Page 101 of Debt of My Soul

I’m not sure if he’d ever tell me about his drawings. Or if he’d be upset I poked around long enough to find them, but it’s only fair he knows.

“I found your drawings.” The sheet up around my chest drops as I sit further up, and Liam follows it down.

“Did you now?” A slight shuffle is the only reaction I get from him.

“You’re very talented.”

He snorts and looks away toward the cricked TV on the dresser.

“I’m serious.” I scoot forward, toward him, noticing him tense the closer I get. One of my hands grazes his forearm, tracing the lines of his ink that swirl into works of art. His muscles contract and relax under my touch and my wild racing heart betrays my thoughts.

His jaw ticks, but he watches intently as my hand continues to stroke him. For the longest while, he doesn’t say anything. Crickets puncture the silence out the window and the trees thrash against the back of the cabin, tapering off from the windy storm.

“My mom,” he says. “It was always the one thing we had in common. She’s the artist of the family and it just so happened I was blessed with her talent as well. Although at times I wonder if she doesn’t wish it were Adam.”

Confusion must be on my face as I furrow my brow at him because he explains, “Adam is the youngest son. Something about the baby boy and his momma-type shit. They’re close, and she fawns over him. Which is fine. Honestly, it never bothered me. But …” Liam trails off and I find myself clinging to every word.

This man. So selfless and understanding.

I’m an only child, so I can’t fathom sharing my parents’ love with someone else, let alone two siblings,andto accept their favoritism of another …

“But?” I ask.

“But I guess it was always something that made me feel connected to her. Even as the oldest. Even as she dealt with the loss of my sister and even as she thinks my brother Adam walks on water. Art was our thing. My mother used more watercolor, but she would always appreciate my work. She actually hung one of my sketches in the downstairs bathroom.”

The framed drawing of the cabin flashes in my mind, but my brain snags on the comment about his sister. I had no idea. How could I not have realized?

“I’m sorry about your sister. I didn’t realize she’d passed. Your mother mentioned her in the mountains, so I assumed …” I wince as I say the words because I’m truly an awkward person and in the sincerest moments, I manage to screw up basic decency.

Luckily, Liam just snorts and I’m now even more confused.

“She hasn’t passed. She left. Ran away six years ago when she was seventeen. Tore our family in two for a season. We finally heard from her about a year after she left when she called to tell our parents she wanted nothing to do with Ruin anymore.”

I gasp softly as the briefest tear shines in the corner of his eye.

“I tried to talk with her, to see what happened for her to run off. I blame the boy she was running with—good-for-nothing scum of the earth. Never knew his name, and I couldn’t find information on him either.”

He shakes his head.

“What’s your sister’s name? Adam nor your parents ever mention her by it.”

“Lily.”

Liam shudders as he says her name, and I reach out to grab his hand for a squeeze.

“I’m sorry she left, Liam.”

His head falls back to the pillow, and he releases a sigh. “Say it again. My name.”

I bite my lip and then offer him a smile. “Liam,” I coo.

He laughs. It’s rich and haughty, moving through time like molasses on a winter’s day.

I stare at his lips, wondering how skilled this man I’m married to is in other areas.

“Why did you draw me in the cell?”

The remainder of his laughter dies off abruptly and he grabs for my hand twirled around the plaid of his quilt. He stares down to where his pointer finger dips up and over each of my fingers methodically. When I think he won’t answer, he surprises me.

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