9. City of the Mundane

CHAPTER 9

City of the Mundane

LIAM

W aking up with a pounding headache and a mouth that tasted like a dirty ashtray. The sun was streaming in through the cracks in the blinds, stabbing at my eyes like tiny daggers. I groaned, rolling over to bury my face in the pillow.

But the pillow was empty. Cold. Just like the space beside me in the bed.

I sighed, memories of the night before starting to trickle back in hazy fragments. The club, the pulsing music, the sea of writhing bodies. And then what was his name again? Jake? Josh? Something with a J, I think.

Not that it mattered. He was gone, just like all the others. Just another nameless, faceless hookup in a long string of nameless, faceless hookups.

I pushed myself up, wincing at the protest of my aching muscles. I felt like I'd been run over by a truck, and then backed over a few times for good measure. But that was nothing new. It was the price I paid for the life I lived, for the choices I made.

I stumbled into the bathroom, turning on the shower and letting the hot water cascade over me. I closed my eyes, leaning my forehead against the cool tile and trying to let the steam and the heat wash away the grime and the guilt.

But it was no use. No matter how long I stood there, no matter how much I scrubbed and scoured, I couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness, the sense that something was missing.

After showering, toweling off and pulling on my suit. It was a good suit, tailored and expensive, the kind of thing that screamed success and power and all the things I was supposed to want.

But as I looked at myself in the mirror, as I straightened my tie and smoothed back my hair, I couldn't help but feel like a fraud. Like I was playing dress-up in someone else's life, someone else's skin.

Because the truth was, I hated this. Hated the long hours and the cutthroat deals and the endless, soul-sucking meetings. Hated the way my father looked at me, with that mix of pride and expectation that made me feel like I was constantly falling short.

He had no idea about my other life, about the music that flowed through my veins like fire. No idea that when I wasn't playing the dutiful son and the ruthless lawyer, I was Corey King, the rising star of the indie music scene.

It was my escape, my salvation. The only thing that made me feel alive, that made me feel like I was more than just a cog in the machine of my father's empire.

But I couldn't let him find out. Couldn't let him see that side of me, the side that dreamed and created and lived for something more than the bottom line.

Because if he did… if he knew…

I shuddered to think of the consequences. Of the disappointment, the anger, the inevitable ultimatum.

I had to keep up the charade, had to keep playing the role of the dutiful son and the successful lawyer. At least until I could make my music career sustainable, until I could break free of my father's grip and live life on my own terms.

But god, it was hard. Hard to put on that mask every day, to pretend to be something I wasn't. Hard to sit through endless meetings and conference calls when all I wanted to do was pick up my guitar and pour my heart out into song.

As I walk towards the kitchen, I noticed that someone was already sitting at the counter with a cup of tea in one hand and a stern expression on his face, was Jimmy.

"Look what the cat dragged in." Jimmy said, raising an eyebrow at me.

I groaned, making a beeline for the coffee pot. "Not now, Jimmy. I'm not in the mood for a lecture."

He snorted, pushing a cup of coffee towards me. "Too bad, because you're getting one anyway. What the hell were you thinking, bringing home another stranger without having them sign an NDA?"

I sighed, taking a long swig of the coffee and wincing as it burned my throat. "I wasn't thinking, okay? I was drunk and horny and he was there and… fuck, I don't know."

As I stood there, letting the caffeine work its magic, my mind drifted back to the first time I had met Jimmy. It was back in college, during a particularly wild party. We had both had a few too many drinks and ended up making out in a corner, all wandering hands and sloppy kisses.

The next morning, hungover and embarrassed, we had laughed it off and decided to give dating a try. But it quickly became clear that we were better off as friends. Jimmy was too much like me, too impulsive and reckless and prone to self-destruction. We brought out the worst in each other, and we both knew it.

So we had called it quits, but we had stayed close. Jimmy had been there for me through everything, through the highs and the lows and all the messy, complicated bits in between. He was more than just my agent, more than just my best friend. He was family, the only family I had left that really mattered.

Jimmy shook his head, his expression a mix of exasperation and concern. "Liam, you can't keep doing this. You're playing with fire, and one of these days you' re going to get burned."

I knew he was right, knew that I was being reckless and stupid and self-destructive. But I couldn't seem to help myself, couldn't seem to stop the spiral of bad decisions and worse consequences.

"I know, I know," I muttered, rubbing a hand over my face. "I'll be more careful next time, I promise."

Jimmy gave me a long, hard look, like he was trying to see right through me. "You need to tell your parents, Liam. You need to come clean about your music career, about Corey King, about all of it."

I felt a stab of panic at the thought, my heart racing and my palms starting to sweat. "I can't, Jimmy. You know I can't. They'd never understand, never accept it."

He sighed, his expression softening a little. "I get it, Liam. I do. But you can't keep living this double life forever. Sooner or later, something's gotta give."

I knew he was right, knew that I was walking a tightrope that was getting thinner and more precarious by the day. But the thought of facing my parents, of seeing the disappointment and the anger in their eyes…

It was too much. Too much to bear, too much to even think about.

"I'll deal with it later," I said, my voice tight and strained. "Right now, I just need to get through the day."

Jimmy looked like he wanted to argue, but he just shook his head and handed me a couple of paracetamol. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."

I swallowed the pills dry, chasing them with another swig of coffee. Then I grabbed my briefcase and headed for the door, my heart heavy and my mind whirling with all the things I didn't want to face.

The drive to the office was a nightmare, as usual. The sight of cars still made my stomach churn, still sent a cold sweat down my spine and made my hands shake on the wheel. I knew it was irrational, knew that the accident had been twenty years ago and that I was safe now .

But try telling that to my brain, to the part of me that was still trapped in that twisted hunk of metal, still screaming and bleeding and begging for someone to save me.

I white-knuckled it the whole way, my jaw clenched and my eyes fixed straight ahead. And when I finally pulled into the parking garage, when I finally cut the engine and let out a shaky breath.

Reaching for the flask in my glove box, taking a long, burning swallow of the whiskey inside. It was the only thing that helped, the only thing that dulled the edges of the fear and the panic and the sickening, gut-wrenching dread.

It was a crutch, knew that it was just another way of running from my problems instead of facing them head-on. But in that moment, with the walls of the garage closing in around me and the weight of the day ahead pressing down on my shoulders…

I couldn't bring myself to care.

I made my way up to the office, my steps heavy and my heart heavier still. And there, waiting for me like a coiled snake ready to strike, was my father.

"Liam," he said, his voice cold and clipped. "You're late. Again."

I felt a spark of anger in my chest, a flicker of the old defiance that had gotten me through so many years of his disapproval and disdain. "I'm here, aren't I? What more do you want?"

His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening with barely-contained rage. "What I want is for you to take your responsibilities seriously, Liam. What I want is for you to show up on time, sober and ready to work, instead of stumbling in here reeking of booze and God knows what else."

I felt my own temper rising, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "I'm doing the best I can. I'm showing up, I'm doing my job, I'm playing the dutiful son just like you always wanted."

He scoffed, shaking his head in disgust. "You call this doing your best? You call this being a dutiful son? You're a mess, Liam. A goddamn mess, and you're dragging the whole company down with you."

I felt like I'd been slapped, like all the air had been sucked out of the room. I knew I wasn't perfect, knew that I had my flaws and my struggles and my demons.

But to hear him say it like that, to hear the venom and the contempt in his voice…

It was too much. Too much to bear, too much to take.

But I was already turning away, already storming out of his office and down the hall. I couldn't listen to another word, couldn't stand there and let him tear me down and make me feel like I was nothing, like I was less than nothing.

I burst into my own office, slamming the door behind me with a satisfying bang. And then, before I even knew what I was doing, I was picking up the glass paperweight on my desk and hurling it against the wall with all the strength I had left.

It shattered into a million pieces, the shards raining down onto the carpet like glittering tears. And as I stood there, chest heaving and eyes burning and heart pounding in my ears…

I felt something inside me break, something deep and fundamental and irreparable.

Because I knew, in that moment, that I couldn't do this anymore. Couldn't keep living this lie, couldn't keep pretending to be something I wasn't.

I was tired of hiding, tired of running, tired of being someone else's version of who I was supposed to be.

As I collapsed into my chair, my head spinning and my heart pounding. I stared at my computer screen, at the wallpaper image of Oakwood Grove that had been my constant companion for so many years. It was a picture of the town square, with its quaint little shops and its towering oak trees and its sense of timeless, small-town charm.

And there, in the background, was the house. Our house, the one Caleb and I had shared all those summers ago, before everything had gone to hell .

I felt a pang of longing so sharp it took my breath away. God, I missed him. Missed him with an ache that had never really gone away, no matter how much time had passed or how far I had run.

And so, before I could lose my nerve, I picked up the phone and dialed Claire's number.

"Liam?" she answered on the first ring, her voice tight with worry. "Is everything okay? Your father just stormed out of here looking like he was about to have a stroke."

I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Everything's fine, Claire. Better than fine, actually. Listen, I need you to do something for me."

"Of course, anything. What is it?"

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to say. "Starting tomorrow, I'm taking a leave of absence. Indefinitely. I need you to handle all my appointments, all my clients, everything. Can you do that for me?"

There was a long, stunned silence on the other end of the line. "Liam… are you sure about this? I mean, what about the company, what about your father? He's going to be furious."

I closed my eyes, picturing the look on his face when he found out. The disappointment, the anger, the utter, utter contempt. "I know, Claire. And I'm sorry to put you in this position. But I have to do this"

She sighed, and I could hear the concern in her voice. "Okay, Liam. If that's what you need, then I'll make it happen. Just… just be careful, okay? And call me if you need anything, anything at all."

I felt a lump rise in my throat, a sudden, overwhelming gratitude for this woman who had been by my side through so much. "I will, Claire. Thank you. For everything."

We said our goodbyes, and I hung up the phone feeling lighter than I had in years. It was really happening. I was really doing this.

But where to start? Where to go first on this crazy, reckless, utterly terrifying journey of self-discovery?

And then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit me. Oakwood Grove. I had to go back to Oakwood Grove, had to see the town and the house and the memories that had haunted me for so long.

I pulled up a real estate website, my fingers trembling as I typed in the name of the town. And there, at the top of the search results, was a listing that made my heart stop dead in my chest.

Our old house. It was for sale. After all these years, after all this time… it was on the market, just waiting for someone to snap it up and make it their own.

I stared at the pictures, at the familiar walls and windows and rooms that had once been my whole world. And I knew, with a certainty that went bone-deep, that I had to have it. Had to buy it, had to make it mine again.

Without even thinking twice, I contacted the real estate company.