Page 31 of Shattered Melodies

Jimmy gave me a long, hard look, like he was trying to see right through me. “You need to tell your parents, Liam. You need to come clean about your music career, about Corey King, about all of it.”

I felt a stab of panic at the thought, my heart racing and my palms starting to sweat. “I can’t, Jimmy. You know I can’t. They’d never understand, never accept it.”

He sighed, his expression softening a little. “I get it, Liam. I do. But you can’t keep living this double life forever. Sooner or later, something’s gotta give.”

I knew he was right, knew that I was walking a tightrope that was getting thinner and more precarious by the day. But the thought of facing my parents, of seeing the disappointment and the anger in their eyes…

It was too much. Too much to bear, too much to even think about.

“I’ll deal with it later,” I said, my voice tight and strained. “Right now, I just need to get through the day.”

Jimmy looked like he wanted to argue, but he just shook his head and handed me a couple of paracetamol. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I swallowed the pills dry, chasing them with another swig of coffee. Then I grabbed my briefcase and headed for the door, my heart heavy and my mind whirling with all the things I didn’t want to face.

The drive to the office was a nightmare, as usual. The sight of cars still made my stomach churn, still sent a cold sweat down my spine and made my hands shake on the wheel. I knew it was irrational, knew that the accident had been twenty years ago and that I was safe now.

But try telling that to my brain, to the part of me that was still trapped in that twisted hunk of metal, still screaming and bleeding and begging for someone to save me.

I white-knuckled it the whole way, my jaw clenched and my eyes fixed straight ahead. And when I finally pulled into the parking garage, when I finally cut the engine and let out a shaky breath.

Reaching for the flask in my glove box, taking a long, burning swallow of the whiskey inside. It was the only thing that helped, the only thing that dulled the edges of the fear and the panic and the sickening, gut-wrenching dread.

It was a crutch, knew that it was just another way of running from my problems instead of facing them head-on. But in that moment, with the walls of the garage closing in around me and the weight of the day ahead pressing down on my shoulders…

I couldn’t bring myself to care.

I made my way up to the office, my steps heavy and my heart heavier still. And there, waiting for me like a coiled snake ready to strike, was my father.

“Liam,” he said, his voice cold and clipped. “You’re late. Again.”

I felt a spark of anger in my chest, a flicker of the old defiance that had gotten me through so many years of his disapproval and disdain. “I’m here, aren’t I? What more do you want?”

His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening with barely-contained rage. “What I want is for you to take your responsibilities seriously, Liam. What I want is for you to show up on time, sober and ready to work, instead of stumbling in here reeking of booze and God knows what else.”

I felt my own temper rising, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. “I’m doing the best I can. I’m showing up, I’m doing my job, I’m playing the dutiful son just like you always wanted.”

He scoffed, shaking his head in disgust. “You call this doing your best? You call this being a dutiful son? You’re a mess, Liam. A goddamn mess, and you’re dragging the whole company down with you.”

I felt like I’d been slapped, like all the air had been sucked out of the room. I knew I wasn’t perfect, knew that I had my flaws and my struggles and my demons.

But to hear him say it like that, to hear the venom and the contempt in his voice…

It was too much. Too much to bear, too much to take.

But I was already turning away, already storming out of his office and down the hall. I couldn’t listen to another word, couldn’t stand there and let him tear me down and make me feel like I was nothing, like I was less than nothing.

I burst into my own office, slamming the door behind me with a satisfying bang. And then, before I even knew what I was doing, I was picking up the glass paperweight on my desk and hurling it against the wall with all the strength I had left.

It shattered into a million pieces, the shards raining down onto the carpet like glittering tears. And as I stood there, chest heaving and eyes burning and heart pounding in my ears…

I felt something inside me break, something deep and fundamental and irreparable.

Because I knew, in that moment, that I couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t keep living this lie, couldn’t keep pretending to be something I wasn’t.

I was tired of hiding, tired of running, tired of being someone else’s version of who I was supposed to be.

As I collapsed into my chair, my head spinning and my heart pounding. I stared at my computer screen, at the wallpaper image of Oakwood Grove that had been my constant companion for so many years. It was a picture of the town square, with its quaint little shops and its towering oak trees and its sense of timeless, small-town charm.

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