Page 8 of Addicted

“This fixation worries me.”

“It’s not a fixation, Finn.” Owen put a hand through his hair. How could he explain to Finn that he owed Liam a debt? That he could’ve been there for Liam but Sharon hadn’t allowed it? That he still thought about Liam a lot because, when he went over those months in his head, he saw so many red flags.

He’d moved to this town because of Finn, along with needing to get away, needing something cheaper, and a host of other things, but deep in the background, hidden from sight, was a tiny sliver of motivation. Liam. His last known address was close by.

“You have your own problems. Liam is how old now?”

“Twenty-one. He’ll be twenty-two next March.”

“O…kay. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is he’s a grown man and he can take care of himself. I know that what happened to him was bad but he had friends and family, right?”

Owen cracked his neck as those red flags screamed. “I’m not sure.”

“Well, the bottom line is that he’s had your info for what? Three years? And he hasn’t called for help.” Finn was right, but Owen didn’t want to hear it. “Besides, you’ve got an eight-year-old who needs you so much more.”

“Tell me why I keep you around?” Owen watched a squirrel make small leaps across the grass in front of his condo. It reminded him of Finn.

“Because I’m your brother. Let me come over? I’ll bring buffalo chicken pizza! We can watch tennis! Wimbledon just started!”

“Finn, I love you but I’m sitting in my parking spot and all I want to do is eat dinner and lie on my couch. I’m feeling the post-therapy wipe.”

“Are you sure?” Finn sounded concerned and Owen was grateful that someone cared about him. Most of his friends had left with his wife and it made him realize far too quickly that Sharon had been isolating him for years. But Finn’s backbone was made of steel and he’d consistently refused to go anywhere; otherwise, Owen would’ve been set adrift, alone.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks, though. You’re the best.”

Finn laughed. “Of course I am.”

3

LIAM

Liamshuffledintohisapartment well after midnight, tired down to his bones. Slipping off his shoes, he dropped his keys and wallet on the floor and flopped into bed, not bothering to take off his cheap uniform tux, which smelled like The Pointe’s kitchen. With a hefty groan, he reached down for his cocoon blanket, yanking it up and around him. Burrowing, he looked at the frame again, which was still face down on the end of the mattress, and flicked his gaze to the cardboard boxes lining the wall.

He’d pulled the picture from one of those boxes and they were the true culprits of his tears, holding the precious things he’d managed to keep from the home he’d grown up in. There were more, so many more, and he still couldn’t go through them. The anniversary of the accident had recently passed and for some morbid reason he’d taken a few boxes out of storage, wanting to remember, maybe wanting to torture himself, who knew, but he certainly couldn’t move on. The photo was the first thing he’d touched, and he’d stared at it and cried until all he could do was crawl onto the tiny sliver of floor, bury himself in bedding, and shut out reality.

His phone rang. It was still in his pocket and he cursed himself for not shutting off the ringer. Wrenching it free from his blanket nest, he stared at the screen and his stomach dropped like it had that morning; however, this time it wasn’t Marci and he’d much rather have her call again with some kind of work emergency than deal with this. But if he didn’t answer it now he’d have to return the call tomorrow, so he pressedaccept, deciding to get things over with as soon as possible.

“Hi, Aunt Diane.” He tried to sound chipper but his voice fell flat and fake.

“Liam.” Her tone was laced with a mix of irritation and disdain, as it usually was. “I hope it’s not too late but I’m in Vegas and forgot about the time difference.”

“It’s fine.” Liam knew his aunt didn’t forget. She did what she wanted whenever she wanted. “I just got home from work.”

“Are you still at that catering hall job?” she sniffed. “You’re better than waiting tables.”

Liam ground his teeth together, trying to remember that even though Aunt Diane was a terrible person, she and her lawyer-boyfriend Laurence had stepped in to help after the accident when Liam was barely eighteen, in shock, and swimming in paperwork he didn’t understand.

Liam never knew what happened between his aunt and his mother, only that they didn’t speak. But once Aunt Diane had heard the news, she had put aside her feelings and lent a hand, coming to Liam’s rescue when he’d needed it most. He was lucky that she’d agreed to help; the hospital bills and funerals had been complicated and costly, swallowing his parents’ life insurance and savings, so he’d been forced to sell the house. He’d desperately wanted to keep it, to not have everything ripped away, but when Aunt Diane had shown him the numbers he’d been forced to agree. And Laurence had drawn up all the paperwork pro bono, saving Liam thousands and allowing him to move into an apartment with a nest egg. It wasn’t a lot, barely enough for state college, and Liam needed to work if he wanted it to last, but it was something. At least he got to keep his car.

“I like that job.” He tried not to sound petulant in the face of her classism. “There are good people working there.”

“I’m sure there are,” she drawled in a voice that told Liam that she didn’t agree with him or care. “And are you finally doing something about school?” A slot machine sang behind her, joining the sounds of people talking, having fun. It made Liam nauseous. There were reasons he couldn’t go to college and he didn’t want to think about them. He’d been only a month away from graduating high school when his parents died and once he’d dropped the ball on his education it was too heavy to pick up again.

“I’m taking some online classes,” he lied.

“Good. At least you’re not moping around that apartment of yours,” she clucked, giving Liam more insight as to why his mother didn’t like her. Aside from her moment of virtue after the accident, she was continuously unsympathetic; she didn’t even seem to miss her sister. While Liam’s mother was warm and welcoming, she was icy and stern, and Laurence hadn’t been much better. Liam hated every moment that he had to interact with them which, thankfully, wasn’t often.

“Was there a reason you called, Aunt Diane?” He decided to forgo politeness and have her get to the point.

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