His mother smiled. “I know.”
Liam looked at her, then shook his head. “Of course, you did.”
“I’m just glad you’ve figured it out for yourself.” She leaned over, kissed his cheek. “Give her time, baby. And try to see it from her perspective.”
“Am I wrong?”
“Well, to keep to your analogy, you see these walls of hers as something to breach. That’s what you’ve spent the last twelve years doing, so I understand the impulse, but that’s not how things work with emotional walls. They get built for a reason, to protect somebody. You don’t just come in and rip away someone’s shield because you think it’s time for them to give it up. You’re upset because you feel like that wall is standing between the two of you, but you have to remember, she didn’t build it to keep you out. She built it to keep everyone out. For you, it shouldn’t be about breaking through the wall but about scaling it to get behind it with her, making her feel safe enough to dismantle it when she’s ready. That’s how long-term relationships work.”
He loosed a long sigh. “And I went all bull in a china shop about it.”
“Now you know better. I’m sure you’ll get past it.”
Liam sure as hell hoped so.
Inside, the phone rang.
“Awfully late for calls.” Molly rose and went to answer it.
He checked his watch. Just a little after ten. Not so late. It might be Wynne coming in after an evening event. Or Norah calling over some detail or other to do with coalition business. But he went inside anyway.
At the kitchen counter, his mother’s face went ashen.
Liam crossed to her in two strides, slipping an arm around her. “Mom?” The bottom dropped out of his stomach as he waited interminable seconds to hear whether it was news about Jack or Cruz.
A voice on the other end continued to speak as she tipped the phone away. “The panic button.”
He felt his world stop. Not his brothers. “Riley.”
Liam tore out of the kitchen, taking the stairs three at a time, sprinting to his room to grab his keys and the Ruger in his nightstand. In less than a minute, he was squealing out of the driveway, demanding every ounce of speed from the 351 Cleveland engine. Being after ten, nobody was on the road, and he was grateful as he drifted around corners and blew through stop signs.
Three minutes.
Please. The word repeated in his head. A litany. A prayer.
He’d trained Riley for this. She’d said he was paranoid, pushing her through scenarios, making her practice how to handle them. But she’d humored him, done the work. Learned. She wouldn’t do anything foolish. She’d be okay. She had to be. But a part of him wondered how well his teaching would translate into the moment. A real, live threat was a whole lot different from practice in a gym.
He couldn’t think about what was happening. Didn’t dare imagine it. He needed a cool head to do whatever needed doing, so he shifted into combat mode as he flew into downtown Wishful. The clock ticked over to five minutes as he hit Pitts Street and saw the lights of the pharmacy glowing in the distance.
Please.
The pharmacy door opened. He screeched to a halt, bumping one wheel
up on the sidewalk, as he caught sight of Riley stumbling out. His vision constricted to one pinpoint view of her. Nothing in his training, nothing in his experience had prepared him for the sight of the woman he loved, covered in blood.
Liam all but fell from the car, scrambling to catch her as she hit her knees on the sidewalk. He hit his own, holding her up, fighting the urge to crush her to him. “Riley, baby, where are you hit? How bad is it?” Bad. It had to be. God, her clothes were soaked, her hands covered.
Those hands fell to his chest. Her eyes were glassy with shock. “You came.”
“Yeah.” He swallowed, chanced touching her face. A bruise already bloomed on one cheek, but he couldn’t see any wounds at her throat. “Where are you hurt? We need to stop the bleeding.”
In the distance, sirens screamed.
“Not mine.”
“What?”
“Not my blood. I’m okay. Maybe concussed.”