Page 64 of Liam (Preston Brothers #4)

Addie

Liam

What are you doing, Baby Baker?

Addie

I’m never going to live that one down, am I?

Liam

Outlook looks bleak.

Yesterday, after Dayna packed her bags and left, Roman and I did, too.

There was no reason we couldn’t stay at that house, at least for a few more days until Mia’s dad came to town, but it felt wrong to be there when we didn’t have to be.

Last night, Roman slept on his couch, I slept in his bed, and Liam slept in the studio.

It was the first night in over a week we’d spent apart. I didn’t much care for it. Neither did Liam, going by the way we texted back and forth until the sun came up.

Liam

You there?

Addie

Yeah, sorry.

I glance up at Roman, his eyes glued to the TV, watching the same crew of young adults make more bad decisions.

Funny, he didn’t put this show on when Dayna was around.

He once admitted the mind-numbing show was his way of winding down—that he enjoyed it because he didn’t have to think.

Or feel . And after the day we’ve had, it might be exactly what he needs.

He joined me in therapy today.

There was so much I needed to say, and I wanted to do it in a space where I couldn’t just shut down and bury my feelings for years, like I had before.

I started by telling him I understand why he kept things from me, that I appreciated him for wanting to protect me, and that I am who I am because he sacrificed so much of himself so I could be. And then I told him I know .

I know it was him who found out about the pictures.

I know he went to deliver drugs to a client who asked him if he had access to more of them.

I know he beat the shit out of the guy until he revealed everything.

And I know all of that happened a few hours before he was arrested.

I know all this because Wyatt told me. He read about it in his police report.

But even if he hadn’t read it there, he already knew because one of the first things Roman did when he got out of prison was check in on Wyatt.

It was through Wyatt I learned everything else—about Roman’s efforts to take down the cop while in prison.

He never stopped fighting for me. For Wyatt.

He became the voice for two kids who were silenced by their surroundings, by their upbringings, and nothing I do in life will ever display the extent of gratitude I have for him.

And then I told him I hope he finds a way to heal, too. Like I have been. And I hope, one day, he can release the burden of guilt that’s weighed heavy on his shoulders… because it’s not his to carry.

When I was finally done speaking, Roman remained silent.

Stoic. That’s when my therapist asked me to give them a moment.

I gave them an hour. I don’t know what was said, and I doubt Roman will ever tell me.

But afterward, he drove back to the apartment, asked me to wait in the truck.

When he returned, he handed me an empty glass jar.

We spent the afternoon at the old junkyard, filling the jar—and our hearts—with paint chip moments.

I think, in a way, it was the perfect way to end this particular scavenger hunt in life. Each paint chip added was another puzzle piece, and in the end, it didn’t matter if they all connected. It only mattered that they belonged.

That they had a home.

Together.

I think—I hope— it was the closure we both needed to move on from the past and heal from the wounds left behind.

My phone vibrates it my hand, bringing me back to the present.

Liam

So… what are you doing?

Addie

I’m just watching TV with Roman.

Liam

Want to go for a walk around the block a few hundred times?

I giggle.

“Is that Liam?” Roman asks.

“Yeah.”

“What’s he saying?”

“He wants to go for a walk.”

“You going?”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “I’m okay here.”

“Addie, you should go,” he says through a yawn. “I’m tired anyway, and I go back to work tomorrow.” He’d taken the entire week off work to be there for me, just in case.

I look up at him. Really look at him. Darkness surrounds his tired eyes, and his eyelids droop more than usual. I should’ve picked up on how exhausted he was earlier, but I’ve been too deep in my own head to realize. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he says, waving me off. “Just be quiet when you get in?”

“Okay.”

I text Liam.

Addie

Where are you?

Liam

In the parking lot, waiting on your big booty ass.

Roman clears his throat from just over my shoulder, and when I turn to him, he’s glaring at my phone. “That’s not what he means,” I laugh out while replying to Liam.

Addie

Roman saw that.

Liam

Your call could not be connected. Please try again later.

Addie

I’ll be down in a minute.

I get to my feet, then grab the blanket from the back of the couch and tell Roman, “Okay, old man. Let me tuck you in.”

Roman rolls his eyes but accepts my offer anyway, getting into a lying position so I can spread the covers over him. He nestles in, pulling the blankets up to his chin, and he looks so boyish like this. So innocent.

“Goodnight,” I say, leaning down and kissing his forehead.

He laughs once—a whisper of a sound. “Night, Addie.”

I flick off all the lights, but leave his show running. Then I start to leave, stopping just inside the door and turning to him. The glow from the TV casts shadows across his features, and he’s so much of everything I remember him to be. So much of everything I missed. “Hey, Roman?”

He pops his head up. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Roman’s smile is instant. “I love you, too, Addie.” He jerks his head toward the door. “Now get out of here. Don’t leave Loverboy waiting.”

Liam’s leaning against his minivan when I reach the bottom of the stairs leading up to Roman’s apartment.

He stands taller as I shuffle toward him, my shoulders hunched, but my eyes lifted.

I don’t slow, not until my front’s pressed against his.

And I don’t lift my arms to hug him, don’t get up on my toes to kiss his cheek.

I just… lay my head on his chest, savor the touch, because this alone is everything I need.

“Huh,” he states.

I peer up at him. “What?”

“Nothing. Just… one second.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and taps it a few times. The call rings, loud enough to know it’s on speaker, and I go back to feeling Liam’s pulse beat against my cheek, letting out a silent sigh when he settles his hand on the back of my head, holding me a place.

“Yo,” the male on the other end says.

“Hey, Logan.”

“What’s up?”

“Remember that conversation we had at the lake? About the different types of hugs?”

“Yeah.”

I peer up at him, and he smiles down at me. “You were right.”

“I fucking told you.”

“Bye.”

“Later.”

Liam hangs up, slips the phone back in his pocket. “What different types of hugs?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

I pull back. “Do you think we can skip the walk? Maybe go back to the cabin, watch one of your very odd, but fascinating, documentaries?”

He smiles to one side. “I have one saved about people with pickle obsessions.”

“Sounds perfect.”

We start off sitting next to each other on the couch, watching people argue about the best variant of pickle.

Within minutes, we’re lying on the couch, me half on top of him.

This lasts only slightly longer before he complains the couch is too small, and because the TV is mounted on a movable stand, he’s able to roll it to the bedroom, where we are now—him sitting up while I lay my head on his lap.

Something about a pickle-eating competition .

He untied my hair from its braid a while ago, ribbon and all, and now he’s lacing his fingers through the strands, stroking gently.

Soon, I’m sure, he’ll feel the scar I work hard to hide.

A woman who collects ceramic pickles . My eyelids feel heavy, and with every blink, it takes more strength to open them again.

Pickled pickles.

Liam

Addie gasps awake at the sound of her phone ringing, her eyes wide.

She’s quick to sit up, shifting the blankets to her waist as she looks around.

She’s so out of it, I’d laugh if it wasn’t so fricken cute.

“Oh, no! Roman… I told him I was just going for a walk.” She’s patting the space an inch from her waist as if her phone will be right there. It’s not.

“Relax,” I say. “I messaged him and told him you fell asleep here.”

She stops with her frantic searching, her shoulders dropping. “You did?”

“Yep.” I nod. “He hasn’t seen it yet, but I didn’t want him worried about you.”

“Thanks,” she says while her phone continues to ring. “How long have I been out?”

“A few hours.”

She rubs her eyes. “What have you been doing?”

“I’ve literally been sitting here, statue still. I tried to lie down, but you kept stirring every time I did, so I just resigned to my fate.”

She giggles at that, and I smile in response. Her hair’s matted on the side she’d slept on, and it sticks out in all directions. Her eyes squint when a particularly bright scene plays on the muted TV. “What time is it?”

Her phone stops ringing as I check my watch. “Midnight. On the dot.”

“That’s weird,” she says, just as her phone rings again. “Where the fuck is it?”

“On the nightstand next to you.”

She turns, mumbling, “Of course it is.” As soon as the phone’s in her hand, she freezes. “What’s the date?”

“What?”

“The date ?”

I check my watch again. “Fifteenth. Why?”

She shows me her phone, and the name on the screen has me immediately shooting up. “It’s been three years?”

“To the day,” she breathes out, looking from the phone to me, over and over, clearly unsure of what to do.

“If you think you can handle it… emotionally, I mean. Then you should answer it.”

“Emotionally, I’m fine, but?—”

I get out of bed, making the decision for her. “Answer it.”