Page 57 of The Wrong Costar

“I thought you already had all your lines memorized,” Liam said.

“Oh, I do,” I replied, refusing to look up at him. It was a really hard thing to do when the scent of his cologne started tempting me. Why couldn’t he smell like sweaty socks, or rotten eggs, or something equally as repulsive? Hell, I’d even settle for no scent at all right now. He needed to be less appealing, not more. It didn’t help that his scent had seemed to wrap itself around me when we’d kissed earlier, and smelling it now was only making me recall the moment more vividly.

“I think I almost have the whole script down,” he continued. “I’m not the best at memorizing such large amounts of dialogue, so I can’t tell you how many hours I’ve made Zeke run these lines with me.”

My eyes darted up to look at him in surprise, and he chuckled as he took in my expression.

“Yes, even the great Liam Black isn’t perfect,” he said.

I bit my lip as I stared at him. He might have thought such a flaw made him less than perfect, but being privy to such a small crack in his façade only made him more attractive to me. He didn’t let his weaknesses hold him back. They pushed him to work harder. I was trying to act like things between us were normal, or at least as normal as they’d ever been, but it was impossible when he opened up to me.

I wanted to tell him that I liked him better when he didn’t seem so perfect, but that would make it seem like I cared. I didn’t want to make a joke about it either though, and I felt torn about how I should respond.

The door opened as Miss Appleby entered the auditorium, and I jumped from my seat, happy for an excuse to leave the conversation. “I have to talk with Miss Appleby,” I spluttered to Liam before I grabbed my bag and hurried away.

I couldn’t seem to escape his presence quickly enough, and I was doing a terrible job at keeping calm around him. He was just being friendly, and I was either ignoring him or looking at him like he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Give me lines and tell me the part you want me to play and I can do anything, but right now, I was completely struggling to act like myself.

Outside of the scenes we were both in, I didn’t talk to Liam again at rehearsal, and I was all too relieved to get into Evan’s car when it was over. I sunk into the passenger seat, feeling exhausted. I’d put all of my energy into acting my part for the play tonight, and now, I had nothing left.

Evan seemed exhausted too, and neither of us spoke much as we drove to my place. It was only when Evan pulled up outside the front of my house that he gave me a tired smile. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yeah,” I grinned back at him. “And thanks for the ride home.”

I gave him a wave before trudging into the house. It was quiet inside, and my stomach dropped as I noticed our one remaining painting was missing from the entranceway wall. My heart felt like it was slowly breaking as I looked at the blank space, and tears pricked the corners of my eyes.

I wasn’t attached to the possessions in our home, but that painting had been special to me. It was the painting Dad had commissioned the day I was born, and I couldn’t believe Mom had sold it off just like everything else in our home.

Seeing the bare spot on the wall made me turn and take a good look at the entrance hall surrounding me. It was empty of everything, except for a pair of stilettos left strewn by the doorway.

I was so used to small things disappearing here and there that it seemed I’d become completely oblivious to how much of a shell the house we lived in really was. How had I missed the fact that we had almost nothing left? What were we going to do when Mom had drunk all of our possessions away?

I walked into the living room and found her passed out on the couch, a bottle of wine hugged tightly to her chest. Something seemed to snap inside me as I saw her lying there. I was exhausted, and I was so sick of her shutting herself off from reality. I stalked over to the couch and tugged the bottle of wine free from her arms, waking her from her sleep.

“Teagan?” she groaned. Her eyes were still hazy, and her voice was slightly slurred. Apparently, she hadn’t had enough shut-eye to sleep off her latest drinking session.

“Was this bottle of wine really worth Dad’s painting?” I shouted.

Mom winced at the volume of my voice but didn’t seem the least bit sorry. The alcohol seemed to be numbing the heat of my anger, and I wished she were sober enough to feel it.

“That painting was mine. How could you?”

“We had bills to pay,” she murmured, slowly sitting up straight.

“You and I both know that’s not the case,” I growled. “You clearly just wanted an expensive bottle of red tonight.” I shook my head at her, pain and disbelief riling inside me. “God, you’re a mess. It’s a weeknight, and you’re passed out drunk on the couch.”

“I was just taking a little nap…”

“You’re always just taking a little nap, and I’m sick of it. You need help, Mom,” I pleaded.

“I don’t need any such thing,” she grumbled in reply. She stood and stumbled out of the room, just like she always did when I confronted her about her drinking. She hated conflict more than anything, and I knew she much preferred to live in blissful ignorance of the disaster her life had become.

I paced after her, refusing to let her off so easily. “I know Dad left, and I know it’s hard, but you’ve just completely given up on life,” I said, as I followed her. “You haven’t been a mom to me in years, and if something doesn’t change, there isn’t going to be anything left in this house for you to sell.”

My voice quaked with emotion, and my heart pounded against my ribs. I just wanted her to listen to me for once, and that desperation bled into my angry words. “You need to get help and stop drinking. I’ve done everything else around the house these last few years, but this is something I can’t do for you.”

She slowly turned to me, her eyes wide with surprise. I always tried to talk to her about her problems, but I’d never been quite so forceful. I didn’t want to be hard on her, but we were running out of options, and she needed to get her act together.

“Just leave it,” she snapped. “I don’t have a problem.” She turned and walked away.

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