His chest rises and keeps rising as he inhales deeply before burying his face into the back of my neck like he doesn’t want me looking at him. I turn back towards the window, my eyebrows pulling together, waiting him out.
“You asked me earlier why I was the way I was,” he murmursinto my hair after a minute or so of silence. “It’s because of my mom.”
My heart skips in my chest, and I fight the urge to react with any sort of surprised movement, even though that’s how I feel. While I had hoped he would open up to someone at some point, I didn’t think it would be tonight, or to me.
I knew that his mom wasn’t in the picture, but I’ve never known why. It’s not something Nate and I ever discussed, and thinking back, I don’t think I’ve ever heard Liam mention her. Honestly, I guess I’ve never given it much thought.
“She deserted us when I was seven.”
His heavy exhale ruffles my hair as he pulls his face away from my neck. Taking his movement as an indication that I can move without spooking him, I run my hand down his forearm, sliding my fingers between his to give them a tight squeeze, offering my silent support.
It seems to be what he needs to continue. “She wasn’t the nurturing type. You know how most moms will cuddle a kid when they’re hurt, or had a bad dream?” He waits for me to nod. “Well, not my mom. She was the type to say, ‘Buck up, Liam, that’s not how men act’ instead.”
I can’t stop my head turning sharply toward him this time. “You were only a child.”
“I don’t think she knew how to deal with a kid.”
My heart goes out to him. I couldn’t imagine a mother acting like that. Not to console their own child when they’re feeling vulnerable and unsafe feels wrong on so many different levels. I may not be a mother, but I can’t imagine allowing any child to feel like that in my presence.
“She did enough to get by. Made sure I had clothes on, and food in my stomach. I ate a lot of hot dogs and mac and cheesein those early days. More than most kids.” His fingers slide out of mine to take my hand in his, his thumb running over the back of it, absently distracting himself from what he’s telling me. “But she wouldn’t do anything more than that. Events at school, or that other moms would do with their kids, weren’t things she was interested in. Not that I knew the difference at that age.”
It’s completely the opposite of what my mom was like. She was involved in every aspect of Nate’s and my life. So much so that it was annoying at times. At least that’s what I thought back in the day. Listening to Liam, though, I realize how lucky I was to have that.
“The one thing she would always do, without fail, was bedtime. It was like she knew she was finally done being a mom for the night, so she could give me a different piece of her for those fifteen minutes every day.” He chuckles but it lacks any ounce of humor. “Unlike most kids, I looked forward to bedtime every fucking day.”
“She would always read me a story, and then she’d lean over, kiss my forehead, and tell me she loved me. And it was…” He pauses for a moment, and though I can’t see him, I know he’s wrestling with emotions that have been locked away for a long time. “It was the best moment of every day.”
The ache in my chest is so severe that tears sting the back of my eyes for him. I can picture him as a little boy, ready for bed, waiting for that single moment every day, and it makes me hurt. All he wanted was to feel his mother’s love, something every child should feel, and yet all he got was this small glimpse of it.
“I remember the night before she left was so different than every other night. It started out the same, but then…”
He blows out a breath, pausing both his words and his roaming fingers along my arm. Reaching for his other hand, the onebeneath my head, I take it in mine and squeeze, offering him my strength to continue with his story. I want to offer so much more than that, but I fear if I turn to face him he’ll lose whatever confidence this is that has him telling me in the first place.
“Then instead of her normal ‘I love you, Liam. See you in the morning,’ she said, ‘I love you, Liam. Never forget that.’ It sticks out in my mind because I remember telling her that’s not what she was supposed to say. She was supposed to say, ‘I love you, Liam. See you in the morning.’ And she smiled at me, gave me another kiss on the forehead, and told me what I wanted to hear.”
His voice is a whisper when he adds, “The next day she was gone.”
A second later he’s releasing his hold on me, his legs unwinding from mine so he can roll onto his back, away from the comfort of my body. A shiver runs down my spine at the sudden lack of heat against me, but I know he’s looking to put space between his confession and me. Like he’s physically running from the memory that he’s brought forth.
Turning over to face him, I give him a little of the room that he was looking for but keep my head resting on his bicep. Reaching out, I place my hand on his chest, letting him know my comfort is there if he wants it.
“The neighbor brought me home from school the next day, and when I got there, my dad was sitting on the couch, which was unusual. He always worked past dinner. Always trying to make ends meet for us.”
Liam releases a shuddering breath, his eyes pointed up at the ceiling. “I asked him where mom was, and he said, ‘She’s gone.’ Not that I understood that. I thought he meant she was gone out for groceries, or to the mall or something.” He chuckles again, but it’s hollow and doesn’t contain an ounce of his usual lightheartedness. “I asked that question every day after school for weeks, and it was always the same answer.”
My stomach churns at the thought. What it must have been like to go through that at such a young age. I can’t even imagine.
“Then one day when I asked, he fucking snapped. I’ll never forget it.” Liam’s free hand gestures upwards toward the ceiling angrily, his voice bellowing around the room as he imitates his dad, “She’s gone, Liam! She’s never coming back! Don’t you get that? She left us! She doesn’t want no part of us anymore! Stop asking about her! Stop fucking talking about her! Just fucking stop! I can’t handle it anymore!”
Biting my lip, tears prick the back of my eyes again. I can feel the pain radiating through him, pulsing in the air around us. The fear he must have felt being yelled at like that when he hadn’t done a thing. The hurt he must have felt realizing that his mother wasn’t coming home. The silence he had to endure for years when it came to her.
No wonder he’s never talked about this with anyone. He was told not to. That poor seven year old boy was shown that it wasn’t safe to talk about. So he didn’t.
“Then he started to sob. I’d never seen my dad cry, and to this day I’ve never seen it since. But he cried like a baby that day. He was fucking heartbroken. A broken fucking man with a son whose mother didn’t want him.”
His hand drops from the air to where mine is on his chest, the pads of my fingers pressing into his skin. “My dad is a good man. He did the best he could with me. He worked hard, made sure there was food on the table, and he always came to school functions and football games. He stepped up, and we got through life together.”
Curling his fingers beneath mine, he brings my hand to hislips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “But every single day I saw the heartbreak in him. I watched him hurt. He loved my mother with all his heart, and her leaving devastated him.” He pulls in a breath, letting it out slowly. “I vowed that I would never put myself in that position. I would never allow someone to have that kind of power over me.”
