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After texting a bit with Taylor, I called our mom.
“Kenny!” she answered. I usually FaceTimed with her, but she was loud, and I didn’t want her voice carrying. “How are you? How’s the new job?”
“I’m good. It’s good.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm. How’s it going with you? I saw the photo you posted this morning. I like your new hair color.” She lived in Las Vegas with her professional-poker-playing boyfriend, and it was easier to talk to my mom about insignificant things. Taylor was the one I had serious conversations with. Which was exactly why I was going to be communicating strictly through text messages for at least the next week, or else she’d be a helicopter-sister.
“Thanks,” Mom said. “I wanted to be more like you.”
My mom and I were basically twins, in personality and appearance. Both of us wore our emotions on our sleeves and were sometimes a bit flighty—I was confident enough in myself to admit that. But I’d also inherited my appearance from my mother, what we affectionately called Italian grandma chic. Short, squat, and a mustache we had to wax. Taylor, on the other hand, with her slender figure and tall height, took after our father.
“I can’t believe you cut it,” I said, referring to how my mother had always had long hair, almost down to her waist. Now it was above her shoulders.
“I’m too old for long hair.”
“You’re not too old for long hair. Who told you that?”
“Society,” she said with a laugh.
“Society’s stupid. Wear your hair long. Besides, you’re not even sixty yet.”
“Speaking of. I was thinking you and your sister should come out here for Thanksgiving. It’s Duke’s birthday, so I thought we could go out for a big dinner. He’s turning fifty this year.”
Though it wasn’t a big difference in age, my mom was older than Duke. I often teased her about being a cougar, although I couldn’t tonight. Not when she accidentally brought my focus back to my boss and the crappy first impression I’d made today.
“Um, yeah, maybe. I’ll have to work it out with Liam. We haven’t discussed holidays.”
“I haven’t seen my babies in so long. I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
“Text me tomorrow and let me know how everything is going, okay? I gotta run. Duke just got home.
“Okay. Bye, Mom. Love you.”
“Love you so much, babe. Talk later.”
After we hung up, I stared at my cell phone, thinking about the last time my sister and I were both with our mom at the same time. It had been a while, and it would be nice for all of us to be in one place again, though I’d probably have to drag Taylor there by her hair.
I lay in bed a bit, tagging Dean in posts for me to win hair and makeup products because I knew it annoyed him, then eventually turned off the light and settled into bed with my sleep podcast. But not even the man with the soothing English accent, reading a bedtime story about walking through a meadow, could help me sleep.
I tossed and turned, unable to shut off my brain and forget about how Liam doubted my abilities. I didn’t like disappointing people and especially didn’t like being a burden. I was supposed to be making things easier on him, but I was adding to the weight he already carried.
In the short time I’d known him, it was clear Liam was a devoted dad, and when he’d confessed he felt like he was failing, my heart broke for him. He was anything but a failure, and I would do whatever I could to help him.
Rolling over yet again, I stared up at the ceiling in the dark and sang softly to myself. But as I hit the chorus of “Popular” fromWicked, I heard music coming from somewhere, pounding drums and a fast guitar. I waited for it to go away, thinking it might have been a car, and when it didn’t pass, I waited another minute before I got out of bed to peek through the window. There was no one outside, and it didn’t sound like it was coming from any other house on the street.
I tiptoed out of my room and pressed my ear against Finn’s bedroom door. Besides the white noise and instrumental lullabies playing, there was no sign he was awake. I supposed he really did sleep through anything.
But I wondered if Liam could hear it and if it was bothering him. Although, when I checked, the dining room and kitchen were both empty. I followed the music, AC/DC’s “Back in Black,” but it wasn’t only the song that I heard now. There was also a series of dull thuds.
Curious, I made my way to the bottom floor and stopped midway down the wooden staircase, my attention coasting around the mostly unfinished basement.
My mouth fell open at the sight before me. Liam was shirtless with a sheen of sweat covering his back and arms as he unleashed a barrage of punches on the large black bag hanging from the ceiling. I couldn’t look away from the power and grace of his movements, the way his muscles flexed with each swing, making the intricate design of a family crest ripple along his shoulder blade. When he shifted to the right, I spotted another tattoo, this one lower on the side of his ribs. Two tiny footprints and “Finn” below it in cursive.
I hadn’t realized I’d sunk down to the step until Liam spun, evidently having seen me out of the corner of his eye. Surprise flashed across his features, and he slowly lowered his fists, but it was a long time before I could haul my gaze up to his face.
