Page 68 of Liam (Preston Brothers #4)

Liam

It’s usually only me, Linc, and Lachlan who are home, but since I’ve been practically living at the studio since the start of the year, I’ve been going less and less.

Today, though, I’ve been counting down the minutes, hoping that sitting around the table will help distract me from the fact that Addie’s on her way home from meeting with her ex-boyfriend who, you know, pleaded guilty to something he didn’t do just to save her.

No big deal, right?

Ha!

As if that isn’t bad enough, she won’t tell me what happened because it’s, in her words, “too much to type out over text”—as if that’s a thing in our generation.

All we do is text.

Whatever.

Have I officially lost my mind? Sure.

It’s been three years since she’s seen him, and I bet he’s changed. Probably got jacked while he was in that military boot camp school or whatever the fuck it was.

You know what would’ve helped? If she’d sent me a text like: Bruh, he looks like Olaf now . And I’d reply, From Frozen ? And she’d say, Yes. And then we’d lol together.

But I bet he doesn’t look like Olaf. I bet he looks like Gaston from Beauty and the Beast, minus the misogyny. I bet she wanted to?—

“Shut up,” Lincoln deadpans, breaking through my insanity.

I close the dishwasher (I don’t even know why I opened it) and turn to him. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, staring down at his phone.

I peer over at Lachlan sitting on the kitchen island. “I didn’t say anything,” he tells me.

“Neither did I.”

“Out loud,” Linc says, slipping his phone in his pocket. “You didn’t say anything out loud. But your head, bro”—he taps at his temple—“whatever those thoughts are, kill ’em dead right now.” He shoves past me to get to the cabinet where we keep the plates. “Don’t let them win.”

Silence passes as I take in his words.

Lachy’s the one who breaks it. “I hate you guys,” he says, jumping off the island. “I wish I was a twin.”

“And make everyone have to deal with two of you?” Lincoln cracks.

“Absolutely not,” Linc and I say in sync. Then smirk the same way. “Daaad!” we singsong. “Lachy said he hates us!”

Dad appears in the kitchen doorway. “We don’t use that word at people, Lachy,” Dad grumbles.

Lachy rolls his eyes while Linc moves to stand beside me. We face our little brother, and even though I don’t see my twin, I know he crosses his arms at the same time I do. Plasters on the same shit-eating grin, too. “Yeah, Lachy,” we tease.

Dad sighs—so over our bullshit. “Prepare an extra seat tonight, Linc. I have a special guest joining us.”

“What special guest ?” Linc, Lachy, and I say in unison. Dad doesn’t have guests to the house. He barely even has friends. Most of the people he interacts with either work for him or want something from him.

Dad answers, “She’ll be here soon.”

“ She? ” All three of us again.

Dad nods, runs a hand over his flannel shirt. “And I need to change.”

Again, all three of us. “ Change? ”

Dad doesn’t respond to our echoes. He just leaves the room. We all watch as he walks from the kitchen, through the lounge, and up the stairs. We wait until we hear his bedroom door close before facing each other.

For a long moment, we stand there, speechless.

“Maybe it’s Aunt Leslee,” Lachlan says.

“Nah,” Linc responds. “He wouldn’t say special guest. ”

“Should we change?” I ask. If Dad has a “special guest” coming over, maybe we should present well for him. Or?—

“What the hell is happening?” Lincoln mumbles.

I pull out my phone. “I’ll ask Logan if he knows.”

Liam

Dad has a special guest coming for dinner. It’s a *she*

Linc and Lachlan close in and look at my phone while we await a response. The message is read, but no reply comes. Instead, the front door bursts open and Logan rushes toward us, skidding to a stop. He’s so out of breath, he must’ve sprinted from his garage apartment to us. “A what? ” he asks.

We shrug.

“I told you all the info we know,” I tell him.

“What does that mean ?”

We all step back when we hear the fee-fi-fo-fum steps of a giant coming down the stairs.

Only it’s not any giant. It’s Dad. And he’s changed into slacks and a button-up shirt.

Fancy . “Logan!” he cheers, clapping Logan on the shoulder.

“I didn’t know you’d be here. You didn’t respond to the text. Are you staying for dinner?”

Logan shrugs, plays it cool. “Red’s at Mia’s, and I’m too lazy to cook.”

“Well, there should be enough food for everyone,” Dad says, all nonchalant, as if he hasn’t just dropped a bomb and we’re all waiting for it to explode.

“Sounds good,” Logan says, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking on his heels.

“Speaking of food,” Dad says, checking his watch. “I better go pick up the dessert before the bakery closes.”

“Dessert?” Linc and I mouth at each other. If we have dessert at home, it’s usually ice cream or candy or whatever we find in the pantry. The fuck is this bakery bullshit?

We all watch in silence as Dad exits the house and wait to hear his truck take off before all speaking at once.

“That was weird, right?”

“Who is she ?”

“What the fuck?”

“I hope it’s pecan pie!”

That last one was Lachlan.

“Did you check with anyone else?” Logan asks me.

I shake my head. “Just you.”

He pulls out his phone, and a beat later, our phones ding with his text in the sibling group chat. Followed by ding! Ding! Ding!

Within minutes, Leo, Lucas, and Lucy are all here, standing around the kitchen island, slamming us with questions we don’t have answers to.

Dad returns with pecan pie.

The food arrives.

Then, so does she .