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I take a seat across from her and see that she’s looking at my shirt. I spent a few minutes changing the oil in my car before coming over, so there’s a little grease on my Dunes t-shirt. I’d like to say it was an accident, but honestly, Maeve pointed it out to me before I left. I guess I subconsciously wanted both of them, but especially this snob sitting across from me, to notice the dirt, the grime, thetrash.
“What I said the other day…” She’s twisting the rock on her left ring finger nervously and her eyes are looking here, there and everywhere. I’m not doing shit to make this any easier for her, and if she thinks she can apologize without even making eye contact, she can shove it. But it’s as if she can hear me, or she’s telling herself the exact same thing. She stops her fidgeting, breath shuddering as she draws in air to steady herself, and then looks me in the eye. “What I said was horrible, and thoughtless, and it wasn’t true.”
I look down at the counter, surprised but not satisfied or happy in the least. Shame is my kryptonite. Maybe it’s everyone’s. Once an insult, hatred, or judgement is dished out, a simple sorry doesn’t just wipe the slate clean. Maybe she is genuinely sorry, but I’m still sitting in this grand kitchen wearing my stained shirt, with my stained past, coming from my dilapidated house and my low class family.
But is that her judging me right now, or am I judging myself? For years I’ve worn this uniform of hardship with pride, with a giantfuck youto anyone who finds me lacking, but who am I kidding in this grease-stained shirt? I left the house knowing I had a clean spare in the backseat of my car because I’dnevershow up to work in a dirty shirt, even for a job that requires cleaning tap lines, carrying kegs, and assorted other filthy tasks. So who is this little performance for? What do I gain from making her despise me?
Deep breath, Liam. “I accept your apology.”
Her head is tilted to the side, searching to make contact with my downcast eyes. When she does, she gives me a reassuring nod with her watery smile. “I’ll do better.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
LIAM
My damn heart skips a beat when she comes out of the house with an overnight bag slung over her shoulder.
I bounce out to get her door before she reaches the car. “Hey, you.”
“Thank you kindly,” she says, curtsying like a wiseass before getting in.
I’m about to ask her if she packed the bikini she wore the other day— my personal favorite—when I see that her mother is standing in the doorway watching us. She smiles when our eyes meet. She’s trying, I guess, but I’m still not convinced she’s on board with the idea of me. Whatever, I’m not letting her ruin this just when it’s getting good.
“Hi, Mrs. Hamilton.”
“Hi, Liam. Have fun, you two,” she says, waving once before going back inside.
Turning to Sarah as I start down the driveway, I ask, “She’s all right with this?”
“She’d be all right if I was driving off with Parker, so why not with you?”
“Um, because it’s me?”
She rolls her eyes as if she’s tired of revisiting this topic for the umpteenth time. “Audrey is down with this.”
“Right.”
“Let it go.”
And I decide to do just that. I’ve been looking forward to this weekend, and I’m not going to let Audrey Hamilton ruin it. If I’m being honest, shehasgone out of her way to make me feel welcome in their home these past few weeks, but I’d still bet my last dime she’s praying that I’ll be dust in her daughter’s rear-view mirror come September.
“I’m glad we decided on staying local. I don’t think she’s got another epic quest in her.” I lovingly caress the dashboard of the car I used to disdain. “And I need her to last through this year before selling her off to the highest bidder.”
“Maybe Leo will buy it.”
I shoot her a side eye. “I don’t know if I’m so high on Leo after what he said about my ink.”
“You know he was just trying to be helpful. And, um, you have to admit, letting Mikepracticeon you might not have been a wise decision.”
I look down at the mermaid on my left forearm, the one who’s more ripped than Conor McGregor. “You’ve got a point.”
“Have you ever gone camping before?”
“With Mike’s family. You?”
“Nope. I’m relying on you foreverything.”
I reach over to stroke my hand up her smooth thigh. “You’re in luck…I’mveryreliable.”
