Page 32 of Addicted

Sprinting down another flight, Liam tore past the downstairs kitchen and ballroom, weaving around other members of the staff who were preparing for that night’s party, his lungs burning, his hairline wet with sweat. As he approached the storage room, he noticed the door was slightly ajar, which was Owen’s signature bad habit, and the hope that jumped in Liam’s heart almost made it stop.

Skidding to a halt, he pushed the door open and started winding through stacks of chairs and tables, various lighting equipment, and stainless-steel monoliths that belonged to the kitchen. There was a light on in the back, which was a sure sign that Owen was there, and Liam felt even more relieved. But as he stepped around the giant fake Christmas tree his relief drained out.

Owen was leaning against the wall next to a pile of boxes markedHalloween, and the expression on his face matched the horror of the holiday. He stared at his phone, clutching it tightly in his fist, his jaw pulsing as he grit his teeth. Deep lines furrowed his brow, gathering around his lips, which were parted in a slight snarl; however, what frightened Liam the most were Owen’s narrowed glittering eyes. The blue in them was darker, menacing, like a stormy sea.

Liam had never seen Owen angry before but this wasn’t anger, it was fury, and it made Liam shudder in a way that had nothing to do with his drugged-up body. Whatever news Owen had gotten was bad.

And Liam didn’t know what to do. Despite the amount of noise he’d made while approaching and the fact that he was still struggling for air after his mad dash, Owen didn’t look up.

Time was running out.

Seeing no options, Liam coughed, trying to muster up some voice, and Owen’s eyes snapped to the side, his head slowly following. Liam choked on the cough; Owen’s gaze was even more fierce when fully focused on him.

“Liam?” It wasn’t Owen’s usual voice, it was strained, grittier, kind of sexy despite the circumstances. Absently, Liam wondered if that’s what Owen would sound like in bed, and then felt like the scummiest person on the planet.

“I-I’m s-sorry b-b-but,” Liam felt strange. Light, but not in the way he was used to. It was like all the excitement and activity decided to catch up with him at once, ricocheting through his body. He took in a huge gulp of air, forcing his lungs to behave. “M-Mrs. Rushio called and s-said sh-she wants to book b-but you have to call her back in five minutes.” Liam looked at his watch which wouldn’t stay still with all the trembling. “There’s a m-minute left.”

Running a hand through his hair, Owen spat a string of curses that would make a sailor blush as Liam watched intently, frozen, his shirt still stuck to him, his lungs close to screaming. The edges of his vision went fuzzy and he fought against it.

“Of course, she’d call now,” Owen muttered more to himself than to Liam. “Of course.”

Pushing away from the wall, Owen scrolled through his phone and paused, looking sideways at Liam again before taking a deep breath and dialing.

“Hello, Mrs. Rushio? Yes, it’s Owen from The Pointe returning your call. I hear you had us on a timer?” His shoes clacked on the floor as he moved closer and Liam didn’t realize he was shrinking back until the fake branches of the Christmas tree pressed into his skin. The expression on Owen’s face could be interpreted as cordial but it was a mask that made Liam uneasy.

“Yes, we could do that.” A hand came down on Liam’s shoulder, gently patting it twice. Even though there was a damp dress shirt between palm and skin, Liam could easily feel Owen’s warmth, how heavy and large those hands were. Parts of Liam that he never knew existed lit up, yearned, and he swam in it as the fuzziness crept in even more, spinning around him. Or was he spinning? He couldn’t tell.

“However, I’d like to go over a few things first.” Owen’s voice faded away as he passed Liam and left the room. He still sounded off, slightly heated, as if he hadn’t collected himself.

Still not knowing what to do, Liam tried to follow, but he faded as well, his sight blurring completely before everything went black.

Liam groaned. It was cold and the carpet was prickly; he should stop falling asleep on the floor. Reaching up, he attempted to find his blanket so he could yank it down from the bed and wrap it around him.

But there was no blanket. Or bed. And the floor felt strange. It was poking him in the ribs and his face wasn’t pressed against the carpet, it was full of…

Pine needles?

Liam’s eyes snapped open to a world of dark green. Distantly he thought he heard Owen’s voice and, although he couldn’t make out any words, the tone was firmer than steel. Pushing back, he rolled away from the foot of the Christmas tree and shivered; the cold of the storage room’s concrete floor was seeping through his wet dress shirt.

What had happened? The last thing Liam remembered was coming down to find Owen but...

He sat up quickly as it all came back but he must have moved too fast for dizziness swept over him, and he ended up with his head in his hands.

Did he pass out?

Peeking through his fingers, he looked at the tree beside him and then the hard, unforgiving floor. After a few deep breaths, the dizziness pulled away but it still lingered lightly in the background.

Hedidpass out. And he was lucky, if he’d been a few inches to the left he might have broken his arm or his cheekbone but he had crumpled sideways into the tree and it had cushioned his fall, saving him. He’d never complain about setting it up in the foyer ever again. Moving his arms and legs, Liam tested for injury, pressing fingers to parts of his face but nothing seemed damaged.

His stomach growled loudly, letting Liam know exactly why he’d ended up on the floor. Those little oval pills were killing his appetite but Liam didn’t mind. He was saving money by only eating lunch at The Pointe. It had become an important meal to Liam because Owen still brought him food every afternoon and over the last few weeks Liam started looking forward to it, missing it on his days off when he barely ate at all. While he enjoyed the lunchtime ritual, he couldn’t wait until the filing project was over because the crutch he was using was starting to tax his wallet and his body. He needed to make an effort to eat more; one meal a day was catching up to him in bad ways, ways that had nothing to do with clothing and soon it would become noticeable enough that people would start looking into his life and his habits. That couldn’t happen; one of his worst nightmares was everyone at The Pointe finding out and pitying him.

Owen’s voice rang out from the hallway. Liam must not have been unconscious long because it sounded like Owen was still on the phone, right outside the storage room, and the steel in his tone rose to a pitch, then stopped. A few seconds of silence passed before it was broken by murmurs and someone cheering. What was going on?

“Liam?” Marci’s voice rang through the room, startling him. “Liam, are you in here?”

Hoping that he stayed upright, Liam braced himself against the tree and, stifling a groan, hauled himself up before Marci started wandering further in.

The dizziness seemed to stay where it was so Liam tried one step and then another before letting go of the tree, silently thanking it for its support.

---