32. Liam
32
LIAM
“ W hy does your face look like that?” Elliot asks me from where he’s working on his laptop at the bar when I get to work late in the morning.
I try to fix my face, but it doesn’t quite work. I just can’t get over the feeling that something’s wrong with Marley. No, that something is deeply wrong with me . “It just does that whenever I look at you.”
“Mature,” Elliot monotones and turns his attention back to his screen.
I pause for a second, feeling like I should say something more, but I give up and slump to my office. The fact that Elliot was more mature than me in that situation feels wrong too.
I sit at my desk, laptop bag still slung over my shoulder, coat still fully buttoned. In fact, everything feels wrong.
The entire structure of my life seems to have tipped on its head. Max is now the calm brother and Elliot is more reasonable. How does that happen? How have I been the one to get stuck when I so carefully constructed every moment of my life?
I’m unsure how long I sit there but I don’t move until I hear a light knock on the door frame. I didn’t even shut my door.
I clear my throat and pull off my computer bag as if I had just arrived. “Gus, good morning. How are you?”
She smiles at me from the door, a gentle smile that tells me she has a perfectly good idea of just how long I’ve been sitting here like a statue and very much wants to talk about it. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” My attempt at a bright voice falls flat and I shrug off my coat as she shuts the door behind her and plops in the chair across from my desk.
“What can I do for you?” I ask, trying to remember what ordinary Liam sounded like or acted like. Before my entire life was turned upside down by a pair of green eyes.
“Nothing,” she answers softly, somehow knowing exactly what tone of voice to use to get me to calm down even just a little bit. “I thought you might need someone to talk to.”
I flip open my laptop in a nervous need-to-do-something-with-my-hands way. “What makes you say that?”
“Liam, I’ve spent every day with you and your brothers for more than a year and while I know you three oafs aren’t the most observant humans on the planet, I’ve picked up a few things.”
I feel myself bristle because I have no idea what she’s going to say. I can’t remember a thing from the last three weeks other than Marley and nearly losing my goddamn mind last night.
When I don’t answer, Gus leans forward in her chair. “Liam, all I want to say is that I’m here for you if you need anything. The trauma you and your brothers have been through is real and holding it in isn’t going to help anyone. And the longer you do, it could end up hurting someone. Someone like Marley.”
I cringe at her final sentence, and my throat tightens so hard I can barely squeeze a breath through it. “I don’t…” is all I can get out. Just the thought of hurting Marley makes me want to tear this room apart by individual splinters.
But I can’t tell her about that night with my father. Max didn’t go through that. Elliot wasn’t there. That was me. Only me. No one else knows.
I feel Gus’ warm hand close over the top of mine. It grounds me in a way I wasn’t expecting—as if my body can feel that she’s trying to help me even if my brain can’t process it.
“Look, I don’t have all the answers,” she continues gently. “All I know is that talking, therapy, working though it instead of against it has helped me, has helped Max. Talk to him if you’re not sure. He can show you how to start building a life that isn’t just about the moments that hurt you.”
I swallow around the knot in my throat, unsure if I’m strong enough to get through it. I thought I was. I thought every step I ever ran, and every hour I spent pushing my body to the limits made me stronger, but I’m weaker than I’ve ever been.
When I don’t answer, Gus pats my hand. “If you ever want to talk, if you ever want to talk to Max, if you want contact info for a therapist, I’m your gal. Okay?”
I fight to bring my eyes to hers, and when I do, I see not just Gus, but my soon-to-be sister-in-law. My family. An overwhelming rush of emotions swells my chest. “Thank you, Gus. Really.”
She smiles, but her eyes search my face as if she’s not sure the message got through. “You’re welcome, promise me you’ll think about it?”
“I promise.” And I’m not lying. I’m not sure I’ll be able to think about anything else for a while. Especially with the gut feeling that though Marley said she was fine—I know my actions last night changed something, damaged whatever was growing between us.
With my promise secured, Gus excuses herself from my office and I slump in my chair, feeling like my brain has been ricocheting around my skull for the last twelve hours.
I’m tired. So goddamn tired. And not the type of tired that comes from running twice this morning like a fucking maniac. But the kind of tired that exists at the cellular level, that infuses every move and every thought. I feel like I could slip off my chair, under my desk, and into a deep days-long sleep.
Only I have to finish the Aspen project, and somehow, some way, I have to figure out if I can fix things with Marley.
That is, if I’m even worthy of her.