Page 9 of Liam (Preston Brothers #4)

Liam

I don’t recall anyone ever reading me bedtime stories.

I know it sounds like a poor me situation, but it’s really not.

And it’s not to say that it didn’t happen; I just don’t remember it.

I guess that’s what happens when your mom dies when you’re only four, your dad has a lot on his plate, and you’re raised by a nanny for the next few years.

My brothers—the older ones—have mentioned Lucy taking over between the death and the new hire, but again, I was way too young to remember much of anything from that time.

I remember being sad.

I remember dressing up in a suit and going to the cemetery and then having a bunch of people over at the house.

I remember sitting in the corner, not knowing how to feel or act while Lincoln played with toys on the floor. He seemed fine, and I didn’t quite understand why.

I remember all of this, but… I don’t remember bedtime stories.

To be fair, if someone was reading to anyone, it would’ve been to my little brother.

Besides, Linc and I had always been… Linc and I.

Even now, there’s barely a time when we’re seen as two separate people.

Growing up, every one of my siblings got their own bedrooms, but not us.

We’d always shared. Even when my sister moved into the cabin during her junior year of high school, we didn’t even consider taking her room.

Maybe that’s why no one read to us, because we’d always fall asleep in each other’s company.

Either that, or maybe we were just forgotten.

Who knows?

I pull out of my thoughts and back to reality, taking in my surroundings.

The walls of the bedroom are blue, with flecks of different shades to mimic outer space.

If I got close enough, I could run my finger along the glittery swirls and feel the crushed rock embedded in the paint.

All the furniture is wooden, taken from my brother’s childhood bedroom.

There are two identical shelves filled with books.

Over the past two years, since my brother Leo has known his son, Benny has picked up on Leo’s love of reading.

And Lucy, who owns a bookstore, provides him with enough of them to last a lifetime.

There aren’t just books on the shelves, though.

There are rocks, too, some of them encased in plastic display cubes next to a picture of each uncle who helped him find them.

It’s a genuine display of the pure love my nephew has for us, and I can’t help but smile as I roll my head on the pillow and glance at the little boy sleeping soundly beside me.

I finally close the book in my hands, even though I’d finished reading it a good ten minutes ago, and carefully set it under his pillow where he likes it kept.

And then I just take a moment and watch him.

Around a year ago, doctors diagnosed him “on the spectrum,” though his parents made it clear to us it changes nothing about the way they’ll raise him or the way we treat him, which was a given, but…

I lose sleep over how other people will treat him, not just now, but in the future.

I’d hate for him to live in a world where he has to mute his true self, or hide his emotions, or… be anything other than who he truly is.

I’ve lived that childhood, and I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.

Besides, Benny is special. Not because of his diagnosis, or even because he’s my blood.

But because there’s something deep within him…

like a quiet stillness that resets your senses, forgives the darkness in your soul, and steadies the world around you.

He’s the calm to my storm, even when I don’t feel the raindrops.

My sister-in-law, Mia, is doing the dishes when I finally make it downstairs. She turns to me as I approach, her smile soft. “All done, Uncle Twinny?” she asks, using the name Benny created for Linc and me.

Outside of my immediate family, there are only two people in this world who have always been able to tell us apart.

Mia is one, and the other… Well, the other stormed out of my studio in a rage a few hours ago.

The one thing that’s killed the anxiety since then has been spending time with Benny and Mia.

Nodding, I roll up my sleeves and grab a dish towel, ready to dry.

“You don’t have to do that,” she says, pushing into my side.

I grab the nearest pot and get to work. “I know. I want to,” I reply, and it’s not a lie.

Whenever Leo works nights, I stay here, in the spare bedroom.

Not because Leo hasn’t made his house safer than Fort Knox, but because I sleep better knowing there’s someone here to protect them.

Though, the likelihood that something will happen is close to zero because: One, you’d be a stupid motherfucker to mess with Leo’s family, and two, Mia’s dad is the billionaire Linc is obsessed with.

So, if anything were to happen, you’d be dead within hours and your existence erased off the face of the earth.

As soon as we’re done with the dishes, Mia pours herself a glass of wine, and I pour myself a tea—our usual routine—and then we make our way to the front door and sit on the porch swing Leo built for her when he bought them the house.

“So…” she says, tucking her feet beneath her. “What’s going on with you?”

I shrug, sip my tea. “Not much.”

Mia’s quiet a beat, and I stare ahead, knowing damn well she’s watching me… studying and scrutinizing me . Then, with a little more emphasis this time, she repeats, “What’s going on with you?”

Mia and I have gotten closer over the past year.

It started when Lincoln wanted to spend time with her dad in New York, and so she’d visit me just to see how I was doing.

Prior to Linc’s “business trips”, we’d barely spent time apart.

I guess Mia picked up on that—something my actual siblings didn’t—and so we started talking, and not just about Linc or the business, but about everything .

There was a lot Mia and I had in common.

A lot of traumas to unpack. But while mine came from two people who hardly knew me, hers came from her now family. From us.

Her mom used to be our nanny, and so she’d spent a few summers with us.

Leo says he loved her on sight, since they were twelve, but he kept that love a secret.

I sometimes wonder if Lucas and Logan would’ve treated her as badly as they did had they known, or if they would’ve treated her worse.

Never mind. We were all fucking horrible to her, even when we knew. Even when Benny was in the picture.

I hate myself.

With a heavy sigh, I half turn to her. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

I clear my throat, try to balance my thoughts. “How did you forgive them?”

Mia’s eyes widen, just a tad, surprised by my question. “Your brothers?”

“And us, I guess. Me and Linc.”

“Well, you and Linc weren’t so bad.”

Not compared to Lucas and Logan, sure, but still…

“And it was easy,” she adds, shrugging. “I loved Leo more than I hated you idiots.” There’s a humorous lilt in her tone, and I wish I knew how she did it…

how she just continues on with her life with that amount of forgiveness in her heart and not want to question everything .

“Besides,” she continues, “we all make mistakes, and Lucas and Logan were young. It wouldn’t feel right to hold it against them forever. But… you know what really helped?”

“What?”

“Logan actually talking to me, explaining his situation and his emotional state at the time. It took a lot of…”

Mia hates dirty words, and so I bite back a chuckle and finish her sentence for her. “ Balls?”

“That…” she sighs out, almost relieved. “It took a lot of that to do what he did. To open up to me, and… even if I didn’t forgive him, I have to respect him.”

I mull over her words, let them replay in my mind, cause havoc on my emotions.

“Can I ask you something?” she asks.

I relay her response. “Anything.”

“Is this about a girl?”

I only have one biological sister, but I’ve gained three more through my older brothers.

Laney through Lucas, though she’s always been around.

Aubrey, or Red as we all call her, through Logan, and then Mia through Leo.

And all four of them are always on my back about A Girl .

Any girl. “Not in the way you want to believe,” I answer, rolling my eyes. “But yes .”

Mia nods, understanding. Then she sips on her wine, her eyes never leaving mine. When she lowers the glass, she hits me with that look. That all-seeing, all-knowing look I’ve come to recognize. “And who of you needs to do the forgiving?”

Addie

“I’ve literally never seen this before,” Wyatt says, handing me back the photograph that somehow magically appeared in my backpack. “And I swear, I didn’t go back to that trailer after we left.”

I take the picture from him and try to resettle my thoughts.

For days, I’ve been attempting to come up with an explanation as to how it could’ve come into my possession, and the only thing I came up with is that Wyatt went back there after dropping me home, found the backpack left there by the cop, turned the place upside down for the baseball, found it, as well as the photo, and then…

what? Brought it to the police station and asked a random cop to deliver it to Roman?

It didn’t even make sense in my mind, so I don’t know why I even bothered asking.

“Maybe Roman put it in there after he got it.”

That’s also an option I’ve come up with, and a much more likely one at that. But, he said he never opened the bag, and I should probably press him on it, but I don’t know… I don’t want to do anything that might cause a divide between us—or an even bigger divide.

“Did you ask him?” Wyatt asks, resting his forearm on the steering wheel.

We’re sitting in the parking lot of Roman’s apartment complex, and I haven’t made a move to get out. I shove the photo between the pages of my journal, muttering, “Not yet.”