Page 53 of Red Zone

“Lily,” I croaked, my voice trembling with my frantic need to get my daughter out of the car.

She cried, her tiny hands gripping her car seat straps, but she was safe. Fear fueled me as I unbuckled my seat belt.

Before I could reach for her, I heard it—the crunch of boots on gravel. Every instinct screamed at me to get my daughter out, to run. My door was yanked open. A sweet-smelling cloth covered my mouth. I struggled, holding my breath for as long as possible after that first inhale, but it was no use. My eyes fluttered closed, and the world went black.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

LIAM

The only sound in the garage was the rhythmic thudding of my fists against the worn leather punching bag. Each strike was a futile attempt to shake off the weight pressing on my chest. I didn’t hold back—strikes landed with a ferocity that sent the bag swinging, the chain above it groaning in protest.

My knuckles stung where the tape had shifted, but I didn’t care. Pain was easier to deal with than the simmering rage I felt toward my father. He would never change. No matter how much time passed, he would always have that way of cutting me down and making me doubt everything I thought I knew about myself.

The door to the garage creaked open, and I knew it was Fiona before she said anything. She could always find me when I was like this.

“You’re going to break your hand,” she said, her voice cutting through the sound of my fists colliding with the bag. “Don’t risk that. Not with football.”

“I’ll live,” I muttered, hitting the bag again.

She didn’t respond immediately, but I could feel her watching me. Finally, she stepped closer, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall.

“Liam, you have to stop letting him get to you.”

I froze, my fist poised midair before I let it drop to my side. My breathing was heavy, and sweat trickled down the back of my neck. “I’m not letting him get to me,” I denied.

Fiona raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because from where I stand, it looks like you’re imagining his face on that punching bag.”

She wasn’t wrong.

I sighed and grabbed a towel off the nearby workbench, wiping my face. “He just… he knows exactly how to push every damn button. It’s like he enjoys it.”

“Of course he does.” Fiona’s tone softened as she moved to sit on the bench near me. “That’s who he’s always been. But, Liam, you don’t have to let him define you.”

I sat next to her, the towel draped over my shoulders.

“Sometimes, I feel like, no matter what I do, I’m going to turn into him,” I admitted.

Fiona’s eyes widened slightly, then she shook her head. “You’re not him. I’ve told you that many times before—you’ve got to believe it. You never were. Liam, I know our parents messed us up—Mom leaving, Dad drinking himself into oblivion, the insults—but that’s not you. Look at how you are with Lily.”

I glanced at her, surprised.

“She adores you,” Fiona continued. “And you don’t even realize how much you’ve stepped up. Seeing you with her gives me hope that we can both break the cycle. Their curse doesn’t have to be ours. We are not them. Look at us. We’ve already become better people than they ever were. Seeing you with Lily makes me believe in us and that maybe someday I’ll be able to find what you have for myself.”

Her words hit me hard, the knot in my chest loosening just a little.

“Thanks.”

One word—but she acknowledged the depth behind it with a small smile. “Don’t thank me. Just believe it.” Fiona squeezed my shoulder before standing.

The garage fell quiet as I wiped my face, the rhythmic squeak of the still-swaying punching bag chain fading into silence. My phone buzzed on the workbench, breaking the silence like a warning.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Liam,” Eileen’s voice was quiet. “Is Skye there? She texted she was on her way home over an hour ago, but she’s still not home. I’ve been trying to reach her, but her phone must be dead.”

“No, she left almost two hours ago now.”

“Are you sure?”

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