Page 44 of Liars

If there was one thing I’d learned over the last few weeks, it was that life could be altered in a split second. I couldn’t shake the feeling that what happened in the car between Kreed and me was another of those life-changing moments. I didn’t know what it meant, but it couldn’t be good.

The shadows of the room loomed large as I stared at the ceiling, my heart thumping despite the stillness around me. I willed my body to settle, to sleep, yet my mind still betrayed me. The darkness, once a refuge for my thoughts, now felt suffocating, a breeding ground for memories I wished I could forget. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back in that alley—the sound of gunfire, the cold rain mingling with blood, my parents’ lifeless bodies crumbling to the ground.

With a frustrated groan, I threw back the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Sleep was a lost cause. I needed something—anything—to dull the edges of my mind.

God, I could use a drink.

After the day I had, I deserved a drink, and I wasn’t talking about a warm glass of milk or a mug of hot cocoa. Although a cup of spiked hot chocolate did sound nice.Anda warm bubble bath. I could get behind that kind of night instead of the one I was certain waited for me.

My sleep lately had been restless, filled with nightmares I wished to escape. One night, I wanted rest without interruption, without waking in a cold sweat, without that panicked feeling racing in my chest, without gasping for air, without the echoingof gunshots jolting me out of bed, without the metallic scent of blood in my nose, without the memory of my parents dying.

Padding softly across the room, I slipped into the hallway and down the staircase, careful to avoid any creaks in the wooden floors. The house was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that felt alive, pressing against my skin as I moved.

I sought out the ornate liquor cabinet I’d spotted during my canvas of the house in the corner of the living room. Hesitating briefly, my hand hovered over the latch before opening it. Bottles of amber and clear liquid lined the shelves, their labels whispering promises of oblivion.

I wasn’t much of a drinker, just at parties, holidays, or sleepovers occasionally at Kenny’s house when she snuck a bottle up to her room, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And I was damn desperate.

Grabbing a bottle of whiskey, I tucked it under my arm and turned to make my way back to my room.

“You going to share, or are you planning on drinking that whole thing yourself?”

I froze, that instantaneous fear of being caught red-handed leaping into my throat. Slowly, I turned to find Maddox leaning casually against the doorway, his arms crossed and a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His dark hair was messy, and his shirt hung loosely over his broad shoulders, giving him an air of careless authority.

“I-I was just…” I stammered, clutching the bottle tighter. This wasn’t the first time my once-childhood speech impairment had reared its head after so many years. I’d worked damn hard as a kid with my therapist to speak without stuttering. To do so now again, in front of Maddox and earlier with Kreed, felt like a setback. I couldn’t figure out what it was about them that made me so tongue-tied.

I had to get a grip.

“Relax,” Maddox said, pushing off the door frame and stepping closer. “You read my mind, actually. Hand it over.”

He plucked the bottle from my grasp before I could protest, twisting off the cap with practiced ease. He took a long swig, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, then exhaled sharply.

“Not bad,” he said, holding the bottle out to me.

I hesitated, my lips pressing into a thin line. I wasn’t sure what unnerved me more—getting caught or the fact that Maddox seemed completely unbothered by it.

I hadn’t planned to share, but if I had to choose between drinking with Maddox and having him tell his father, getting him drunk might be the play here, especially if he didn’t remember catching me with the bottle. Then again, Maddox didn’t strike me as someone who got wasted off a single drink like me.

I’d be the one inebriated.

“Go on,” he said, tilting his head. “I don’t bite. Unless you’re into it.”

I rolled my eyes but took the bottle, bringing it to my lips. The whiskey burned my throat and sent warmth spreading through my chest. I coughed slightly, earning a low chuckle from Maddox.

“Lightweight.” He shook his head. “Don’t be a pussy.”

I glared at him, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “You’re one to talk. Sneaking around in the middle of the night like some brooding creep.”

Maddox smirked, taking the whiskey back from me. “Something tells me you might be into creeps. Ever date your stalker? A girl like you probably had plenty of admirers.” He moved through the dark room, dropping onto a couch.

I shouldn’t follow. I should go up to my room, but without the booze, the nightmares would terrorize my dreams.

In my pajamas, I went to the other side of the couch, keeping a cushion of space between us. “Yeah, but none of them were up to my standards.”

“You’re not as prissy as you come across, are you, menace?” He put his hand on my bare knee, moving it up to my thigh.

My hand slapped his away before he could go any higher. “Touch me again, and I promise, you’ll lose more than your fingers.”

He chuckled, amused by my threat. “I thought you were fun.”

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