Page 112 of Veiled in Brick

There was no driveway—only patches of grass between the trees. The house was cabin-esque. Small and built from the logs of knotty trees, the porch was illuminated in an orange glow from the lantern-like sconces on either side of the front door. Cassie stood in the doorway, the scant light casting shadows across her tan, jean-short clad legs, and she threw us a friendly wave as the car slowed. Crossing her arms, she leaned a shoulder against the door jamb, waiting for us to saunter in.

Liam led the way, I filed behind him along with the rest of us, and the second that his face was visible to her, she abandoned her casual disposition. Cassie jogged down the three steps on the patio to meet us half way, her gaze not anxious but angry, and her barefoot steps skidded to a stop directly in front of her brother. Tall, towering over me by what I would assume was around ten inches, she almost didn’t have to look up to glare at him—or, rather, at the damage that had been done to his skull.

Liam held out his hands in defense, palms facing toward her. “Don’t freak out—ah!” His words were cut off when Cassie grabbed him by the chin roughly, angling his wound toward the light. “Jesus, Cassie—this is super fresh, take it easy.”

Her nostrils flared, and she let him go as she asked, “What the fuck did he do to you?”

“This wasn’t Carter, he didn’t do anything—”

James whispered to Luke and Claire, “Carter is their dad?” They both nodded, and James muttered, “Did she just assume that their father did that to him?”

He was quiet enough that I had to strain my ears to hear him, but Cassie turned her head toward James as if he had yelled it. She smiled a broad grin that turned icy with the narrowing of her eyes.

“Hi,” she crooned sarcastically. “You’re new here, I get it. The answer you’re looking for is yes. Carter’s an abusive d-bag who gets kicks out of using the both of us as punching bags. Would you like me to unpack the rest of our trauma as well?”

Liam grumbled, “Don’t bite his head off, Cas, it was just a question.”

Cassie crossed her arms again, chewing on her tongue for a moment before muttering, “Just saying, that’s more of a let’s figure out what we know from context clues type of situation.” Liam shot her an annoyed glare, and she glanced at James and begrudgingly said, “Sorry.” She gestured at the blood on Liam’s face. “This was a bit of a shock—welcome to my home—we’ll all get to know each other later, yeah?” Not a breath taken, her head snapped back to Liam’s. “What happened?”

I murmured, “Short answer, car crash.”

Her eyes bounced to me at the sound of my voice, and she groaned as she took in the sight of me. “Car crash?” She pointed behind us. “That car looks fine, how the hell did you guys get this sort of damage?”

“Ah—hi. I’m James,” he waved at her, waited for what I assumed he thought was going to be a snappy response, and then said, “Car’s mine. We ditched Zoey’s.”

“Long answer as short as I can make it,” Liam offered, “I’m the only one that got fucked in the crash, Zoey’s all scratched up because she had to escape her fucking stalker again—”

Cassie screamed, “WHAT?”

“Can we just come inside?” he asked her weakly. “I’m so tired of this.”

She nodded so emphatically that her long, straight tresses bounced with the motion.

“Yeah, ’course—inside, let’s go.” Cassie glanced down toward me. “Do you have a change of clothes?”

I nodded. “I’m good, Cassie—thanks.”

She gave me a quick bob of her head, and she looked me up and down. “’Kay, cool—bathroom’s inside, go clean up and we’ll figure out Liam’s head—”

“My head’s fine, Cas,” he interrupted.

All at once, each one of us—even James—responded in a curt, insistent, “Liam.”

He exhaled heavily, “Fuck, fine,” and began to walk his way up the porch steps.

I followed him, Cassie grasped me on my shoulder as I walked past her, and she murmured a quick, “You good, Zo’?”

Her use of Liam’s term of endearment for me was such a surprise that it made me suck in a quick breath. I looked at her, saw Liam’s kindness in her face, and it warmed me through.

“Fine, Cas,” I replied.

Her fingers squeezed, her dark eyes squinted at me in such a fashion that her nose crinkled, and the freckles on her cheeks narrowed. “You don’t have to lie, y’know.”

I smiled, but only just. “Yeah, yeah—I know.”

I had rinsed the dirt and grass stains from my legs, washed the soiled splotches from my face, gathered clothing from my bag, and changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that was far more fitting than my ripped pajamas. Having taken care of myself, I now sat on my heels on the green and white checkered tile of Cassie’s kitchen counter, leaning over the sink. The retractable handle was in my hand, the temperature set right smack in the middle of hot and cold and the pressure turned to a dull trickle, and I watched as the blood slowly rinsed out of Liam’s hair.

He sat in a wicker dining chair, his neck craned backward over the stainless steel sink as if I were a hair stylist wrist-deep in shampoo. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, calling my attention to the blonde scruff that was so rarely on his face and neck. His eyes met mine, and he gave me a soft smile.

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