Page 1 of Because of Liam

Chapter One

The funny thing about life—andI don’t mean ha-ha funny—is that those pivotal moments, the moments that change everything in an instant never give you a warning. They hit you with the force of a CAT5 hurricane and most of the time, there’s no heads-up. No blaring sirens to alert you to run for cover and bunker down. No pivotal weatherman on TV telling you the life-changing forecast. It always hits you in your blind spot. When you least expect it and think you have everything figured out. Or in my case, nothing figured out yet, just flip-flopping around and trying to fight the current.

The other funny thing about life is that most of the time, when you get hit with that life-changing moment, you don’t even know until it’s too late.

The morning starts like any other morning as winter begrudgingly gives up its grip to spring. And spring gracefully takes charge, washing the gray away and painting it blue. Hopeful shots of green break through the ground between stubborn spots of dirty snow. It’s mid-March, but I’ve been craving summer and a fresh-made raspberry lemonade, so I make my way to Pat’s Cafe to get me some. As I walk outside sipping the sweet and tart drink only Pat can make this perfectly, I see Logan across the street, looking into the open hood of the black SUV parked in his driveway. He’s wearing a black beanie, camouflage cargo pants hanging low on his hips, and he’s shirtless despite the nip in the air. He’s facing away from me as I reach his side of the street. Logan looks . . . bigger. He looks good. Really good, more muscular, and for the first time I notice the huge tattoo on his back. Skye never told me Logan had a tattoo. I don’t remember seeing a tattoo that one time I got an eye-full when I caught them in the shower. It must be new.

A beautiful, intricate design of a Bald Eagle and a dragon in battle takes most of his torso. The dragon is on its back, wings spread wide and it’s done in shades of gold, black, and green. The eagle has its talons clasped around one of the dragon’s paws and its neck. The talons around the neck have red, white, and blue ribbons tied to them. And as Logan moves and flexes the muscles on his back, both the eagle and the dragon seem to come to life.

That nip in the air vanishes.My chest flushes with heat as my eyes run over the flex of muscles on his shoulders and arms, the way his muscular back tapers into a narrow waist. How much do you want to bet there’s a six-pack on the other side of him?

Jesus!With an inward breath I realize I’m ogling my sister’s boyfriend. I shake that thought away and chastise myself for the stray tinkering of my brain.

Bad River!

Logan never, ever caught my imagination before. What’s wrong with me? I glare at my drink as if it’s at fault. I decide right then and there that indeed something is off with the fruity drink, it’s evil and is trying to corrupt me.

He hasn’t noticed me yet. His back is covered in a thin sheen of sweat despite the chill in the air and a too golden tan for this time of the year. I wonder if his skin tastes as good as it looks. I lick my lips in anticipation of his taste.

Crap on a cracker! What the hell is wrong with me?

I swear someone spiked my lemonade. I hold the drink as far away from me as my arm will allow and look daggers at it. An evil thought crosses my mind and with a smirk, I remove the top, take two soft steps closer to him and on my tiptoes with a stretched arm, I dump the evil drink down Logan’s neck and back.

Then, I step back and wait with a big mischievous smile on my face as Logan jumps and whirls around with a string of curses under his breath. All of which start with the letter F.

Except that when he spins around lighting fast and looks at me, with his right hand raised in a fist and a furious expression on his face, it’s not Logan. It’s not Logan at all. I mean, this guy looks like Logan, maybe a younger version of him, but it’s not Logan’s easy smiling face that looks at me. This man is a different person. There’s no softness to him, no warm smile or the calmness Logan always radiates.

Looking at this man’s gray eyes, I feel like I’ve just fallen into a raging storm. And shit, if I’m not the target of all that fury. Yep. I just stepped into a CAT5 hurricane and I had no warning.

My feet take another step back under the intense assault of his stare.

“What the fuck!” It comes out through gritted teeth. His voice is low and dangerous and there’s a promise of retribution in it.

“I-I, you’re not Logan—” I stammer. I’m fucking stammering! Me! River! Stammering! Fucking poisoned lemonade!

“No shit, Sherlock!” His right hand, raised.

I flinch and for the briefest moment there’s a flash of regret in his eyes, but it’s gone as fast as it came. He lowers his hand to his side, still in a fist.

“River?”

With my heart thundering, I look toward the voice calling my name and see Logan. Relief washes over me, as he gets closer and puts a protective hand over my shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

Logan takes in my startled stance, the empty cup in my hand, the melting ice on the ground and liquid still dripping from the not-Logan guy standing next to us and reaches the right conclusion.

“Let me guess, you thought he was me and dumped your drink on him?”

“Yes, I was wondering when you got the tattoo…”

I glance at not-Logan. His chest is wide and muscular. He has a few faint scars over a pec and shoulder and there’s a dusting of light brown hair that disappears into his shorts. And the six-pack is there too. It does not disappoint. Eyes up, River! My chest goes tight and a swirl of emotions I can’t quite pinpoint flutters about me. Get a grip girl.

“I’m really sorry.” I hate how he makes me feel. Out of balance, out of sorts. For a moment I thought he’d hit me. A flash of a memory blinks in my mind so fast I can’t get a hold of it.

He scared me and I never ever scare. Ever. Except, that one time. Shut up. So not the time to think about that.

The Logan look-alike is still on guard, his hands in fists opening and closing like he’s trying to gain control. There’s something off about him. He looks angry, but the level of anger is more than what the silly prank I played on him warrants.

“Liam, this is River, Skye’s sister. River, this is my baby brother, Liam. He’s a medic in the marines.”

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