Page 4 of Stronger Than Love

Everything seemed wrong, my skin too tight until I felt like an imposter. The fight or flight instinct got stronger every second I spent here, my eyes moving to the window and the horizon. I hastily dragged my trainers on and grabbed a hooded sweatshirt to haul on over my leggings and T-shirt before hitting the road. Mile after mile disappeared under my feet as I tried to outrun my demons. Physically, I wasn’t that girl anymore, but emotionally, I never moved beyond that summer when I was twenty.

The last birthday I spent here.

Sweat dripping down my back and hair stuck to my head, I jogged back up the driveway what could have been hours later. The garden was filled with people, every eye turning toward me as my trainers pounded on the gravel.

“Oonagh!” Mum exclaimed from the centre of the group. “Where have you been? Niall’s been ringing your mobile.”

“It’s in my room.” My hands landed on my knees while my lungs struggled for breath.

Finally standing up, my gaze met a pair of stormy blue eyes I would know anywhere in the world.

Liam Doherty.

His lips twitched as his gaze swept over me. I’d planned to wear the least ugly clothes I possessed for having to face him again, and had even debated going to buy some new outfits. This was supposed to just be for family tonight.

“Aoife, I want you to meet my sister Oonagh.” Niall stepped forward to produce his well-groomed and gorgeousnew girlfriend. I doubted I’d need to remember her name as he changed them regularly.

Her nose wrinkled when she studied me.

My hands rested on my hips in defiance. I may be crap at relationships, but no one ever was allowed to judge me. I did that enough for the rest of the planet.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m at a disadvantage, though. Where did big brother and you meet?” No doubt on one of those phone apps that you swiped your screen for.

Her blonde eyebrow arched dramatically. “At work. My father is a partner in the firm we both work for.”

Not an easy relationship to extract himself from. My brother always did like a challenge. Our father was a partner there, as well, to add another layer of complication.

“Hey, Oonagh.” Strong arms engulfed me, and I nearly passed out when the musky scent of Liam filled my senses, his deep voice sending shivers down my back to settle in my core. “Good to see you home again.”

My treacherous legs wobbled as I attempted several times to pull back. “Can’t breathe here, buddy.” I pretended to gasp and escaped when he chuckled and relaxed his boa constrictor hold. “I guess I need to change since everyone’s here.”

“You always were a bit of a tomboy,” Mrs. Makin from up the road said, raising her glass in greeting.

The difference of expectation put on girls and boys drove me nuts. “You tend to not pack your dinner gowns when you work in war areas with people dying around you.” I felt like a bitch as soon as I saw the look on her face. Something had killed a little of my compassion at my last assignment.Holding dying children was a stain that tainted your soul forever.

Mum fussed and tried to cover for my rudeness while I stalked off into the house.

The feel of Liam’s arms haunted me, his scent intoxicating me. When I was five years old, I’d fallen in love with a boy on the beach. When I played with my dolls and dressed them up to get married, the groom was called Liam because I told myself we would be married one day. Pain that I’d run from for ten years exploded in my chest as I curled myself into a ball on my bed.

Wounds that never fully healed ripped open to leave me bleeding emotionally as the past collided with the present. Too many memories cascaded through me until the tears that I’d suppressed for years cascaded down my cheeks.

He looked better than ever with his black hair and stormy blue eyes that were as changeable as the weather. It wasn’t fair that men looked better with age. Liam’s good looks always got him attention, but holy moly he’d got hotter with age. Like a fine wine that had matured to a better flavour. Gone was the shaggy hair that Callum cut at home, and in its place was a style that suited his face—short at the sides, but long enough at the top to flop into his eyes.

A small tap at the door made me sit on the edge of my bed. Mum slipped in, her face a mask of concern. Her gaze scanned my tight expression. “I never said anything before now, never asked any questions. Liam was the father.”

I didn’t reply, because it was a statement, not a question.

Ten years ago, they’d called Mum, my point of contact from university. I’d woken from the accident with herholding my hand, and tears pouring down her face. To catch up, after I’d been studying late in the library, I never saw the car driven by a drunk driver and she claimed she hadn’t seen me walking along the footpath. We never discussed what was said in the hospital that day because something inside me broke.

There was nothing to say now.

The past was riddled with secrets that needed to remain there because they would only destroy the present.

“I’ll ask him to leave,” she said in a quiet voice.

“What’s the point?” Nothing would unthaw the ice that surrounded me right now. I was coping until Mum asked me about the past. I’d locked those few months into a box and thrown away the key.

She sat on my bed beside me, lifting my hand in hers. “I sometimes wondered if it was Liam. You used to be so close, then you barely talked for years….”

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