Page 5 of One Room Vacancy
It hits me square in the face, sharp and shocking, running down my neck like a slap. I jolt upright with a gasp, sputtering and shaking, heart racing for a very different reason now.
My eyes snap open—and instead of Sage’s face, I get a full view of Liam. Grinning like the smug bastard he is, holding an empty glass and absolutely no remorse.
“Dude, what the fuck?” I groan, dragging a hand down my soaked face.
My hair’s dripping, clinging to my forehead, and when I shove the glass away, the rest of the water spills straight onto his brand-new sneakers.
“Shit,” he yelps, hopping backward as he rights the cup. He looks annoyed for about two seconds—then he sees my glare and just laughs. “You sleep like the dead when you drink. I was starting to worry.”
“So, naturally, your solution was waterboarding.”
“Please. That was six ounces, max.” He swats my leg until I move it, trying to drop down onto the couch like this is totallynormal—but only manages to half-settle, awkwardly balancing when I don’t budge.
He should have thought about that before trying to drown me in my sleep.
Taking my stubbornness in stride, he sits down on my calves without a care in the world while shoving a piece of toast into his mouth.
Liam and I have been inseparable since we were teenagers, our friendship standing the test of time. His playful nature and occasional immaturity only added to his charm, making him the best friend anyone could ask for. He never judged me, even though he had no qualms about judging others for their actions.
But there was one thing Liam couldn’t understand or accept: my relationship with my ex, Kara. It seemed like everyone else in our circle judged me for it, too, but while Liam didn’t hide his disdain for our relationship, he respects me enough to have allowed me to let things pan out the way I needed them to.
Liam’s phone dings, causing him to shift on my legs and tweak my knee a little.
“Move,” I sternly groan, and he lifts onto his feet, his cell phone clutched tightly in his hands as his fingers move at the speed of light. “Hannah?” I ask.
He looks up at me, almost like a puppy caught getting into a hamper filled with dirty laundry, and just shrugs before saying, “Yeah.”
If there is one relationship that makes less sense to me than my past with Kara, it is Liam and Hannah. Despite having been at each other’s throats for as long as I’ve known them, they managed to fall in love in the most unlikely of circumstances. He’s in the doghouse right now while Hannah is on tour, but I have a feeling, with how much they’ve been talking, that their story isn’t over.
“How’s that going?” I ask, nodding toward his phone. He’s been a little more open about it since we saw her in Chicago, but he still gets cagey sometimes. I think it has to do with her family, though I don’t fully get it—he’s known them forever. Then again, I get messy family dynamics more than most.
“Good,” he says, short and clipped, sliding his phone into his pocket and rocking on his heels. “You ready for today?”
If getting blackout drunk last night counts as being ready, then sure. “Yeah, man. I’m ready.”
We’re heading to the apartment Kara and I used to share—my final box retrieval mission. I’ve been dodging it since the breakup. But now, with no more excuses, no more delays, it’s like everything’s crashing in at once. This is the longest we’ve ever gone without talking since we met. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it means we’re finally done. Still, something about it doesn’t sit right.
“She won’t be there?” Liam asks, voice edged with curiosity.
“Nope. Works Saturdays. Starts at eleven.” I shrug, trying to play it cool.
He doesn’t say anything, just grabs the key from the bowl by the door. It’s got one of those obnoxiously bright orange U-Haul tags on it. Like a warning sign. Or maybe a clean slate.
Either way, this is really happening. And I won’t know how I feel about it until it’s done.
We’re halfway down the sidewalk when Liam turns to me. “You ever talk to Wes?”
TWO
SAGE
The Harry’s bag hits the entryway table with a dull thud as I kick off my sneakers and let out a dramatic, soul-deep sigh. Tuesdays are usually dead, borderline comatose, but today was pure chaos. And as the only bartender on from open to close, I’m about one toe cramp away from sawing my feet off,Saw I-style, and calling it a night.
A loud knock jars the stillness. Sharp. Repetitive.
I flinch.
For a second, I consider pretending I’m not home, but whoever it is isn’t giving up. With a groan, I shuffle to the door and crack it open.
