Page 82 of Liam

He didn’t respond to either.

And since I didn’t want to be one ofthosegirls waiting by the phone forthatguy to call, I showered and got ready for bed, all the while hoping that by the time I checked my phone again, there’d be a message waiting for me.

There wasn’t.

And as hard as I tried not to let it get to me, it did.

I attempted to sleep, only to spend an hour tossing and turning, constantly checking my phone. Finally, I gave in to the charade and called him.

It rang.

But he never answered.

28

Liam

I was around eight or nine the last time I spoke out in anger. Linc and I were in the backyard, and I can’t even remember what we were fighting about, but I’m sure it was stupid. And I can’t recall who started yelling first, but I know that I ended it with three simple words.

“I hate you.”

Even now, Linc’s physical reaction to those words plays vividly in my mind. So do the emotions that came with it. I’m pretty sure it was the only time in our nineteen years that I made my twin brother cry. He didn’t run off bawling, but I saw the buildup of tears he tried to blink away—right before Dad swooped in and told me to get my ass in the house.

My dad let us kids get away with a lot—I assume because there are so many of us he couldn’t always keep track—but the wordhate,usedatone of us, was always off the table.

I think I knew that, even then, but I let my emotions overpower my words, and my words overpower my anger.

Dad sat me down at the kitchen table and took the seat beside me, turning my chair to face him. And I’ll never forget what he told me. “There are no greater regrets in life than the words you spill in anger.”

Since that day, I’ve never shown my anger with words.

I’ve shown it withsilence.

29

Liam

I slept in my bedroom last night. Myactualbedroom back at the house, because being in the cabin reminded me ofher, and it was the last fucking thing I wanted. Thankfully, Linc spent the night with Julie, so I didn’t have anyone on my case about why I threw my phone across the room at 3 a.m.

I saw her messages, left them on read.

I ignored her call.

But something came over me in the middle of the night, and this sudden urge to call her and askwhat the fuckovertook me. Hence, the shattered screen on my now useless phone.

Swear, anger is a bitch of an emotion—one I haven’t felt in years. Trust that it takes Adelaide Baker to re-enter my life for it to respawn, just like the sinister piece of shit she is.

How I let myself forget that about her, I don’t know. But I won’t let her ruin me the way she has in the past.

Sleep is futile, so as soon as the sun breaks through the darkness, I leave the house, open the garage, and hop on one ofthe dirt bikes. I ride around the same paths that lead to nowhere, never once going off the property.

The old VW bus is gone now, but the memories of her still live there. If I looked hard enough, I’m sure I’d find a stupid Starburst wrapper beneath the dirt. The thought that she once used our property like a trash can just elevates my anger. It’s ridiculous that it does, and I’m fully aware of that, but honestly,fuck that.

If I didn’t need equipment to film later, I wouldn’t go to the studio at all. And, sure, I could ask Linc to do it, but then the questions would come andfuck that,too.

Also, he doesn’t know shit about our hardware.

Also also, I don’t even have a fucking phone.

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