Page 42 of So Bad It Must Be Good

It had settled him, to be of some use to a person who mattered to him. To help, to fix, to listen. He didn’t feel quite so churned up anymore.

At least until he pulled his truck into his usual parking spot on the street in front of his house. He frowned at the shadowy figure on his stoop. Even though he couldn’t see the person, he had the sinking suspicion it was Aiden.

Which meant one of two things: Aiden was either in trouble or extraordinarily drunk. Maybe even both. But it was the only time Aiden ever came to Liam’s place. Otherwise they only saw each other at Mom and Dad’s when Aiden graced them all with his presence. But Aiden never let Mom see him drunk.

Liam had the insane urge to drive away. He didn’t want to deal with Aiden’s bullshit tonight. Not when he was still a little edgy underneath the calm that helping Grandma out had given him.

But Aiden was his brother, and if he was drunk or in trouble, it was Liam’s duty to help. Like Dad had said earlier, Aiden just required a bit more attention, a bit more help. Liam didn’t want Mom or Dad or, God forbid, Grandma having to worry about Aiden’s shit.

So Liam got out of his truck and trudged toward his front door.

“Well, there you are,” Aiden slurred, still just a dark shadow on Liam’s stoop. “Don’t tell me bro-bro has a life.”

“Bro-bro? Christ, how drunk are you?” Liam muttered, taking the step up to the concrete pad.

Aiden stumbled to his feet. “Very, very, very drunk,” he said gravely. “Where’ve you been, asshole?”

Liam sighed. “Grandma Patrick’s house.”

Aiden laughed. Hysterically. He even slapped his knee a few times as if Liam had just told the joke of the century. “Of course you fucking were. You were fixing her fucking toilet and probably vacuuming her fucking curtains and she gave you milk and fucking cookies. Saint fucking Liam.”

“Isn’t that something like blasphemy?” Liam replied drily. Clearly Aiden was itching for a fight, and Liam was not in the mood to navigate Aiden’s mercurial temper when he was drunk.

But that was his job, wasn’t it? And he’d learned a few tricks after thirty years on the planet. First, never rise to the bait Aiden laid.

Liam unlocked his door and shoved it open before motioning Aiden inside. “I suppose you want a place to crash.”

“Nowhere else to go,” Aiden muttered, weaving and stumbling into the house.

Liam flicked on a light and Aiden collapsed onto the couch.

Liam frowned, the first trickle of worry over annoyance skittering down his spine. It certainly wasn’t the first time Aiden had shown up at his place drunk and antagonistic, but this was . . . extreme.

“Where have you been? Mom’s been worried.”

Aiden laughed again, though not quite as uproariously. “Do you ever fight your own fucking battles, Liam? Or are you always too busy taking up the sword for every damn other person.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means maybe if Mom is worrying it’s none of your damn business.”

“My brother. My mother. My family. That’s my business, Aiden. Maybe you don’t feel the same way, but—”

“But I’m wrong, right? I’m unfeeling and selfish and so fucking wrong?”

The worry buried deeper. Aiden usually didn’t have a bad thing to say about himself. “What is with you?”

Aiden shrugged. “Everything, right? Isn’t that what everyone’s always saying? I am the problem. I am an asshole. A wolf in sheep-ass clothing.”

“You’re drunk enough to be incomprehensible. Sleep it off.”

Of course, instead, Aiden pushed off the couch and weaved enough that Liam felt the need to reach out and steady him.

“’S fine,” Aiden said, pushing Liam’s steadying hand away. “I ended shit and it’s all fine and dandy. I’ll call Kayla tomorrow and everything will be fine.”

Liam kept himself very still, reminded himself to breathe, to be the rational, sober adult in the room. Because a good half of that didn’t make sense. “You’re staying away from Kayla from here on out. Understood?”

Aiden squinted at him. “Says who?”

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