You Again [h.s]

65. Eighteen Years

Harry's POV:

"No bro, I don't want anything to do with this shit." Liam holds his hands up and backs away from me, his eyes not leaving the slightly unconscious, bruised man.

"Please Liam it's only for an hour tops. I need to go sort shit out."

"And leave me here whilst you go fuck your girlfriend or something?" Liam shakes his head "you call me al the way to your house to babysit some guy you've beat up."

"I'm not fucking anyone. This is serious I wouldn't go unless I needed to."

"Not unless you tell me. You keep me and all the boys in the dark so come on - I want to know everything Haz. You've been so distant since way back last year."

"I promise I will tell you when I get back and when I get rid of him." I point to the guy who still hasn't told me his name. I've never been cruel enough to bring it up with Ella either. Thinking back, I don't know if she ever mentioned his name to me she just referred to him as him.

"You have one hour but then you are coming back here. We are getting rid of this pest and you are telling me everything alright. I know we all have our dark secrets, but that's what is brining us closer Harry and I want to help you."

"Thanks man. I appreciate it." I pat Liam on the back and look at the sod on the ground. "If you attempt to move or do anything my pal here won't hesitate to do something about it." I look up at Liam and wink at him but I take it he got that I was joking but the idiot on the floor doesn't need to know that.

I feel bad bringing Liam into this because this guy is dangerous. Liam's not one for getting the cops involved because he's been behind bars for a night or so for getting into his own shit but I know if he knew this was the guy that was involved in me being shot then he'd take him straight there.

I trust Liam enough to not let that prick go anywhere which is why I called him out of everyone. Ella texted me early this morning asking what I'm doing tonight and I had to lie to her and tell her I'm busy. She asked what doing and I haven't replied to that. I hate lying to her but I only do it for her own good. If she knew half the things I keep from her there's no way she would want to be with me.

*

I go to this small cafe under an overpriced hotel building on the corner of Smith Street all the time, but now it just feels so much different. It's usual homely surroundings make me feel nervous and anxious and I don't like it. It's my mum, I don't know why I feel like this. As much as I don't want to admit it to myself, I still love my mum. I haven't seen her since I was four years old, eighteen years have passed but I will never forget how happy she made me as a young boy.

She was my whole world and I guess I was just heartbroken when she left me. What little boy wouldn't be when he lost his most favourite person in the world.

I'm wearing my usual black jeans and boots with a mustard coloured coat and my hair is pushed back into a black beanie. I'm not dressing up, I'm not trying to impress my mother, that's weird.

Out of all the hotels in New York, my mum chose the most expensive. Obviously the years have been treating her well wealth wise.

I haven't seen her since she was in her late twenties. If I am correct, she will be forty eight because I was four when she left me and she was twenty nine, almost thirty.