Page 44 of Liam (Preston Brothers #4)

Liam

Never in my wildest dreams—or insane nightmares—did I think I’d be standing here, knocking on this door, waiting for him to appear.

I’d always known where he lived, but I’d never been this close.

The house is on the “rougher” side of town—the one parents on the “good” side warn their kids to not step into.

Judgmental? Sure. But there’s a reason. Drugs, mainly.

The occasional drunk wandering around. And that one time Old Man Barnaby lost his damn mind and flashed kids from his living room window while they were on their way to school. At least, that’s how the story goes.

This particular house is more rundown than the others.

Parts of the siding are rotten. The concrete steps leading to the small porch are cracked and unstable.

The screen door is hanging on by a single hinge.

And the front yard is nothing but overgrown weeds, littered car parts, beer cans, and the occasional mismatched sofa cushion.

Helmet opens the door, his eyes widening the second he sees me.

Trust me—no one’s more surprised than I am.

I don’t wait for him to speak, just hold out the keys between us.

“It’s yours,” I say, motioning to my truck parked at the curb.

I wait for him to grab the keys, then reach into my pocket and pull out the envelope full of cash.

I hand that over, too. “To cover registration, insurance, whatever. Title’s in there.

All signed.” I turn to leave, tossing over my shoulder, “No cops. No insurance. And call Roman—tell him to forget about your truck.” I make it halfway down his driveway before he calls out my name. “Liam!”

Not Twincest.

I freeze. So does all the air in my lungs. Slowly, I turn, shoulders squared for whatever he’s about to throw at me.

He starts toward me, and I ball my fists. Two years of boxing lessons have prepared me for this exact moment. He notices my stance, shakes his head, and continues coming at me. “For what it’s worth,” he says, his tone flat as he stops a few feet away. “I am sorry.”

An exhale forces its way out of me.

“I’m sorry for what I did to you,” he continues. “I was a dumb fucking kid trying to impress a girl. Trying to act cool in front of the boys.” He motions around him. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have much else going for me.”

The tension leaves my shoulders, dissolving into the humid air.

“And Addie—she was a dumb fucking kid, too. We both were. But that’s no excuse,” he says.

“And I’m not just saying this because you’re giving me a fucking truck.

I’m saying it because I should’ve said it years ago.

I am sorry, Liam. And I don’t need your forgiveness, but Addie…

” he trails off, and I wish he didn’t. I want to know what he has to say, at least about her.

Because when it comes to Addie, especially Addie and me , I don’t even know what to think.

Helmet drops his head between his shoulders, rubs at the back of his neck.

“How is she?” he asks, almost sheepish. His eyes lift, lock on mine.

“I—” I haven’t spoken to her. “You haven’t asked her yourself?”

“Nah.” He straightens. “She won’t answer my calls. Won’t reply to my texts. And I’m too afraid of her brother to just show up at his apartment.”

Valid. “Can I ask you something?”

He shrugs. “I owe you that much.”

“How’d you even become friends with her?”

He laughs once, shaking his head. “First day of kindergarten, I told her she was pretty. She said her brother told her that if any boy said that, she had permission to punch him in the face.”

My lips twitch, imagining Addie and Roman at that age, having that exact conversation. “Did she?”

“No. But I decided then that I wanted to be her friend, you know?” He’s quiet a beat. “I don’t have romantic feelings for her, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“It’s not.”

“Then what’s with the question?”

I shrug, glancing over my shoulder. I should leave. I’ve already been here longer than I planned. Said more than I needed.

“I assume you two got close since she’s been back,” he says, pulling my attention back to him.

I don’t know if it’s a question or a statement, so I don’t respond.

“How much do you know about her?”

Now I feel like we’re playing a game of who knows Addie best. I’d lose. No question. “I know enough.”

“So, you know about her parents?”

I raise my eyebrows and wait. I don’t want to reveal her secrets if they’re still secrets to him.

“That they were addicts who fucking bailed on her?” he says, anger crackling beneath every word. Turns out, Helmet and I have one thing in common—a deep disdain for the way Addie’s parents treated her.

He nods toward my truck—or his truck now. “Her parents,” he says, walking past me, “they partied with mine.”

“Partied?” I ask, following a step behind.

He leans against the truck, and, after a beat of hesitation, I do the same. If this were about anything other than Addie, I’d have been gone already.

“To clarify,” Helmet says, “ her parents supplied my parents with the drugs they needed to party together. The only difference is mine stuck around. When hers left, Roman replaced them—with the supplying, not the partying.” He kicks at the dry dirt beneath us, his head bowed.

“I didn’t know any better, man,” he murmurs.

“It’s just how we grew up—Addie and me. It was so normal, I didn’t even realize it was bad.

Otherwise, I would’ve saved her from it—if I could’ve. ”

It suddenly occurs to me that their lifelong friendship isn’t baseless.

It isn’t fickle or weak. And I don’t know why I ever assumed otherwise.

They’ve been friends since the first day of kindergarten and remained that way even while she was gone.

The only thing I have to compare that to is my siblings…

and they’re my siblings . It’s not as if I have much of a choice.

But… Helmet—he cares about her in ways I don’t realize.

Ways I’ll never understand. They’ve obviously experienced things I can’t even comprehend.

And now—now they’re not even speaking to each other.

Because of me.

I realize now that he hasn’t said anything more, but he also hasn’t made a move to leave. I peer sideways at him, catch him watching me. “What?” I ask.

“That’s what you’re thinking, right?” he asks. “That maybe if you knew about her life at home, all the shit with her parents… maybe if you were friends with her—you or your family could’ve saved her?”

Is that why I asked? Yes. No. I don’t know, to be honest. But the thought has crossed my mind. Maybe I could’ve done more to protect her. “Maybe,” I tell him.

“Or maybe she wouldn’t have told you,” he says.

“She didn’t tell you about her parents?”

“Nope. She didn’t tell me about their vanishing act until recently.

I mean, I had my assumptions because I stopped seeing them around, but I didn’t know for sure.

” He shrugs. “But I also never told her I’d seen her parents passed out in my kitchen with needles stuck in their arms, so… I guess we all keep secrets.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for. I’m so far removed from that kind of experience that just picturing it in my mind feels like a fever dream. A nightmare, really.

“You know why people call me Helmet?” he asks, and I shake my head. “When I was a kid, like, three maybe? My parents used to get high with all their friends and get me to wear a helmet, then encourage me to run headfirst into the drywall.”

I let out a groan, rubbing my eyes. “Jesus, Wyatt…”

“They all thought it was hilarious, and I didn’t know any better.

So when their friends would come over and start chanting Helmet!

Helmet! I thought they were cheering for me.

” He sniffs once. “I realized a few years later that it probably wasn’t a good thing, you know?

But I’d already gone around introducing myself to people as Helmet, so the name stuck.

Addie’s the only one I ever told about it.

We were, like, seven, maybe? Anyway, after a week passed, and no one was giving me shit, I knew I could trust her with anything.

She always protected my secrets, and I wanted to protect hers, even if I didn’t know what they were.

” He unlocks the truck, and I step back as he climbs in and immediately starts the engine.

He winds down the window, rests his arm on the frame. “You need a ride somewhere?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’ll walk.” I could use the air. Use the time alone to wrap my head around everything.

He nods, tapping on the door once. “Again, I’m sorry for everything that happened in the past, but I gotta be honest with you, man. Addie wasn’t swinging that bat at my truck. Or even at me.” He pauses a beat. “She was swinging it at herself.”