Page 14 of Liam (Preston Brothers #4)

Addie

Three pivotal moments have defined my life’s path, and oddly enough, my parents ditching me isn’t one of them.

It was what came after.

I’ll never forget the look on Roman’s face when I told him I hadn’t seen my parents in days or the tears in his eyes when he saw my teeth marks deeply indented in the still unopened can of spaghetti.

Until that point, I’d always seen Roman as the toughest, most fearless man in the world.

I thought I’d broken him, and I wasn’t quite sure why.

After making sure I was fed, washed, and taken care of, he spent the entire night scrubbing the trailer clean, removing the stains of the past and the evidence of my parents’ ominous adventures into nowhereland.

The next morning, before school, he removed a ribbon from one of my dresses and fumbled through a video tutorial on how to braid hair.

The first ribbon he ever weaved through the strands was bright orange.

He gripped my hand tight as he walked me to school, and I swear, I’d never felt safer. I remember looking up at him, my eyes clear of dread and heartache. “Why did you braid my hair?” I’d asked.

He’d shrugged. “I want you to look taken care of, Addie. Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do. No one has to know how you’ve been living, okay?”

The second pivotal moment in my life is the car accident.

And the third? The third happened a few weeks into my junior year of high school.

I was perched in the bleachers of the local college’s softball field, where my foster dad coached.

The season hadn’t started yet, but he was running evening drills in the lead-up to tryouts.

My arm was still in a cast from the car wreck, but the bandage on my head was gone.

I could tell he knew I was watching, but he didn’t acknowledge me until it was over.

He climbed the bleacher steps two at a time and sat down beside me. For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

When I first moved in with them, Griffin confided he was a man of very few words, and not to take it personally.

I told him it was fine, because I was the same.

I wasn’t. Or, at least, I hadn’t been. Not until then.

I chose not to speak, not to share every internal battle.

Thankfully, our lack of constant conversation didn’t deter us from forming a bond.

All it took was me throwing a softball.

With his help, training and encouragement, I tried out for the JV team and got in. The following year, I made varsity. Putting on that uniform, the cleats and gloves… it was the closest I’d felt to my brother since we’d been apart.

“You’ve had quite the month,” he said, breaking the quiet. He gently tapped my cast, reiterating his point.

I stared ahead, too lost in my own thoughts.

I was pissed. For so many reasons. And not only at myself, but at the situation I’d found myself in.

My goal, as well as Griffin’s, was to earn a spot on his team and play under him.

My broken arm wasn’t doing me any favors.

Neither was the possible long-term head trauma the doctors warned them about.

Griffin sighed, long and loud. “Did I push you?” he asked, and I turned to him, confused. “With the whole softball thing. I don’t want you?—”

“You didn’t push me,” I cut in.

He nodded, looking out at the field. “It’s just… ever since we started, it’s as if…” he trailed off.

“As if what?”

“As if you’ve been on this pursuit of perfection.

” He paused a beat. “You’re always putting in a hundred and ten percent with the game, and you’re the model student with perfect grades.

You’re home every night, helping us take care of the younger kids when we have them, and I just… I worry, I guess.”

I faced him again, unable to hide my emotions. “You worry because I’m good ?”

“I worry that you feel you have to be. And you’re not just good , Addie.

You’re exceptional.” He turned to me, his eyes right on mine.

“But… sometimes, I think you feel pressured to be that way. Like, you came into our home, and you feel as if you have to earn your place. Not just in our home, but in our hearts.”

A knot formed in my throat, making it hard to breathe, all while tears clung to my lashes.

He was describing exactly how I felt from the moment they opened their doors to me, and it’s only worsened with each passing day.

I didn’t feel worthy of their time, let alone their love.

Especially after… “I messed up, Griffin.”

He nodded, as if he was expecting my response. “The car accident was exactly that. An accident .”

“The car accident itself? Sure. It’s what I let happen after?—”

“Addie,” he cut in, shaking his head. “You can’t be perfect all the time. No one can. Besides…” He held me to him—an act so rare it only emphasized its meaning. “The pursuit of perfection includes redemption… and redemption is realizing you’re imperfect.”