Page 5 of Liam

“No idea.” Then he chuckles, deep and raw. “I swear, Addie… the shit you put me through.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, resting my back against the seat as I heave out a defeated sigh. “That asshole cop took my backpack.”

“Fuck.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t snitch.”

“My truck was parked out front…”

Shit.“I’m sorry,” I say for the third time. “Do you know the cop?”

“Nah. It was too dark. Couldn’t get a look at his face.”

I settle in my seat, surrender to my fate. “I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.”

Wyatt just shakes his head, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Well, one thing’s for sure… Having you home this summer is going to be a blast.”

2

Addie

The front door to my brother’s one-bedroom apartment creaks when it opens—something I realized the first time he did it for me a couple of days ago. It’s just loud enough to notice, not to disturb someone from their sleep—so Roman sitting up from his lying position on the couch makes it clear he hadn’t been sleeping at all. Well, that and the fact that the TV is on, muted, playing a movie older than Roman himself.

“Sorry,” I whisper, shutting the door quietly behind me. After Wyatt and I made sure we hadn’t been followed from the trailer park, we drove over to the next town, grabbed some food, and sat in his car to catch up on our lives. I lost track of time, and now it’s close to two a.m., and if the previous morning is anything to go by, Roman has to be up for work in a few hours. “What are you doing still up?”

He shrugs, shifting the ink etched all over his flesh. “You were out with Wyatt?”

I told him where I was going in a text message while he was at work. If he had questions or concerns, he could’ve called. Texted. Sent a carrier pigeon. “Yeah.”

His gaze doesn’t meet mine when he asks, “So, are you guys dating or…?”

“No, we’re just friends.” We’ve always beenjustfriends, and I’m pretty sure Roman knows that.

He nods, then stops, tilting his head slightly. “Doyou have a boyfriend?”

“Yes. Back home.” The words fall easily from my lips, because I’ve spent the past three years answering the same way. I’ve also spent those years avoiding the level of truth in the statement.

Roman’s eyes widen, just a tad, and I don’t know what it means. Is he surprised I have a boyfriend? Maybe. Is he surprised that I refer to Raleigh as my home? Also maybe.

I could play this guessing game ofWhat Is Roman Thinkingall night. Truth is, I don’t really know my brother anymore. Not who he is now or even who he’s been for the past five years. I’ve tried. Letters, phone calls, even that one attempt to come back and see him—a decision that changed the course of my entire existence.

I never got to my destination, and that was the day I stopped trying.

Then, out of nowhere, he calls and asks if I want to spend the summer with him. I was finishing my first year of college, still living with the same foster parents I was taken to after his arrest. I had no reason not to come, so… here I am.

“Don’t you have to be up for work soon?” I ask, killing the silence stretching between us.

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “So I usually leave for work at 6:45, but I’ll come back around ten to pick you up.”

When Roman had called me, one of the first things he asked was what my plans were for the summer. I’d told him I washoping to find a job, because I was saving for a car. It was a lie, at least thecarpart, but I didn’t really know how to answer. The conversation was as awkward as the moment we’re currently sharing. Still, he pushed forward, extended the invitation with a promise he’d get a job lined up for me. A few days later, he sent me a message confirming as much.

“Sounds goods,” I answer, nodding as I make my way toward the only bedroom. I stop just before opening the door and tell him, “You really didn’t have to stay up for me.”

His tone is soft, gentle, when he says, “You know I worry about you, Addie.”

Idon’tknow that. I know heusedto. But in the years we’ve spent apart, he never once reached out, so I just assumed he stopped thinking about me. Stopped caring about me. Meanwhile, I spent those first couple of years doing nothingbutworry about him. I blink back the heat behind my eyes and motion toward him. “You’ve changed.”

Roman’s slow to look down at himself… at the copious tattoos that weren’t there five years ago. A lot of smaller pieces with no real connection cover his arms, chest, neck. I haven’t been close enough to inspect them, and besides, I didn’t mean that he’d changedphysically. Though, I’m glad he took it that way.

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