Page 55 of Liam

Dayna

Any regrets?

So many, but none that pertain to Roman.

Addie

Nope.

“There you are!” Tom calls out from below. “Just making sure you hadn’t fallen in.”

I manage to force the weakest of smiles and slip my phone away.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “My kids are always telling me to quit it with the corny jokes.” He pauses a beat. “But what are they going to do? Call thecrops?”

This time, my grin is genuine.

Tom grips onto the rail, slowly making his way up, and stopping a few steps below, pointing down. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

He sits facing me, his back to the wall, his giant frame barely contained by the single step. “Listen, Addie,” he starts, and my pulse jumps in my throat. I don’t know why I fear what he’s about to say. “I’m really glad you came tonight, and I’m glad you accepted the job.”

I tilt my head, confused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but…” he trails off, taking a moment to gather his words. “I was there the night your brother was arrested… I had to show the police where that beat-up old van was, so…”

“Oh.” My mind spins in circles, trying to recall that night. Did I see him there? I don’t remember. Everything happened so fast, and I can’t?—

“And I was the one who forced Liam to tell them where you might be hiding…”

I empty my lungs and nod slowly, already knowing that side of it.

“They did you wrong, Addie. The way they treated you. I tried to step in, but…” he trails off there. “Ishould’vestepped in. No excuses.”

I blink quickly, ignoring the liquid heartache caught beneath my lids. “Does Roman know—about what you saw?”

He shakes his head. “I haven’t told him.”

“Is that why you gave him the job, because you feel guilty?” Not that there’d be anything wrong with that. People have done worse under the pressure of guilt, and I’m living proof of it.

“I gave Roman a job because he interviewed like everyone else, and he was the best man for it. Sure, Lucy and Cameron vouched for him, but that was after I’d already called him to offer the position.” He cocks his head to the side, his eyebrows lowering. “I trusted your brother because I knew himbefore. I knew him as that teenage kid my twin boys looked up to when he was their little league coach. You were on the team, too, if I recall correctly.”

“You do.” I meet his eyes and, through the knot in my throat, I ask, “Do you know if I’ve been here before?”

“Sure.” His beard shifts with his smile. “We had a big party here after y’all won a tournament.”

It’s like pieces of a puzzle all coming together. A scavenger hunt that leads to nowhere. “The picture,” I whisper.

“What’s that?”

I clear my throat, speak louder. “Was there a team photo taken here?”

Nodding, he says, “Right in the backyard.”

“Red and blue balloons and streamers?”

“Team colors.”

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