Prove Me Right (15 page)

My phone rings and I dive over my bed to grab it, praying that it’s her. It’s not. My sponsor went home for his grandson’s birthday for a couple of days, but he still calls to check on me a half dozen times a day.

“Hi, Bart.”

“Hey, kiddo. How’s it going?”

“Ehh. Meara still hasn’t returned my calls.”

“Listen, kid. I need to tell you something.”

At the serious tone of his voice, I sit up on the bed. “Yeah?”

“Your old man … he passed away this morning.”

“What?” I just talked to him a few weeks ago.

“I’m really sorry. Your mom called me, not sure of how to tell you the news. She was afraid it might put you over the edge.”

“When’s the funeral?”

“Oh, umm. I don’t know details yet. I thought you might like to plan—”

“No, I’ll pay someone. Can you do it for me? Or find someone. Then just tell me when the funeral is. I’ll show up for it.”

I click my phone off after he lectures me about sobriety and focus and continue staring at the lights. My initial thought is to punch something. Then I think I want something to drink, but I quickly shut that down, not even using it as an option. I grab my phone to call Meara, my automatic instinct, but before I can push send, I throw my phone across the room. She doesn’t care about me anymore.

I suppose now is a good time for a pity party. My fists leave holes in the wall, and I shatter the lamp when it hits the floor. Everything in my life is falling apart. And in a couple of months when I’m done with the band, I’m going home to nothing.

“Ha!”

I laugh to myself and pace across the floor. The mini bar stares at me. Mocks me. I take a step toward it and then stop. It’s not worth it. Fuck, maybe it is. What do I have to lose? I’ve already lost Meara … nothing else matters. Another step closer. But I stop when there’s a knock on the door.

I bite the inside of my cheek and answer it.

Jamie gives me a hug and shuts the door behind him. “You all right?”

“I guess.”

“What can I do?” He looks around and his eyes widen. “Aside from writing the hotel a fat check.”

I actually chuckle at that. “Go back to what you were doing ten minutes ago. I’m good.”

“When will you get it through your fucking head that we’re here for you, man? All of us. We know this isn’t easy. You can’t just sit around all day staring at your phone and pretending the outside world doesn’t exist. I know you’re hurting man, but you’ve gotta start to live your life again.”

“Really?” I laugh. “You know? You understand? You’ve been with one woman your whole life. She’s been your entire fucking life, and because you’re a weak ass addict, you lost her? You’ve been there? You just found out your dad died, and the last time you talked to him you blamed him for your shit ass life?”

Jesus, what is my problem? I sound like a little bitch, whining like a pussy.

“No, I haven’t. But I know that you’re my brother and I can feel your fucking pain. And I want to help you. ‘Cause you’re not weak, Liam. You and I both know it.”

“I used to think so.” I sit on the bed and point at the mini bar. “I was on my way over there before you knocked.”

“So, you were tempted, but you didn’t do anything about it.”

“I would have.”

“You just found out your dad died. Give yourself a break.”

“So every time something bad happens, you need to come to my rescue so I don’t fall off the wagon again. Yeah, that’s not weak.” I laugh humorlessly.

He surprises me by grabbing the little bottles and bringing them over to me. “Here. If you were gonna do it anyway, might as well not drink alone, right?”

“Fuck you.” I slap his hand away, but he just opens the cap and takes a swig of vodka, then puts it in front of my face. “What the hell, Jamie?”

“You sure you don’t want some?” His words taunt me.

I shake my head and turn my back to him, all my fight just gone at this point.

“You are strong, Liam. You just need to believe in yourself as much as everyone else does.”

The door shuts quietly behind me and when I finally turn around, I stare at the half-empty bottle on the floor.

* * *

Thankfully and surprisingly, my dad had a will, and he had very specific demands about not wanting a funeral. He didn’t want to have anything where people stood around awkwardly and reminisced about his life, even though I didn’t even think he had any friends. I respected his wishes and had his body cremated. No wake, no saying good-bye. Somehow, the record label was sympathetic to my situation and gave me a few days off, only having to reschedule one show.

I flew in late last night and was making arrangements all day today with his lawyer and the funeral home. I’m sitting in my dad’s recliner now, looking around his house. He doesn’t have much but a bunch of shit. Lots of garbage, old newspapers, some knick-knacks. It would probably be a good idea to look through his stuff before I go back since I’m just going to hire a company to come through here and clean it out before I sell his house.

My dad had been a factory worker his whole life. He had advanced pretty high up in the company until his addiction got the better of him, causing him to miss too many days of work. He was fired, my mom divorced him, and then he kept getting dead-end factory job after dead-end factory job. He lived on his social security, but I sent him money every month, so I knew he was okay financially. Did that make me an enabler? Who knows, but as much as I hated him for some of the things he did, he was still my dad.

I grab a big black trash bag and start walking around to throw out all the garbage. The small living room fills four bags, and I start in the kitchen, gagging at the moldy food in the sink. Once I reach the cabinet where I know he kept his stock, I give myself a silent pep talk. The old cigar box grazes my fingers and I throw it in the bag as fast as I can. I swipe my arm on the shelf and breathe a sigh of relief when everything crashes to the bottom of the bag.

After I tie three knots in the bag, I throw it across the room and crumple to the ground. I’ve felt so much anger these past couple of months. I’ve been pissed off. I’ve even felt sorry for myself. But one thing I never allowed was for me to be sad … until now. I stick my legs straight out and lean against the wall. Like God could even hear me, I tilt my head up and say a silent prayer, and then let the floodgates open.

This is going to be me. I’ll turn into my dad. A drunk loser with nobody to love him. He did have people who loved him at one point and a family to come home to, but he ruined that. Just like me. I’m exactly like him. I should have listened to him the last time I was here and walked away. I had it under control with the alcohol. I had no fucking reason to start with the harder shit again.

“Fuck!” I yell into the empty house, my pain echoing off the walls.

Somehow, I become even weaker and roll to my side, lying on the sticky linoleum floor. Finally accepting my feelings and allowing the sadness to drain out of me, I close my eyes and pray that when I wake up all of this will just be a really long nightmare.

Chapter 16

Meara

“HE DIDN’T CALL ME
yesterday.”

“Okay. How does that make you feel?”

“Mad. Shitty. Not important.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because he’s not supposed to give up that easy. He’s supposed to grovel for longer than that.” I smile through the receiver, even though she can’t see me.

Elizabeth chuckles on the other end of the phone. “Does he know that? I mean you haven’t talked to him at all, so how is he supposed to know that you want to give him another chance?” Elizabeth is Brandon and Travis’ mom and a really good therapist. Charlotte recommended her, and I’ve been talking to her about once a week. I needed somebody to talk to without being judged. I like her a lot, so I called her the night after I had my breakdown with Nik and told her everything. When I realized how much better I felt after talking to him, well, let’s face it, talking to a guy about feelings is like talking to a brick wall … I figured it couldn’t hurt to try it with a professional. She’s really helped to open my eyes and makes everything seem so clear. The best part is that I don’t feel like she judges me or is secretly accusing me of making shitty choices or thinks I’m a bitch for what I’m doing with Liam.

“He doesn’t, I suppose,” I admit.

“Maybe he gave himself a two-month deadline and said that if you didn’t answer him, he would respect your wishes and leave you alone. Wasn’t that what you wanted? For him to leave you alone?”

“Dammit. Why do you have to make so much sense?”

One of the things she’s helped me to understand is that addiction is a lifelong disease. It’s not something that just goes away. She’s helped me to respect that Liam is under a lot of pressure with his band and his career. He wants to be with me but feels an obligation to stay loyal to his bandmates. I knew all of this; Liam and I had talked about it in the past, but I guess hearing someone else explain it put it into perspective.

Another thing we talked about was that more than likely he is a highly functioning addict. Because Elizabeth has never actually talked to Liam, she was just trying to explain to me some of the symptoms. A person who has an addiction, but on the outside appears, for all intents and purposes, ‘normal.’ Highly functioning addicts can lead a double life in a sense, and when I went home and researched it, I was amazed at how much the description fits Liam.

He has a problem and what kind of person, what kind of partner, would I be if I walked away from him? I’m still devastated by the loss of the baby. I’m not ready to talk to Liam about it yet, but I think it’s time to get over my own issues and be there for him. Shutting myself off from his life isn’t helping at all. And if I’m being honest, even though it’s selfish, focusing on him takes the torment away from what I’ve been feeling.

“I’m glad I could help.”

“I’m sorry to bug you.”

“It’s fine. I was just reading.”

“Thanks, Elizabeth.”

“Anytime, Meara. I mean that.”

I hang up with her and find Liam in my contacts. I stare at his face on the screen and smile at the man I love. God, I’m an idiot. I fucking love him. Nothing can ever change that.

“Meara?” Liam’s voice sounds as shocked as I am for making this call.

“Two months!” I screech. “You give up after two months! I waited by my phone all fucking night yesterday. I didn’t sleep waiting for you to call. To hear your voice. To know that you’re okay. All I get is two months and then you give up on me?”

I’ve come to learn that everything happens for a reason. There are so many factors at play here; I just have to believe that there’s a lesson to be learned from all of this.

“I didn’t give up.” There isn’t even any fight left in his voice.

“You didn’t call.”

“Dad died. I flew back yesterday and I’ve been busy making arrangements all day today. I fell asleep on his nasty ass floor an hour ago. I’m sorry.”

Words don’t form. Instead, I hang up on him and run down the stairs as fast as I can. The pub is lively tonight, but since I hired Lisa, I’m able to actually take some time off and not work fourteen and sixteen hour days anymore. I ignored all the calls from my mom yesterday and even the one from his mom. Now I know why they were calling me.

I break every traffic law known to man and park in front of his dad’s house. The front door is locked, so I bang on it. When Liam opens it, I throw myself into his arms, wrapping my legs around him and squeezing the shit out of him.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. For more reasons than I can say right now.

“No, I’m the one—”

“Stop.” I pull my head back to look into his eyes and press my lips together. His face is scruffy and he has dark circles under his eyes, but he’s still so handsome. There’s a clarity to his eyes when he looks back at me that I haven’t seen in a really long time. A clarity that I didn’t realize was missing. “Are you okay?”

“I am now.” He smiles weakly and walks us over to the couch.

I end up straddling him and I run my fingers through his hair. “Your hair is really long.”

“I haven’t cut it.”

His fingers run up and down my arms and I look away shyly, not knowing what the hell I’m doing. It was such a gut reaction to go to him, but now that I’m here, I’m lost with what to say.

“Do you need help with anything?”

“No, I just need to finish going through his stuff to see if there’s anything I want to keep. Then I need to find a company to come through and clean the place out so I can sell it.”

“I can help you do that.”

“I can’t believe you’re here. You don’t hate me?” The vulnerability in his voice makes me want to break, but I fight it. I need to be strong for him.

“God, no. I fucking love you. But I was so worried and so mad at you. I’ve been a goddamned mess, Lee.”

“I’m mad at myself, too. So mad for causing you this, for breaking a promise to you that I swore I never would, for being weak—”

“You’re not weak, Lee.” I grab his face and tilt it so he’s looking at me. “You are not weak. I’ve had a lot of time to think the past two months and it made me realize how hard everything must be for you. Your commitment to the band, trying to balance being in a relationship, worrying about what you’re going to do once you’re done with Ruin … all of it, and when you were struggling with it, I didn’t stick by you. I thought I was helping you. If anything, I’m the weak one for abandoning you.”

“No. You’re not. It took you walking away from me to realize how bad of a problem I had. But I have a clear path now. I know what I’m doing, and I got help.” He shakes his head at the admission. It must be hard for him to admit that, to have a sponsor follow him around to make sure he stays on the right path. I’d imagine it makes you feel weak, but he’s anything but.

“It’s okay. You don’t always have to be strong, ya know? You can let me in.”

He pulls me into his chest, and I relax in his embrace. Nothing but the sound of our breathing and an occasional sniff from me fill the silence.

“What happened?” I whisper.

“Heart attack. He was sitting on the porch step and the neighbor saw him fall over. Called 9-1-1, but it was too late.”