Page 23 of Veiled in Brick

“Oh.” I was never one to talk about my feelings—or others’ feelings, for that matter—but Liam’s admission intrigued me to the point that I asked, “Why were you seeing a therapist?”

Liam’s eyebrows rose, creating little wrinkles smattering his forehead.

“I, um—”

“You don’t need to answer that,” I replied as rapidly as I could. “Sorry, that’s—”

“A really personal question?”

He attempted to finish my question for me, and a small smirk graced his lips. To see even a hint of his usual upbeat personality eased my tension greatly, and I exhaled a short breath.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I—I don’t know why I asked that, that was rude.”

“Nah, you’re good,” he replied. “Would take all night for me to answer that, anyway.”

“For the record, I’ve got nothing but time.”

Liam laughed softly—almost bitterly—to himself, and looked me up and down as if I were a curiosity to him.

“You really want to sit and hear about why I’m fucked in the head?”

I didn’t like the way that he said those words one bit. It was as if it were a certainty. As if there wouldn’t be a reason why another person would want to hear about his woes. As if his issues, whatever they may be, were his alone to bear.

“Liam, I doubt that you’re fucked in the head—”

“Trust me, Zoey—”

“Try me.”

He pressed his lips together in a fine line, and I heard him exhale a breath through his nostrils sharply.

“You really wanna know?” he asked.

I nodded, returning, “I do. Cheerful guy like you, I don’t exactly like seeing you like this.”

“Cheerful,” Liam said, more to himself than to me, testing the word. “No one likes seeing the damaged boy, right? People like me better cheerful.” He thought about that for a moment. “I like me better cheerful.”

It was then that I wondered if Liam’s forever upbeat personality was somewhat of a façade—a mask not only for the outside world, but for himself. And I have to admit that the thought of that yanked on my cold, dead heartstrings like none other.

“I don’t mind a little darkness now and then.”

I told him that, and his bitter smirk morphed into a genuine one—dimpled, freckled cheeks and all. Liam scooted himself over so he sat on the far side of the bed, and glanced down to the now open space next to him.

“You can sit, you know.”

I gingerly rested myself beside him so we sat shoulder to shoulder, leaning my back against the wall. I straightened my legs out in front of me, crossing them at the ankles, and looked back at him again.

“Alright,” I said. “I’m all ears.”

It was from that day forward that I was pulled into Liam Cohen’s orbit. I had been told by Claire in the past that I had a protective streak in me—perhaps this was no different. I didn’t know. I just knew that I wanted the guy to be happy for God’s sake, and after he told me that he typically keeps to himself, I had decided that he could use someone to be a little closer to.

I began to respond back to him, affirming the same feelings about our friendship, but he held up a hand to stop me.

“I know, that was cute—let-me-get-this-out-before-I-lose-my-train-of-thought,” he mentioned quickly, holding back a smile that made the dimples in his cheeks appear. The way his mouth twisted made the scar over his upper lip stretch and my chest panged with the now-familiar feeling of sympathy and protection that I associated with Liam. He spoke again, “You’re my best friend, and I’m a dude. He’s not gonna like me and honestly, I don’t expect him to. Plus,” he added, voice shriveling up into nothing, “I-don’t-really-approve?”

I snorted out a laugh. “You don’t approve?” His face twisted up in a silent apology as he shook his head to answer my question. I asked, “What, you think he’s not good enough for me or something?”

“Obviously not,” he noted bluntly. “No one is. You know that.”

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