Page 93 of Liam

“Who gives a fuck about his name?” Logan mutters. “He can’t claim insurance without a police report, so now it’s a whole thing Roman has to deal with. The truck’s at the auto shop, but Roman says it’s not worth fixing, so he’s looking to buy a replacement.”

My eyes drift shut.

All of this bullshit because ofme.

Even though I can assume the answer, I have to wonder if Logan can, too. “Do you knowwhyshe did it?”

His eyes meet mine, holding my stare longer than I’m comfortable with. “Roman said he heard your name thrown around between them beforehand, but doesn’t know much else. She won’t talk to him about it, either. She’s just… shut down.”

I know that feeling. I’ve lived it many, many times.

The difference is, I’ve had Lincoln by my side or, in extreme cases, on the other side of the closet door. Addie’s had no one. And at the thought, reality returns, knocking on the walls of my chest, right through the bone and onto myflesh. And this time, I have no plans to remove it.

If Addie’s still here, she’s here for a reason.

And maybe that reason isme.

“Liam,” Logan says, pulling me from my daze. “There’s something else you need to know…”

34

Liam

Never in my wildest dreams—or insane nightmares—did I think I’d be standing here, knocking onthisdoor, waiting forhimto appear.

I’d always known where he lived, but I’d never been this close.

The house is on the “rougher” side of town—the one parents on the “good” side warn their kids to not step into. Judgmental? Sure. But there’s a reason. Drugs, mainly. The occasional drunk wandering around. And that one time Old Man Barnaby lost his damn mind and flashed kids from his living room window while they were on their way to school. At least, that’s how the story goes.

This particular house is more rundown than the others. Parts of the siding are rotten. The concrete steps leading to the small porch are cracked and unstable. The screen door is hanging on by a single hinge. And the front yard is nothing but overgrown weeds, littered car parts, beer cans, and the occasional mismatched sofa cushion.

Helmet opens the door, his eyes widening the second he sees me.

Trust me—no one’s more surprised than I am.

I don’t wait for him to speak, just hold out the keys between us. “It’s yours,” I say, motioning to my truck parked at the curb. I wait for him to grab the keys, then reach into my pocket and pull out the envelope full of cash. I hand that over, too. “To cover registration, insurance, whatever. Title’s in there. All signed.” I turn to leave, tossing over my shoulder, “No cops. No insurance. And call Roman—tell him to forget about your truck.” I make it halfway down his driveway before he calls out my name. “Liam!”

NotTwincest.

I freeze. So does all the air in my lungs. Slowly, I turn, shoulders squared for whatever he’s about to throw at me.

He starts toward me, and I ball my fists. Two years of boxing lessons have prepared me for this exact moment. He notices my stance, shakes his head, and continues coming at me. “For what it’s worth,” he says, his tone flat as he stops a few feet away. “Iamsorry.”

An exhale forces its way out of me.

“I’m sorry for what I did to you,” he continues. “I was a dumb fucking kid trying to impress a girl. Trying to actcoolin front of the boys.” He motions around him. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have much else going for me.”

The tension leaves my shoulders, dissolving into the humid air.

“And Addie—she was a dumb fucking kid, too. We both were. But that’s no excuse,” he says. “And I’m not just saying this because you’re giving me a fucking truck. I’m saying it because I should’ve said it years ago. Iamsorry, Liam. And I don’t need your forgiveness, but Addie…” he trails off, and I wish he didn’t. Iwantto know what he has to say, at least about her. Because when it comes to Addie, especially Addie andme, Idon’t even knowwhatto think. Helmet drops his head between his shoulders, rubs at the back of his neck. “How is she?” he asks, almost sheepish. His eyes lift, lock on mine.

“I—”I haven’t spoken to her.“You haven’t asked her yourself?”

“Nah.” He straightens. “She won’t answer my calls. Won’t reply to my texts. And I’m too afraid of her brother to just show up at his apartment.”

Valid. “Can I ask you something?”

He shrugs. “I owe you that much.”

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