“Cool. Let me see.”
He sets it on the desk. “You can make it sound like a piano or an organ or even a guitar. Here, listen.” He plays a few random notes.
“Can you play any songs?”
“Not yet. Mom said she’ll get me lessons.”
“Maybe you could learn some of the songs I know, and we can play together.”
“That would be fun. Hey, we should start a band.”
I call him crazy.
“I’m serious. You’ve been playing your guitar for hours every day since … Well, you’re really good. I can get good on the keyboard. And you know I can sing. We’re halfway there.”
“You want to be a rock star, don’t you?”
“Hell yes. Don’t you?”
I have no idea what I want to be, if anything.
I hear glass breaking across the hall and run to Mom’s door. She’s on her knees, cleaning up a broken bottle. “I’ll get it.”
“Thanks, sweetie.”
I pick up all the large pieces. “I’ll ask Helen to sweep in case I missed any.”
“Good boy. On your way back, be a dear and get one of Dirk’s bottles from the bar that looks like that one did.”
“Sure, Mom.”
Crew is in the hallway. He knows she drinks a lot, but I still make excuses. “Today is hard for her. It’s been one year since Luke died.” I nod down the hallway. “Come on, I have to get her some more.”
After finding Helen and telling her about the glass, Crew and I go into the room Dirk calls the salon. Bottles line one wall. I find one resembling the one Mom broke.
“He won’t care if you’re in here, taking his stuff?”
“Mom does it all the time. Then more magically appears. You’ll never find an empty spot.”
Crew gets a devious grin on his face and grabs one of the fancy brown bottles labeled Crown Royal.
I give him a look.
“What? You said he doesn’t care if anyone takes it. We’re going to be rock stars. Rock stars drink alcohol.”
“You’re crazy.”
He goes to my room, walking fast in case anyone is around. “Come on,” he says over his shoulder.
I deliver the bottle to Mom and then join Crew, locking the door behind me.
“Do you have any glasses?” he asks.
“Yeah, I keep glasses in my room to drink stolen bottles of my uncle’s alcohol.”
He twists off the top. “We’ll drink out of the bottle.” He raises it. “To Luke.”
He takes a drink and starts coughing. I grab the bottle from him and take a whiff. It smells like gasoline. “To Luke, the best brother anyone ever had.”
I swallow a large mouthful and almost puke it back up. Crew laughs. He swipes the bottle back. “I could be your brother, you know.”
“I wish.”
“Let’s make a pact right now. It’ll be like we’re blood brothers, only without the blood. We’ll never leave each other. We’ll be in a band, get famous, and tour the world. And every day on this date, we’ll drink whatever this shit is and toast Luke.”
“Let’s do that.”
“Not some pansy drink. Take a big gulp, like a man.”
“You mean like a rock star.”
Three hours later, after throwing up so much I doubt I have any more insides, Crew is passed out on my bed. I hope he meant what he said. But I wonder if he’d still mean it if he found out about me. Would he call me a fag? A homo?
I get my phone out. It’s still on the website I was looking at earlier. My head is spinning, but I read it anyway. My stomach turns again when I read the part about the physical signs, such as blood and bruising, and behavioral signs like nightmares and bedwetting. Things I hid from everyone, even my dad.
There is one sign I don’t understand: self-harm. I dig deeper and read that some victims of abuse cut themselves. Kids often do it because it makes them feel better. It gives them relief from the pain of strong emotions and desperate feelings.
I keep reading about how, why, and where they do it. The article goes on to say why it’s a bad thing, but I don’t read that part. I go across the hall to Mom’s room. She’s passed out, like I thought she’d be. I pull a large piece of glass out of her trashcan, run back to my room, and lock myself in the bathroom.
I push my shorts up near my crotch and graze the jagged glass across my outer thigh. I put more pressure on it, until it pierces the skin. The pain makes me flinch. Blood beads along the cut. I like the way it looks. And even though it hurts, I like the way it feels, because this kind of pain—it’s different. I’m in control of it. And that makes it exhilarating.
I do it again. And again.
Chapter Fifty
Ella
I nervously knock on the door to Liam’s apartment.
Crew opens the door and cocks his head. “Hey, Ella.” He glances down the hall.
“Is he here?”
“I thought he stayed with you last night.”
My heart pounds. “I haven’t seen him since he left the club.”
“Shit, me neither.” He moves aside. “Come in.”
He gets his phone and texts Liam.
“He hasn’t been answering my texts or calls,” I say. Tears flood my eyes. “Crew, what do you think happened to him?”
“Out clearing his head is my guess.”
“But where would he go? I have to find him. I need to know he’s okay. I was already worried about him. Even before last night, he was acting strange, like he had a secret.” Dread crawls up my spine. “You don’t think he’s with another woman, do you?”
He vehemently shakes his head. “No fucking way.”
“Then where could he be?”
He takes me to Liam’s room. “I get what you’re saying about him having a secret—I mean more than the regular shit he keeps from everyone. He’s gotten a lot of mail lately. Maybe we can find something that will give us a clue.” We stand in Liam’s room. “You check over there, I’ll start here.”
I hesitate before opening his nightstand. “This feels like such a violation.”
“He’s missing, Ella. After a traumatic experience, no less. If I’d known he wasn’t with you, I’d have done this last night.”
I open the top drawer. There’s about a hundred guitar picks in it, along with two unopened packages of condoms and several pages of sheet music in various stages of completion. My heart stops when I see the title on one page: “Ella’s Song.”
“Anything?” I ask Crew as he riffles through the dresser.
“No.”
In the bottom drawer are a few envelopes. I open one and pull out the papers. They are legal documents. It’s a final settlement statement from a title corporation. Next to the property address, it lists Liam Campbell as the buyer. It’s dated last week. I show it to Crew. “I think he might have bought a house or something.”
He races around the bed, takes it from me, reads it, and sighs.
“What is it?” I ask.
“He bought a house, all right. It’s his childhood home. The one where he lived before he moved in with Dirk.”
“The one where …?” I sit on his bed. “Why would he do that?”
Crew sits next to me. “He once told me he wanted to burn it to the ground.”
I look at him, terrified. “Do you think he would?”
“Honestly? Yes.”
I hop up. “I have to go there.”
“I’ll drive you. I know where it is. I lived a few doors down from him.”
Along the way, I keep trying to call Liam, but he must have turned off his phone. “What if we’re too late?”
“Let’s hope we’re not.”
“Do you think he knows he can get arrested for burning it down, even if he owns it?”
“At this point, he might not care.”
“Was last night the first time he’s seen Don since Luke died?”
“Yes.”
I swallow tears. “What that must have done t
o Liam, seeing him after all this time.”
“I’m sorry I held you back last night, but Liam needed to do that. It was the only time he had the upper hand with that man.”
“But it wasn’t enough. He’d have come home if it was.”
Crew glances at me. I’ve never seen him look so scared.
An hour later, we pull into a neighborhood, and I look at the sky. “Well, there’s no smoke. That has to be a good sign.”
He turns down a street. I immediately see the old Nissan parked in front of a brown house. Crew parks behind it. He starts to get out, but I stop him.
“Crew, will you do something for me?”
“You don’t want me to go inside with you? What if he—”
My heart gets stuck in my throat thinking of the implication, then I see movement on the front porch. Jean-clad legs stick out from behind a trellis. I recognize the shoes. “Look.” I point.
Crew lets out a relieved breath.
“He’s alive, and the house isn’t burning. I have an idea. Can you make a trip to the store?”
“What do you need?”
I tell him and exit the car, then go slowly up the walk. When I get closer, I see a can of gas sitting next to his legs. I climb the steps and round the corner. Liam’s perched against the wall, sleeping, an empty bottle of whiskey on the floor a foot away.
I touch his shoulder. “Liam?”
He jerks awake. “El?”
I sit on the porch next to him, not caring how much dirt will get on my clothes. “I told you I’d always find you.” I carefully touch his split lip. “You’re injured.”
His eyes close. “It’s not the worst thing he’s ever done to me.”
My throat becomes thick with tears, but I swallow them, not wanting him to think I feel sorry for him.
“It was him last night.”
“I know.”
“How did you know where I was?”
“When you didn’t come home, we got worried. We found the closing documents in your room. Crew drove me here.”
“Where is he?”
“He had to run a quick errand.” I look at the gas can. “You know you’ll get in big trouble for that.”
“It’s my house.”
“It’s still arson, Liam.”
“I should be able to do whatever the fuck I want with it.”
I get up and peek through the window. “What a coincidence the house was for sale when you had the money to buy it.”
“It wasn’t for sale.”
“Then I’m confused.”
“I contacted the owners a few months ago, when the money started rolling in. I told them I wanted to buy it. They weren’t interested in selling, but I kept upping the offer.” He laughs sadly. “I paid them way more than its value, but it’ll be worth it to see it burn.”
I cringe and hope I can change his mind. “Where did you sleep last night?”
He pounds the floorboards next to him.
“You haven’t gone inside?”
He shakes his head. “I haven’t been inside since the day Luke died.”
I hold out my hand. “How about I go in with you.”
“I’m not taking you into my nightmare, El.”
“In my experience, things aren’t as scary when you do them with a friend.”
He picks up the empty bottle and looks at it as if he wishes it were full, then throws it in the yard. He stands and reaches for the gas can.
I intercept. “Let’s leave it here for now.”
“Maybe you should go.”
“I’m not leaving, Liam. Not unless you force me to.”
He looks sick. “I’d never force you to do anything.”
I take his hand. “I know.”
He fishes around in his pocket and pulls out a key, letting it dangle from his finger. I take it from him and unlock the door and push it open. He doesn’t move.
“It’s only a house, Liam. It can’t hurt you. Not anymore.”
He takes a step inside, squeezing my hand so hard it hurts. We stand in the living room, and he glances around. “It seems a lot smaller.” He takes me into the kitchen. “They painted it. It used to be yellow.” He lets go of my hand, moves to the sink, and puts his mouth under the faucet, drinking for a long time.
I follow him as he walks through the dining room and back into the living room. He looks at the stairs for a drawn-out moment, then puts a reluctant hand on the banister. His knuckles go white as he climbs the first steps. On the landing, he looks down the hallway, the skin around his eyes bunching. I instantly know which room is his, because he looks ill as he stares at it.
He touches the wall to the right, running his hand along it. “This was Luke’s room.”
He stands in the doorway to the room across from Luke’s. His breathing becomes heavy and labored. His jaw gets tight. Squaring his shoulders, he punches a hole in the door. Blood trickles from his already bruised and battered knuckles.
Slowly, quietly, he crosses to the center of the room and collapses on the floor. He shakes violently and sweats. I fear he’s on the verge of a panic attack, but when I go to him, he pushes me away. “Don’t touch me,” he says scathingly. “Not here.”
I step back, horrified at the memories that must be assaulting him.
“Dirk was right. I’m fucked up. I’ll always be fucked up. I-I allowed it to happen. I even liked it in some sick and twisted way. I never said no, never asked him to leave. I”—his head slumps into his hands—“I fucking got off.”
I fall to my knees next to him. “You were eleven, Liam. It’s not your fault.”
“I should have known it was wrong. What kind of sick kid thinks his father doing those things is okay?”
“You loved him once. He was an authority figure. It’s normal to do what our parents tell us to do, even if we don’t think it’s right.”
“I was a victim then, and I’m a goddamn victim now. I’m too much of a coward to stand up for myself.”
“You stood up for yourself last night.”
“I mean the video. I was kidding myself. I can’t release it. I can’t have everyone knowing.”
“I think it will be the opposite. People will commend you for being strong.”
“But they’ll look at me differently. The poor kid who was fucked by his father.”
I try not to react. Is he speaking literally or figuratively? He hasn’t provided details, so I don’t know the extent of the abuse he suffered. I was hoping it didn’t go further than touching, as horrible as that is in itself. What kind of monster could do that and more to his child? I want to embrace him, tell him he’s even stronger than I thought, but I can’t. Not here.
His watery eyes focus on me. “They’ll look at you differently too. They’ll wonder what kind of woman wants a man with my twisted history.”
He gets up and punches the wall, his fists getting bloodier.
“Liam, stop. You need your hands to play.”
“Fuck my hands.” He hits the wall. “Fuck Don.” He hits it again. “Fuck my pathetic life.”
I helplessly watch the man I love completely fall apart. With each punch, he utters dark, hateful words punctuated by sobs so painful, they make me want to kill Don with my bare hands.
Liam stops and leans against the windowsill in exhaustion.
My phone vibrates. It’s Crew; he’s outside. “I’m going downstairs for a minute. Promise me you won’t hurt your hands while I’m gone.”
He grunts and sits on the floor. “Bring the gas up with you.”
I meet Crew at the door. “Thank you for this,” I say, grabbing his purchases.
“Want me to come with?”
“I’m not sure. Do you think you can wait outside? Maybe guard the gas can, just in case?”
“I’ll put it in my car and be right here if you need me.”
I shut the door, go back upstairs, and put the things in the hallway.
Liam says, “Where’s the gas?”
“I h
ave a better idea. Something that might be just as satisfying but won’t land you in jail.”
I show him what I brought: a crowbar, an axe, and a sledgehammer. I hold out the axe. He lunges toward me. “Hell yes.”
“Wait,” I say and give him a pair of work goggles before putting on mine.
He swings the axe into the wall with a satisfying crack of wood and drywall. He does it four more times before switching to the sledgehammer. He pounds the wall and swings at the ceiling fan, sending it to the other side of the room, shattered.
He uses the crowbar to pry up some of the floorboards and then the axe to splinter the rest. By the time he’s finished, we’re in a shell of a room.
“Which one do you want to do next?”
He crosses the hallway to Luke’s room. “Want to take the first swing?”
I pick up the axe. “You bet your life I do.”
We spend the next hour tearing out every piece of drywall from the three bedrooms upstairs. Every light fixture is smashed, each cabinet desecrated. Even the studs are mostly gone, except the ones supporting the roof. All that’s left are wires, pipes, and dust.
He returns to what was his room and sits in a pile of rubble. I remain close, not touching him, like he asked, but he pulls me into his lap and removes our goggles. I brush dust out of his hair.
“Your life is not pathetic,” I say. “You have Reckless Alibi, and friends who would do anything for you. And you have me. You can go to therapy to fix whatever it is you think is broken. I’ll come with you if you want.”
He hugs me tightly and doesn’t speak. His cheek rubs against the top of my head as he holds me like I’m his lifeline.
“You’re my therapy,” he says after a long silence. “I can do anything as long as you’re with me.”
“Then I’m never going anywhere.”
A tear blazes a clean trail through the dirt on his cheek. He cups my face. “Marry me, El.”
My heart thunders. I desperately want to say yes, but not in this house. He also has work to do to become the man he thinks is worthy of me. What he doesn’t know is he was worthy the day we met. He was perfect then, and he’s perfect now. But my knowing that and him understanding it are very different things.
“We can’t, Liam. It’s too soon.”
Reckless Invitation (The Reckless Rockstar Series) Page 28