Love to Loathe Him: Chapter 45

“Liam?” a soft voice murmurs, pulling me from the murky depths of unconsciousness.

“Uh,” I grunt, the sound scraping past my dry lips. I feel the familiar rocking of waves beneath me, but for once, it’s disorienting rather than calming. Did I polish off an entire bottle of that Isle of Skye whisky last night? What the hell . . .

I force my eyes open, squinting against the assault of harsh fluorescent lights. A redheaded woman comes into focus, hovering over me. For a second, my heart skips a beat, thinking it’s Gemma. Then reality crashes in like a cold fucking wave.

Shit. I’m in a hospital bed.

I try to turn my head, and a sharp pain shoots through my shoulder. Skipper Magee and Edward are at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and their faces set in identical expressions of grim disapproval.

“Why the hell am I here?” I rasp out, my voice gravelly from disuse.

I try to sit up, only to let out a hissed curse as agony explodes in my shoulder, radiating down my arm and across my chest like a motherfucker.

“Easy there, tough guy,” the redheaded nurse soothes, placing a gentle hand on my uninjured shoulder. “You’ve dislocated your shoulder. Do you remember what happened?”

“What the hell were you thinking, son?” Skipper Magee says gruffly.

I grind my teeth, trying to piece together the fragmented, hazy memories. “I went out on the boat. How did I even get here?”

“You were knocked unconscious somehow,” Edward says, his tone equal parts concern and reproach. “Liam, why the bloody hell did you ignore all the weather warnings and head out into that storm?”

“Who found me?” I ask, brushing off the question. I don’t have an answer that’ll satisfy them—or myself.

“Coastguard received a distress signal,” the skipper says.

This was beyond careless of me. I’ve caused the Coastguard a world of trouble, wasted their valuable time and resources on my reckless ass. I’ll have to double the sizeable donation I usually make to their service.

“I’m an idiot,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my face and wincing as my shoulder flares with pain.

“Aye, you are,” Skipper Magee agrees, no sugarcoating. “You need some goddamn sense knocked into that thick skull of yours, boy. I thought I taught you better than to try and take on Mother Nature in a pissin’ contest.”

“Sorry, Skipper,” I mumble.

Edward chuckles, and I manage to muster up a faint glare in his direction. I know why he’s laughing—the skipper’s the only one who can chew me out and make me feel like a schoolboy.

“Liam, as worried as I am, I can’t say I’m entirely shocked,” Edward says. “You’ve been in self-destruct mode for weeks now.”

I sigh. “I know, I know. I just . . . I needed to get out on the water. Clear my head.”

“And instead you nearly cracked it wide open on the deck of your own bloody boat,” Edward snaps, frustration dripping from every word. “Absolutely brilliant plan, that.”

“Yeah, well, hindsight’s a bitch, ain’t she?” I wince again as I shift, trying to find a position that doesn’t make me want to groan. “Trust me, I’m not exactly thrilled with my choices either.”

“Damn right you shouldn’t be,” Edward mutters, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You scared the shit out of us.”

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I wasn’t thinking straight. Jesus, this hurts like a motherfucker.”

“Well, it would do,” Edward says, peering down at me with a disapproving tsk. “You’ve sustained a comminuted fracture of the proximal humerus, with potential damage to the rotator cuff. There’s also evidence of a grade three concussion, based on your loss of consciousness.”

“In English?” I groan, my head throbbing.

He shakes his head, letting out another long-suffering sigh. “You’ve well and truly fucked up your shoulder, and your brain got rattled around in that thick skull of yours. You’re lucky you didn’t bloody well drown or end up with permanent brain damage, you stubborn prick.”

I manage a weak chuckle, immediately regretting it as pain spears through me. “Always knew you cared, mate.” I deserve this bollocking. Hell, I’d be tearing someone a new one if they’d pulled the same stunt.

“I’ll come back in ten minutes.” The nurse smiles at me knowingly, patting Skipper on the shoulder as she leaves. Like she’s trying to spare me the embarrassment of being reamed out like a naughty schoolboy in front of an audience.

“Patrick’s on his way,” Edward says after a moment, his tone softening. “His flight gets in from Glasgow in about thirty minutes.”

“What? He doesn’t need to come all this way for this,” I protest, even as a part of me warms at the thought of seeing my brother. I take a breath, forcing myself to calm down. “I’ve really bollocksed this up, haven’t I?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Skipper Magee grunts. “There’s a fire in you, lad, an anger that’s gonna chew you up and spit you out if you don’t get a handle on it. Life’s hard enough without anticipating every punch and throwing your own first. You keep living like that, you’re gonna end up hurting yourself worse than anyone else. I know the deal was important, but to lose your head like this, nearly get yourself killed over it . . .” He shakes his head, a deep line of disappointment carving into his weathered face. “There comes a time when a man needs to put his anger aside before it swallows him whole.”

Edward looks at me pointedly, his eyebrows raised in a silent question.

“It wasn’t that,” I mutter. “It was . . . something else.”

What was it?” Skipper’s eyes narrow. “Not your fancy deal?”

I sigh.

“Whatever’s chewing you up, whatever it is that’s got you so riled, you need to face it head-on. Running won’t do you any good. Answers come in the calm, not the storm.”

I chuckle humorlessly at the skipper’s bad pun.

“This isn’t about a woman, is it?” Skipper asks, his eyes narrowing shrewdly.

“Yes,” Edward answers for me, the traitor.

Skipper shakes his head. “You need to sort that shit out. Don’t think I wasn’t like you when I was younger.” He clears his throat awkwardly, shifting in his seat like he’s steeling himself for something. “Liam, lad. I’m going to tell you a story. And I want you to listen well, because it might just save you a world of regret.”

I bite back a groan. Skipper’s stories are notoriously long-winded, meandering tales that take hours to reach their point. I’ll probably be asleep before he even gets to the moral. I really don’t need this right now, not with the pain in my shoulder.

“You know, when I was a young sailor, I thought I had the world by the balls. Full of charm and my own importance.” He chuckles, a rough sound that speaks of too many cigarettes. “I thought I had it all figured out. Thought I didn’t need a woman tying me down. I was married to the sea.”

I frown, not seeing what this has to do with my current situation.

“But then I met Maggie. And she knocked me on my ass from the first moment I laid eyes on her. Fierce, funny, clever as hell. Didn’t take any of my shit, and I loved her all the more for it.”

A small, almost wistful smile tugs at his weathered lips. “I fell hard and fast. But I was a stubborn bastard, too proud to admit that I needed her.”

He pauses, rubbing a hand over his face. “We had a falling out, me and Mags. A bad one right before I was leaving for six months. I said some things, did some things I’m not proud of. And she . . . well, she said she wouldn’t wait for me. Said she couldn’t be with a man who wouldn’t put her first.”

He pauses to cough. “That was the worst six months of my life. Thought I’d go mad out there on the water, knowing she was back on land, living her life without me. And then I came home and found out she’d moved on. Shacked up with some gobshite dentist named Trevor.”

Christ, where is this going? Edward shoots me a look, one of those warning glances, but I can see the flicker of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of her with someone else,” Skipper continues. “So I swallowed my pride, tucked my tail between my legs, and went after her. Begged her to forgive me, to give me another chance. Told her I’d spend the rest of my days making it up to her if she’d just let me.”

“And she did?” I ask.

Skipper shakes his head slowly, a rueful grin spreading across his face, but there’s no joy in it. “No, she didn’t. Stayed with that gobshite Trevor.”

I stare at him, at a loss for words. “Sorry, Skipper. That’s rough.”

He shrugs, trying to play it off, but I can see the regret in his eyes, the kind that never really fades. The kind of regret that haunts you.

Gemma’s question echoes in my mind, taunting me. When you’re old and gray, who do you see yourself as?

I’d chosen the skipper. But now, as I look at him—really look at him—and see the loneliness carved into every line on his weathered face, I wonder if I made the right call.

My Aston growls to a halt outside the Athenæum. I tell James to wait and head inside.

“Sir, you’re back,” Margo greets me, her smirk tinged with that knowing look, as if she’d been expecting this inevitable return.

“Just tonight,” I say curtly, taking the mask from her. “I’ll pay a flat fee for tonight only.”

She inclines her head, but I can see the gleam of curiosity in her eyes. I ignore it, pushing through the velvet curtain with a sense of resigned inevitability.

For a split second, that old familiar rush hits me—the heady blend of anonymity and pure, unadulterated desire. But now it all feels hollow.

My eyes sweep the room, locking on the only reason I’m here tonight.

“Have the Alexandria suite ready,” I order the waitress as she offers me a drink.

I watch the blond across the room then nod curtly for her to follow me.

I stride down the hall and hear the door click shut behind me moments later.

“Liam,” she breathes, her voice laced with anticipation, those big blue eyes sparkling behind her mask like she’s just hit the jackpot.

Victoria Harrington. The woman who, only months ago, I would have given my left nut for a chance to bed. Now, the sight of her leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

“Why did you do it, Vicky?” I ask. “Why let Alastair believe we were screwing around behind his back?”

She slinks closer, her hand finding its way to my chest, her fingers toying with the lapel of my jacket. “Come on, Liam. We’ve always wanted this. It was only a matter of time before we stopped pretending otherwise.”

“But we didn’t,” I growl, capturing her wrist, halting her wandering fingers before they can dip below my belt. “So why spin that particular lie?”

“Now we can. Alastair and I haven’t been together in months. It’s all an act until we announce our separation.”

“Then why involve me? Why drag me into your fucked-up mind games?”

She gazes up at me, tears glittering behind the mask, and for a moment, I’m transported back to that sunny day at boarding school when a younger Victoria looked at me with the same expression. But I know better now.

“Because he deserves it,” she whispers, her voice trembling as she pulls off her mask. “For the last decade, he’s made me feel like I was second-best, like his work and ambition mattered more than our marriage, more than me. He forced me away, Liam. He broke my heart. And now . . . now I want him to feel that same pain. To know that the one man he’s always seen as a threat had me first. Has always had me.”

I close my eyes, bile rising in my throat. Because I get it. I do. The need to lash out, to make someone hurt as badly as they’ve hurt you . . . it’s a fucking poison, eating you alive from the inside out.

But this? It’s too far. Too fucking far.

Vicky lets out a hollow, brittle laugh. “Why else do you think we came back to London? It was a last-ditch effort to save something that died years ago. I should’ve chosen you, Liam. I should’ve been with you from the start.”

“I was never a choice, Vicky,” I say flatly, dropping her wrist and stepping back.

“You were my first,” she whispers, as if that confession might still hold some power over me. “That means something.”

I scoff, the sound devoid of any real emotion. “That’s ancient history. We’ve both moved on.”

“Have you, though? You never married, Liam. You’ve stayed single all these years.”

“I did.” A low, anguished growl rumbles in my chest as I feel the weight of every word. “I moved on with someone incredible—a woman who is smart, funny, amazing. Everything I ever wanted. It might have taken me years, but I got there. I finally found something real.”

My fist clenches at my side. “And then I find out Alastair thought you and I were fucking around behind his back. Here, of all places. I canceled my membership weeks ago. Right after the last time I saw you, when you spun me some sob story about your loveless marriage.”

Right before Gemma betrayed me. And now I know why. I turned up at her flat, and Lizzie told me in a number of colorful profanities all the things I had apparently done wrong.

I pace the room, agitation churning in the pit of my stomach. “I couldn’t understand why Alastair would think that about us. But then it hit me. You wanted him to know. You were perfectly happy letting him believe we were having an affair. Well, congratulations. Gemma found out, and now she hates me.”

Vicky stumbles back, her eyes glistening with tears. “Liam, please . . . I just needed him to see me again. To want me again. I thought if he believed you and I were together, he’d finally wake up and fight for me.”

I’m breathing hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. “Well, I hope you got what you wanted, Vicky. Alastair’s attention, his jealousy, his pain. But you know what else you got? My pain. My fucking misery.”

I turn away, shoulders rigid with tension. “Go back to your husband. Or don’t. I couldn’t give a damn at this point. Just leave me out of your toxic bullshit from now on.”

I stride to the door, yanking it open with my good shoulder.

Looks like Alastair and I both lost more than just TLS. And I don’t know about him . . . but for me? Losing Gemma hurts a hell of a lot more than losing some company.