Page 92 of Because I Liked A Boy
I gripped the suitcase handle. The white bunny bounced on top, ears flopping with each stair.
I did not know if he would let me stay.
I did not have anywhere else to go.
Weathered brick. Dark blue door. The same doormat that said fuck off in polite cursive. Nathan used to laugh at that.
I knocked.
Footsteps. A lock. The door opened and Liam Carter stared back at me. Tired. Confused. Blue eyes sharp as ever.
His gaze went from the suitcase to the bunny to my face. His jaw tightened.He did not move aside.
“It is nice to see you too, Carter,” I said.
“I did not expect to see you at all.” His voice was flat. It still stung.
The last time we saw each other was the night everything exploded. He stood beside Nathan while my family’s secrets blew across headlines and I ran. No goodbye. No explanation. Seven months of silence.
“I know,” I said. “I should have—”
“Should have what?” His words cracked the quiet. “Called? Sent a text? Pretended we mattered? You did not disappear from a party, Isabella. You disappeared from our lives.”
Guilt burned hot in my chest.
“I was not just his best friend,” he said, rougher now. “He was my brother. When you left, it felt like losing you both.”
I had never thought of it from his side. I had been too swallowed by my own shame to see anything else.
“You did not even say goodbye,” he added, rubbing a hand through his hair.
“I know,” I said. “I am sorry.”
He laughed once. Empty. “Doesn’t change it now.”
Cold bit at my skin. I forced myself to meet his eyes. “I am not here to make excuses. I was not okay. I did not know how to exist in this city without him, so I ran. That is the truth. It is shitty. I am here now. I do not have anywhereelse.”
He studied me like he could see the seams holding me together.
“You sold your flat,” he said.
“Yeah,” I answered. “I did not think I would ever come back.”
Silence stretched. Then Liam sighed and stepped back enough to open the door.
“Come in,” he said. “Before you freeze to death on my steps.”
Relief hit, but I kept it small. I dragged the suitcase in. The bunny flopped against the frame. Warmth and low music wrapped the room. Cedary soap and beer. Books on shelves. Dark leather couch. It was like the house had held its breath and waited. I had not.
I set the bag down and looked at him. “Thank you.”
“Do not thank me yet.” He shut the door and locked it. His eyes stayed steady. “You have not told me why you are really here.”
He had always seen through me.
“It is my father,” I said. My throat tightened on the words. “And I need help.”
Ghosts of the Past
