After The Break

by Andrea Joan

  Day Who the Fuck Knows Post-Liam

  I did it today. I sank to the bottom of the pool. It was quiet just like I knew it would be.

  I stayed down there until my lungs burned, and I contemplated staying even longer.

  Until they stopped burning at all.

  But then I saw his face.

  Liam’s.

  His rare and charming smile.

  His charcoal eyes staring back at me.

  I swear I even heard his voice telling me he loved me over and over.

  So I pushed myself up and swam to the surface so I could breathe again.

  Because somewhere deep down I know that if I was once worthy of Liam’s love, I should be worthy of my own.

  I just don’t know how right now.

  I miss him.

  I love him.

  I miss me.

  I MISS HER. SO fucking much. These last two weeks have been pure fucking torment.

  I’ve run until my legs are numb. Punched my heavy bag until my hands are bloody and knuckles raw. I even caved on the third night without her and drank a fuck ton of whiskey until I passed out with the hope I wouldn’t dream of her while I slept.

  But none of it works, and it’s all another reminder of why having a photographic memory fucking sucks. I’m completely consumed with memories of her. With thoughts of how she’s doing. What she’s doing.

  Is she okay?

  Is she safe?

  Does she miss me?

  The temptation to look her up online is strong, but I promised her I would never Google her, and even if we aren’t together I plan to keep that promise. I put a moratorium on anyone even bringing up her name around me too. Shay has tried to bring it up but I shut her down. I haven’t even gone back to work at the bar yet because everyone around this town looks at me with curiosity and pity and judgment, and I don’t trust myself not to snap if any of those nosy fuckers decide to ask me questions about her.

  Not to mention, for my own fucking sanity I need to stay blind to whatever media bullshit is surrounding her right now. If I see that video of Carl with his hand on her throat again, I will fucking snap and come for him.

  And if I get to him, I will have no fucking problem putting him in the ground.

  I want her back. I want to go back to her, but I know I can’t. Skylar lied to me. She lied right to my face about something that affected her safety, and I gave her a pass even when I knew in my gut that something was off. But she made me weak, and I failed at protecting someone I love all over again.

  The ringing of my cellphone breaks me out of my thoughts. I almost don’t bother answering it because I know it’s just Shay calling from the bar again, trying to get me out of the house, out of my room, out of my funk, but I grab it off the floor of my room anyway because I won’t ignore her. Even if she has been annoying the hell out of me.

  “Shayla, I’m not coming down to the bar today so if that’s what you’re calling for then hang up now,” I tell her before she even has a chance to speak. I’m not in the fucking mood. I adore my sister enough to save her from my shitty fucking attitude in person.

  “This isn’t Shayla, ass,” a familiar male voice says through the phone. Fucking Noah. “And who the hell is Shayla anyway? Two weeks away from Skylar and you already got a replacement? Shit. I obviously made a mistake calling you. Dick.”

  My blood starts to boil at his assumption, but quickly turns cold at the realization that Noah just called me. Why the hell is he calling me? Something must be wrong.

  “Shayla is my sister. Where is she? How is she? Is everything okay?” I don’t waste any time getting to the point, even ignoring his dick comment because I know he thinks he’s defending Skylar.

  “Oh. Sorry, man. Didn’t even know you had a sister.”

  “It’s fine. But why are you calling me? Is it about Sky?”

  “Of course it’s about Skylar. You know, I have to say you actually had me fooled. I thought you would be good for her, stick by her no matter what. The fact that you up and ditched her at a time like this—”

  “Ditched her? Not that I need to explain myself to you or anyone else because this is between me and Skylar, but I fucking will anyway as a courtesy seeing as you’re her family, but I didn’t ditch her. She lied to me. Told me Carl wasn’t an issue, that he had never hurt her. She put herself in danger and then looked me in the eyes and lied about it when I asked her a direct fucking question. Not to mention, I’m pretty fucking sure she has a drug problem that she lied about. I didn’t ditch her. I took a break so I didn’t say shit I would regret to the woman I love, and so I didn’t end up in jail for murdering her father. I put distance between us in order to give her the opportunity to close it with the truth.”

  “Hold on a second. Drug problem? What the hell are you talking about, Liam? Skylar does not have a drug problem.”

  “Don’t fucking treat me like an idiot, Noah. I’m not some naïve little hick over here. Sky was acting off. That girl was on ten for almost an entire week and she barely slept the whole time. She’s been hyper as fuck. And don’t even get me started on that night at Vacancy. You all can coddle her and kiss her ass and act like what’s happening isn’t actually happening, but I won’t do that to her. I protect and look after what’s mine. Even if I’m protecting them from themselves.”

  “Jesus, Liam. She isn’t on drugs. Haven’t you been watching the news? Seen a tabloid? Fucking turned on a television?” he says in a tone that sets me on edge.

  “No. That’s not my thing, and I’ve been busy.”

  Liar.

  He takes a deep breath before speaking, and what he says causes my knees to give out until I’m sitting down on my bed.

  “She’s bipolar, Liam. She wasn’t on drugs. She was racing. Hyperactive. She was on her upswing.” Bipolar? Why the hell did she not tell me this? What the fuck is going on right now? “She was diagnosed over a year ago but refused treatment, pretended it wasn’t real. Shit,” he curses under his breath. “I mean, I knew she hadn’t told you yet, but I thought you would have at least heard it on the news. Carl outed her diagnosis a week ago at a fucking press conference, used it as his explanation as to why he treated her the way he did in that leaked video. Like he was somehow protecting himself from a violent outburst. Blamed it all on her. The fact that the lawsuit with Jeff leaked didn’t help her at all either.”

  That fucking cocksucker. “Is she okay? How is she handling this right now?” I fucking left her. I left her and she is dealing with this shit on her own. I don’t know much about what it means to be bipolar, but I do know the generic description. High highs. Low lows. I’m also starting to connect the dots in my head now, and her behavior is all starting to make sense.

  “That’s why I’m calling. Well, actually, I was calling to bitch your ass out, but seeing as you clearly had no damn clue, I will amend the original plan of this conversation.”

  “Does the amendment include you getting to the point fucking faster?” I don’t mean to be a dick—well, maybe I do, but only because, seriously, he needs to get to the point.

  “She’s in a bad place, man. Barely left her bed in days. She won’t leave the house, which I don’t blame her for because the paparazzi have been swarming outside her place for days, waiting for her to come out. They won’t leave her alone because she’s worth more to them if she’s having a mental breakdown, so they will push her to it if they can. She barely eats. She’s at a low point biologically, but that coupled with losing you and Carl outing her…she’s fucking bad, Liam. She needs help and I have no idea how to help her. She won’t listen to me or Winter, and Cass is definitely in no place to help anyone else. He can’t even help himself. But she might listen to you.”

  “She hasn’t lost me,” I mumble.

  “What?”

  “She hasn’t lost me. We aren’t over.” We are so not fucking over. And while I appreciate Noah and Winter taking care of her the best way they know how, I know I can do better. I’m meant t
o do fucking better because she belongs with me. Not that I’m doing shit to prove that right now. I ran out on Sky when she needed me because I couldn’t see past my anger, past my own hurt and need for control.

  I’m a selfish asshole.

  “Can you find a way to get her here?” I ask him.

  “What?”

  “Can you find a way to get her to Orcas Island without the paparazzi or anyone else finding out about it?”

  “I mean, yeah, I think so. I’m sure I can get her there without anyone finding out, I could use a friend’s plane or something. That won’t be the problem though.”

  “What’s the problem, then?”

  “I don’t know if I can get her to agree to come. I’m not sure I can get her to go anywhere, let alone to you.”

  “Tell her I’m in the hospital.”

  “In the hospital?”

  “Yes. Tell her I crashed my fucking bike and I’m in the ICU or something. That will get her here.”

  He sighs into the phone. “Yeah, that’ll do it. But she will be pissed when she figures out we lied.”

  “Like I give a fuck. We can’t get shit figured out there in L.A. I can’t be there right now, and neither can she. Just get her here, yeah? And quick.”

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll get her there by tomorrow. I’ll text you the details.”

  “You’re going to fly with her, right?”

  “Of course I’m going to fly with her. I love her too, Liam. She’s my family. I’ve been with her longer than you, don’t forget that.”

  His unspoken message is clear, and I will never forget or ignore his role in her life.

  “I won’t. Thanks for bringing her to me.”

  “You got it. I’ll send you the info in a few hours.”

  We don’t say goodbye; there is no need. What I need to do is give my family a heads-up that we’ll be having a houseguest. Then from now until Skylar lands, I’ll be reading and researching every fucking thing I can about bipolar disorder so I’m prepared to help her.

  When the plane touches down on the tarmac I’m suddenly fucking nervous because Noah gave me a heads-up that Sky is pissed we lied in order to get her here. I’m also nervous because it’s been weeks since I’ve seen her and I don’t know what she will be like with what’s been going on with her lately.

  If she looks broken, I may fucking break with her, and that’s not fair to her. I need to be there for her, not fall apart with her. I get out of my dad’s truck when the door to the private plane opens. I see two figures standing at the top of the stairs, hugging, obviously Noah and Skylar. He is dropping her off and heading back to L.A. in order to somehow keep up the pretense that she is still there. I’m not sure how he can do that without her actually being there, but he seemed pretty confident about it so I didn’t ask questions. Quite frankly, I’m glad he’s going home. Not that I don’t like the guy, but I need alone time with Skylar.

  I shove my hands into my pockets, trying not to jump out of my fucking skin as it seems to take her a fucking week to finish up with Noah. When she descends the stairs and starts walking toward me, I let out a breath. Even in sweatpants and a hoodie she still looks gorgeous as ever. Tired and maybe thinner, but it’s still her. She hasn’t looked up from the ground yet, and I wish she fucking would. As she gets closer, I say her name and she stops. She can’t be more than fifteen feet from me. I close the distance between us, careful to give her some space. When I hear her whisper “sorry,” my heart cracks. I lift her chin so she finally looks at me, and when I see her tears, that crack spreads like a web.

  “I’m so sorry, Liam.” I waste no time pulling her into my arms. I pull so hard the bag she’s holding drops to the ground, but she doesn’t fight me. Her arms instinctively wrap around me as she buries her face deep into my chest, her tears seeping through my shirt and onto my skin. I let her cry until she has nothing left, until she’s near exhaustion. I tell her it will all be okay and I tell her I’m sorry too.

  So fucking sorry.

  Sorry for leaving her when she needed me the most. Sorry for being too weak to help her. When she tries to shake her head in disagreement, I start stroking her hair until her breathing slows. Then I lift her into my arms and settle her in the cab of the truck. I grab her small duffle bag and throw it in the back. By the time we make it to my house, she is fast asleep. It’s only afternoon, but I know she has to be exhausted. I can see it in her face. I don’t bother to wake her. I just lay her down in my bed where she belongs, place a light kiss to her soft lips, climb in next to her, then I fall asleep.

  “Are you watching me sleep?” Sky says, stretching her muscles out in my bed that she happens to look very fucking sexy in.

  “Yep.” No need to lie. I’m sitting in my office chair obviously staring at her. I woke up about an hour after we fell asleep. She slept two more.

  “That’s a little creepy.” Her tone is happy, but her smile is a little sad.

  “Whatever, you love it. You missed my creepy ass. Admit it.” That gets me a bigger smile. Not a full-blown one, but I’ll take it.

  “I can’t believe I’m here right now. In your room. It’s kind of surreal.”

  “I like seeing you here in my room. But I am sorry for what I had to do to get you here.”

  “Oh yeah! I’m so fucking mad at you for that!” She throws one of my pillows at me.

  “Hey, I said I was sorry.” I throw it back at her.

  “It was a shitty thing to do. I was devastated. I thought you were going to die! Noah didn’t even tell me the truth until we were almost here.”

  “Probably self-preservation on his part. He knew you might be tempted to throw him out of the plane.”

  “The thought did cross my mind.”

  “Baby, we didn’t know how else to get you here. That was the only thing I could think of. We both know you wouldn’t have come if I just flat-out asked.”

  “You don’t know that. You didn’t even try to ask.” I have to admit, her looking all sleepy and angry is fucking cute. I would tell her, but I’m sure that would piss her off even more.

  “I do know that because you would’ve been too scared and felt too fucking ashamed and afraid to see me. Just like you’ve been the last two months.”

  Her face falls and we both know I’ve got her dead to rights.

  “Noah told me he told you.” She doesn’t need to specify, we both know what she’s talking about. “He told me you didn’t know.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I thought that’s why you weren’t calling me. That you saw the press conference Carl did, read what the tabloids were saying.”

  “Sky, I promised you on that plane that I would never Google you, never pay attention to anything in the press about you, and I meant that. Even if I hadn’t said that, I wouldn’t have heard or seen a fucking thing about this. I’ve barely even left my house these last few weeks. Trust me, you have not been the only one hurting here. I’ve been like Howard fucking Hughes in the fortress of solitude.”

  “That’s Superman.”

  “What?”

  “Superman has the fortress of solitude. You somehow just managed to refer to yourself as a genius and a superhero all in one mixed-up analogy. That’s a whole level of cocky I don’t think anyone has ever reached before.”

  I laugh. Hard. “Fuck I missed you, baby.” I go sit next to her on the bed, pulling her into my arms.

  “I missed you too. So much.” She starts to kiss me, and I let her pull away before it goes too far. My cock is hard enough—if it gets any harder, I’m going to fuck her into next week. And we can’t do that. We need to talk first.

  “Sky, as much as I want to do this, we need to talk first. I need you to tell me more about your bipolar diagnosis.”

  “Wow, so you are just getting right down to it, aren’t you?”

  I wink. “Pink T-Rex, baby.”

  “Touché.” She laughs, shaking her head. “I don’t know where to start.”

  “Star
t with when you think it started.”

  “I mean, I don’t really know. I guess over a year ago. There may have been signs before, but I never noticed. Sometimes I would get a little depressed, but I would just always chalk it up to hormones or having a bad day. I never gave it much thought. Everyone seems to have days like that. Then I would be fine—better than fine—I would be feeling great. But two years ago is when I experienced the racing for the first time.”

  “Noah mentioned something about that. Racing. Explain it to me.”

  “I would just get hyper, for lack of a better word. Talking nonstop, moving nonstop, my mind felt like it needed to be constantly stimulated. I was like a shark. If I slowed down, if I stopped, I would die. It was like a damn adrenaline rush. That’s when the tabloids first started reporting I was a drug addict. Hooked on coke or speed, whatever drug they could throw out there that fit my behavior. I was out partying for almost a week straight, all through the night until the next day, throwing back drinks like they were water just to try and slow my thoughts down. People just assumed I was high.”

  That’s when it clicks. That fucking nickname. “Speedy.”

  She nods. “Yep. That was Cass. He bestowed me with that shitty fucking nickname because he was out with me every night the first time. He was impressed by my stamina, mostly because he was actually high on coke the whole time. He knew I wasn’t doing it because he kept offering and I kept declining.”

  Just picturing her out clubbing with him, dancing with him, touching and fucking him is starting to piss me off. He should have been taking care of her, been paying attention, known something was wrong like I did. Hell, I had only known her two months and I knew something was wrong.

  “Anyway, after about five days of that, I crashed. Hard. I was depressed, tired, angry. Mostly at myself because I was ashamed about my behavior. It kept playing through my head over and over, and I kept torturing myself by looking at the tabloids and reading the articles about what a screw-up I was. Then after a few weeks I just snapped out of it. I was better. I felt like me again, whatever that means.” She scoots closer and I wrap my arm around her, willing her to keep going. “It wasn’t until the second time, last year, that I knew something was wrong. I couldn’t accept it then though any more than I could this last time.”