“It’s no problem,” he said, apparently seeing the answer on my face. “You can wear my sweatshirt. It’ll keep you cozy and hide everything.” He kissed my forehead, then pulled two shirts from his closet. “May I?” He nodded toward my pajama top.
“Yes.”
He grasped the hem of my shirt and carefully lifted it off. His eyes turned stormy, his lips drawing down as he took in my bruised body. “Firefly…” he croaked.
“I’m okay.”
He lifted a hand slowly, meeting my eyes, waiting for permission.
I nodded.
His fingertips skated over each bruise and mark, his touch feather soft, and then he dropped to his knees. His eyes fixated on the big, purple bruise on my stomach. “May I?” he asked softly.
“Yes.”
Tears streaming down his face, he held onto me, and his lips followed everywhere his hands had been, just as softly.
“I’ll be okay,” I said, but I hated that my voice didn’t sound okay at all.
“I know you will.” His, on the other hand, sounded like he had no doubt.
He stood back up and kissed me, and it tasted like a combination of our tears, and somehow, it tasted like healing. He wiped my cheeks then his.
He pulled a well-worn Spurs T-shirt onto me. “It’s the softest one I have.” It was very soft, and it smelled like him. Then he pulled a huge station 9 hoodie over it.
“This is perfect. Thank you,” I said, surrounded by his scent and warmth.
He rolled the sleeves up and kissed the tip of my nose. “You look cute in my clothes. Ready to go down?”
“In a minute. I need to wash up.” I couldn’t meet his parents with their son’s...stuff on my hands and maybe even on my breath. Besides, I was being brave before, but I couldn’t eat with that on me.
When I came out of the bathroom, Liam greeted me, and the most delicious smell came wafting up from downstairs. “Thanks for waiting.”
“Of course. Ready to meet my parents?”
I hated that the answer wasn’t a resounding yes. Any other time, it would’ve been, but I didn’t want to meet them as “the girl who was almost raped.” That’s who I was now, though, and I couldn’t change it. “Yep.”
Liam took my hand and led me down to the kitchen. Thor pranced over to meet us, his tail wagging. Guess it was a good sign they won him over so easily.
Liam’s dad was at the stove, flipping pancakes in one pan while bacon sizzled in another. He was tall and broad-shouldered, but not quite as big as Liam, with salt-and-pepper hair. His mom was standing at the counter slicing strawberries and bananas. She was on the taller side for a woman and comfortably plump, just like I’d imagined her from Liam’s stories.
“Mom, Dad, this is Jenna. Jenna, this is my mom, Patty, and my dad, Mike.”
His mom laid the knife down and spun around, while his dad lowered the burners and turned around, too. They both had warm, welcoming smiles on their faces, not pitying smiles. No wonder Liam had such a great smile. Both of them did, too.
“Hi, Jenna. Pleasure to meet you,” his dad said.
“Sweetheart, it’s so nice to meet you!” his mom gushed. “I hope you don’t mind us taking over the kitchen. We thought you could use some good comfort food this morning.”
“Thank you, it smells incredible. And thank you so much for coming.”
“Of course! No need to thank us. Liam, do you have creamer pitchers? I need two.”
And just like that, the introductions were done—without any hugs or touching, thank goodness—and everyone was bustling around the kitchen like this was just a regular morning. Liam reached into the back of the top shelf above his mom and pulled out two mug-sized pitchers.
“Thanks, honey. Go sit with Jenna. We’ll be done soon.”
Liam kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, Mom.”