was skin and bone.
“What brings you here? Is everything ok?” I hoped to god he wasn’t here on official business.
“Yes, of course, of course. Would you believe I was passing and decided I needed a haircut?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t realise you worked here.”
I blew out a breath and placed a hand on my chest.
“Thank fuck for that. I thought you were coming to tell me those bastards were out.” That would have been the final nail in my coffin, and I’d be back on the hard stuff.
He widened his eyes. “No, no. They’re still locked away. Separate prisons last time I checked.”
“So, just a haircut, then?”
I took his coat and hung it on the hook.
“Just a haircut.”
He brushed himself down, but the coffee stain on his shirt wouldn’t come off with a brushing.
He shrugged, slightly embarrassed. “Guess I should’ve changed my shirt.”
“You look fine.” And he did. I’d always had a thing for older men, Stuart being an example. He hadn’t been that much older than me, but the promise of a better life had tempted this little, and I’d jumped at the chance to be with him.
