Page 22 of Liam (Preston Brothers #4)
Addie
If life was a scavenger hunt and Liam Preston was one of the never-ending puzzle pieces, I’d throw him away.
Not because I think he’s useless or because I want to hurt him, but because I hate the way he’s made me feel. With a single, insignificant act, he has me questioning who I am, and worse? What I’m worth.
The last time I cared what anyone thought about me was before. Before my parents left, and the hunger kicked in, and the need for food was so desperate I tried to pry open cans with my bare teeth.
Before Roman took my hand in his, told me I would be okay, and assured me that everyone else would see me that way.
It stopped then and there. Like a switch.
Even when I moved to a new school, four hours away, and the whispers I was a foster kid began, I didn’t care.
So, I don’t know why I suddenly care now.
Especially about what a guy thinks of me. One guy, to be specific, but ? —
My phone alerts me to a text, and I drop the pen into my journal and slam it shut.
The first thing I notice when I find my phone tangled in the bedsheets—somewhat like my current state—is the time.
It’s close to midnight, and the only texts I get at this hour are from the team’s group chat, most of them talking about how great their summer is going. It’s not the group chat, though.
Unknown:
I don’t know how to have friends.
Another text comes through as I’m reading the first.
Unknown
It’s been a while…
Heart suddenly racing, I sit up, eyes narrowed at the screen as I watch the three dots appear, indicating he has more to say.
Unknown
It’s Liam, by the way.
I save the number under Liam and type back:
Addie
How did you get my number?
Liam
Your employee file on my dad’s computer.
Liam
Sorry.
I picture him in his bed, the room dark, the light from his phone casting shadows on his features as he takes his time, questioning every word he’s about to type. It’s easy to imagine, because I’m currently experiencing it too.
Addie
Don’t be. I’m glad you messaged.
Liam
Yeah?
Addie
Yeah. And I’m sorry about the friend thing…
Addie
And even more sorry because I’m pretty sure I’m the cause of it.
It feels like an eternity before he responds, the three dots appearing and disappearing over and over.
Liam
Do you listen to music?
I lie back in bed, get comfortable on my pillow.
Addie
Who doesn’t?
Liam
What’s your favorite song?
I think for a moment.
Addie
Alaska by Maggie Rogers. The acoustic version. Why?
Liam
I figured friends should know these things about each other.
If I had no self-control, I’d be kicking my legs and silently squealing. Instead, I merely smile as I write:
Addie
What’s your favorite song, Liam?
Liam
Undecided right now. Favorite food?
Addie
Pizza.
Liam
What type?
Addie
Vegetarian.
Liam
Gross.
I giggle at that—a reaction that contrasts how I was feeling only moments ago.
Liam
Favorite place?
I reach over to my side table and switch off the lamp, ready to settle in for the night.
Addie
There’s this junkyard about an hour north of here. Roman used to take me there when I was a little.
Liam
A junkyard?
Addie
Yeah. I know it sounds strange, but when he moved out, he worked at this auto shop, and sometimes his boss would ask him to go to the junkyard for parts.
If it was a weekend, he’d take me with him.
We’d get food, then walk the aisles of cars until we found what he needed.
He showed me how to remove certain parts or asked me to hold his tools if it was too hard for me.
Addie
The best part was when we were done, we’d find an already broken piece of a car, and he’d let me take a hammer to it so we could collect all these different colored paint chips. I kept them all in this glass jar, and whenever I missed him, I just looked at them.
I hit send, then dry the unexpected tears on my pillow. Some nights, I’d fall asleep hugging that jar. Then, one day, I came home from school and it was gone. When I asked my mom about it, she told me it was trash , that it didn’t belong in the trailer.
I stopped collecting paint-chips after that.
Liam
Will you show me?
I hold the phone to my chest, a million emotions flowing through me. Then I blindly reach for my journal tucked under my pillow and bring it closer. Slide my finger in the gap between the pages left by my pen, and tear out the page I’d just written.
I don’t want to trash Liam Preston.
I may just want to keep him.
Close.
Addie
Anytime. Just say when.