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As we walk down the sidewalk, I feel a hand entwine with my own and squeeze. Instinctively I think to jerk away, then I realize it’s Gen.
And weirdly, it’s more comforting than anything else.
ELEVEN
LIAM
“You’re late,” Sage sighs as she opens the door to her apartment, her exacerbation at my tardiness clear.
“I’m like five minutes late…” I can’t resist rolling my eyes at her dramatics as I close the door behind me.
Sage walks over to the kitchen, grabs two beers, and hands one to me.
Over the summer, Sage and I developed a habit of watching Braves games from the balcony of her apartment. The apartment that I’m almost positive she—or Hannah, now—doesn’t pay full rent for has an unobstructed view of Truist Park, home of the Atlanta Braves. While I have never been a massive baseball fan, I’ll admit there is a certain level of community surrounding our local team, leaving me catching far more games than I would have prior to meeting Sage.
The regular season is over, so unfortunately we won’t be viewing the game from above, but with the Braves playing the World Series, Sage has moved her flatscreen TV out onto their covered balcony for a “similar experience.”
“We could have just watched the game inside, you know.”
“And miss this ambiance?” Sage waves her arms around to the sunny but blistering hot October day right as a bird drops a massive dump on the railing only inches outside of the overhang. “Not a chance in hell.”
She lifts her feet to rest them on the patio coffee table, popping the top of the Sweetwater 420 in her hand before she takes a massive gulp.
“Who are they playing?”
“Phillies.” She barely looks up from the TV screen.
My attention diverts to the game on the screen, right at the exact moment a Philadelphia player hits a home run, giving them an early lead in the second half of the first inning. Sage groans, then takes a large gulp of her beer.
“Heads up, Hannah is supposed to be home soon, so don’t be a dick.”
“Who, me?” I feign offense at her words.
Truth be told, my mind hasn’t diverted from Hannah and the brunch yesterday much, if at all.
“Yes, you.” Sage glares at me before shifting her attention back to the game.
I’ve witnessed Linda go after Hannah on more occasions than I would like to admit, and I’ve always felt it wasn’t my place to say anything. Hell, even yesterday I cringe at the memory of inserting myself into their family issues.
Yet, I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again.
I can still imagine the look on Linda’s face when I said something, and my stomach knots at the memory. Despite this, my mind wanders to how Hannah looked when her mom was berating her, and suddenly I find myself filled with the same level of irritation toward her mother as yesterday.
It’s just unnecessary.
My family isn’t perfect, but I could never imagine eitherof my parents talking to me the way Hannah’s mom talks to her. I can’t wrap my head around it. I can’t even fathom my dad not stepping in to defend me if my mom ever reacted the way Linda did and always does when it comes to Hannah.
The frost of my full beer bites into my hand, causing me to shift it to my other. I pull it to my lips and down a large gulp.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Sage’s eyes shift to mine for a split second before she returns to watching the game, but her focus is still on me, expecting a response.
“About what?”
Her eyes move back to mine, a look ofReally, Liam?painted across her brow.
The TV roars to life, pulling our attention back to the game as a blur of white jersey with “Braves” plastered across the front slides into home, earning our team just shy of a grand slam, with three players running home as the ball sails over the far outfield wall.
“Fuck yeah!” Sage yells, her previous prying mentality lost in the excitement of the game.
