Loving Liam

by Loretta Lost

I have been pacing across the hardwood floor of Liam’s studio apartment for what must be hours. It’s nearly 4 AM and I haven’t heard anything from the boys, even though I’ve sent multiple texts and voicemails. I’m beginning to worry that their bachelor party got out of hand, and I’m beginning to wonder whether they’re coming home at all. Why did I do this? I’m a terrible spy, and I shouldn’t have attempted a mission that was so far above my pay grade.

  When I hear a key turning in the lock, I rush to the door and help to open it. “Owen!” I exclaim in frustration. “It’s so late. Why didn’t you respond to my—oh my god!” When I see Owen struggling to drag Liam’s lifeless body into the apartment, my heart leaps into my throat and I move to help him. Liam is very heavy, even with his recent weight loss. “What the hell did you do to him?”

  “Do you know how difficult it is to get this man drunk?” Owen asks me angrily. “He’s a tank!” Reaching in his pocket to retrieve the plastic vial containing Liam’s saliva, Owen shoves it toward me. “Here! I hope it was worth it. I had to roofie him.”

  “You roofied my husband!” I say in outrage.

  “Husband-to-be, and yes. There was no other way,” Owen says, rubbing his neck and sighing. “Look, Helen. It’s been a rough night. I upheld my promise and got you the sample. Let’s just get Liam to bed.”

  Unable to think for a moment, I stare at Owen warily. “Where would you even get the drugs?” I whisper.

  “I work in a hospital, remember? Seriously, don’t worry, Helen. It’s a lot safer to sedate someone with a sedative than to make them pass out from too much alcohol. It’s not the first time I’ve drugged Liam. Here, grab his feet.”

  My brain starts working, and I take a deep breath. I stoop down to help Owen take Liam to bed, regretting my selfish decisions every step of the way. “Wait,” I say suddenly. “You’ve done it to him before? When?”

  “When you were in the hospital, after your car accident,” Owen explains as he lifts Liam’s upper body onto the bed. “The poor man didn’t sleep for a few days, and he was losing his mind. So I slipped something into his coffee.”

  “Oh,” I mumble. After we manage to get Liam entirely onto the bed, I sit down abruptly and place my head in my hands. “I never meant to hurt him like this. Am I a horrible person?”

  “No way,” Owen says, reaching out to squeeze my shoulder. “He’s been unreasonable lately, and I understand why you wanted the sample. But I’m not doing anything like this again unless it’s a matter of life or death, okay? We’re even now.”

  I nod in agreement, unable to speak. “I’m so sorry, Owen. Thank you. Oh god, what happened to your neck?”

  Owen winces and touches some nasty red bruises around his neck, in the shape of handprints. “Let’s just say that Liam had a little panic attack. Not related to the medication, but to those nightmares of his. He was ranting… I think we need to get him some help.”

  “Carmen suggested hypnotherapy,” I say softly.

  “That might work, but we might need stronger stuff. I don’t know if he’s delusional, or…”

  “Or?” I ask, pushing him for more information. “Owen, spill it. What did you find out?”

  He hesitates. “Nothing. I better go. I already betrayed my buddy enough for one night.”

  “Owen, we’re talking about Liam’s mental health here. If there’s anything you can tell me so that I can try to help him get better…”

  “Give me some time to think about it,” he says softly. “I need to do some research.”

  “Okay,” I say in a small voice.

  Owen notices that I’m really shaken up, and reaches out to give me a hug. “Get those samples tested,” he tells me, patting my back. “Make sure you send them off in time, or I drugged my best friend for nothing!” He grins and winks at me before turning to head for the door. “And get some rest, little lady!”

  I am finally able to breathe, because Owen’s smile makes me feel better. Things can’t be that bad if Owen is still smiling, right?

  Moving over to the bed, I lean over to place a kiss on Liam’s forehead.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell his sleeping form. “I am so, so sorry for doing this to you. Forgive me.”

  Feeling the warmth of his skin against my lips, and the steadiness of his breathing, reassures me that he is okay. Of course, he is. Owen would never do anything to hurt his best friend. And he also did this to help me. I take several deep breaths, and stand up straighter, clutching the vial of saliva in my hand. Moving back to the kitchen, I open the drawer with the FedEx envelope containing my sample, and add Liam’s to the package.

  “Mission accomplished,” I say weakly to myself, in a lame attempt at humor. “The sample has been successfully acquired.”

  As I tuck the envelope back into the drawer so that I can mail it first thing in the morning, I am thankful for the fact that I am a writer and not a secret agent. I couldn’t stand this much excitement on a regular basis. I would have a nervous breakdown.

  Chapter Ten

  Dr. Liam Larson

  The sound of a door closing causes me to stir. I open my eyes carefully, wondering what city I’m in. Did we end up getting a hotel room after all? Am I going to miss my shift at work today? Or did Owen drive back to New York? I don’t remember. This is a little unsettling to me; I haven’t been blackout drunk in… ever. Maybe there was one time in high school, but I could have just been really tired. As I pull myself upright, I am expecting my head to start pounding with all the ferocity of a frat-boy hangover, but I am pleasantly surprised that I don’t feel too miserable.

  I’ve had worse hangovers after sharing a bottle of wine with Helen.

  I am also relieved to see that I am in my own apartment. On the bedside table, I notice a glass of water and a packet of Alka-Seltzer waiting for me, with a note:

  Her sense of humor brings a smile to my face. I am surprised when I hear someone moving around in the kitchen. Did she already leave and return? Glancing at the clock, I am surprised to see that it is nearly 7 AM.

  “Helen?” I call out, turning and throwing my legs off the bed. I am still wearing my clothes from the night before, and they are wrinkled and uncomfortable. It looks like someone took off my shoes, belt, and jacket, but I must have been too heavy to completely undress.

  I hear her footsteps approaching, and I see that she is fully clothed. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” she says with a smile. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine, actually,” I tell her as I stretch out my stiff arms. “Kind of well rested. That must have been the most sleep I’ve gotten in weeks.”

  “Really?” she asks me in surprise. “Owen only brought you home around 4 AM. You haven’t slept that much.”

  “I haven’t been able to sleep for more than an hour without waking up lately—then I have trouble getting back to sleep. Maybe I should get drunk more often. I didn’t even have any nightmares.” Reaching for the glass of water, I am glad that I don’t need the Alka-Seltzer. “So what are you doing up this early? Where did you go?” I ask her.

  “I had an errand to run,” she explains. “Post office.”

  “Book-related stuff?” I ask her. “Or wedding related?”

  She hesitates. “I guess you could say that it was wedding-related. It’s sort of a surprise.”

  “Mmmm,” I say, putting the glass of water down, and moving over to give her a hug. “The only surprises I want are ones that involve your body.” I nibble gently on her neck as I tighten my arms around her.

  Helen laughs lightly and leans against my chest. “Oh, it definitely involves my body,” she tells me mischievously, “And yours. Doing very, very dirty things together.”

  “Do I get a sneak preview?” I ask her, but my phone starts beeping and I groan as I step away and search for it in my pocket. “Rain check on that. I have to shower and head to work. I don’t even remember what happened with Owen last night, so I have no idea how filthy these clothes are.”

  “But you’r
e feeling okay?” she asks me gently, placing her hand against my forehead and running it over my hair. “You sure you don’t want to take the day off work?”

  “For a little hangover?” I ask her in surprise.

  “I just don’t know how exhausted you are after yesterday,” Helen says with concern. “You worked all day, and partied all night.”

  “Helen, I’m not that old,” I tell her teasingly. “I can handle a late night and a little alcohol. As long as I don’t get drunk like this on a regular basis, you won’t need to send me to AA.” I am turning and heading for the shower when she clamps her hand around my elbow to keep me from leaving.

  “Liam!” she says. “I’m really worried about you. I don’t know what happened with you guys last night, but Owen had some pretty bad bruises.”

  My eyes narrow in confusion. “What?” I ask haltingly. “Did I…?”

  “Yeah,” she says softly. “He said it was something to do with your nightmares?”

  My throat constricts a little. What did I say? What did I do? The dark feeling starts creeping across my chest again. “I’ll apologize when I see him today. For now, I’d better shower and head to work.”

  “No, Liam,” Helen says pleadingly. “Something’s wrong. And you keep rushing out before we even get a chance to really talk…”

  “I’m just busy, love. I wish I could spend more time with you, but if I’m not at the hospital…”

  “You can’t work twelve hours a day on barely any sleep,” she accuses me. “Liam, you’re close to full-blown burnout.”

  “I’ve always spent long hours at work, Helen. You know this about me. I’ve experienced burnout before, when I was doing my residency, but this isn’t even close.”

  “But the nightmares…”

  “Are not related to me being overworked,” I assure her.

  “Still, you tried to harm Owen,’” she tells me softly. “I think we should get you some help. We should talk to someone.”

  “I can’t!” I snap at her, and I immediately feel guilty when she flinches. I did not intend to sound so angry. Taking a deep breath, I shake my head. “Don’t you understand that if I have any kind of documented mental illness, it could cause me to lose my medical license? If I talk to a doctor about my issues, they’ll probably diagnose me with depression or something—trust me, there is always a diagnosis. They might recommend medication or therapy, and while it might make me better temporarily, I’ll have to disclose it when it’s time for renewal. The medical board might put me under investigation and interview my therapist, and he can choose to tell them that I’m unfit to perform as a doctor. I went to school with a girl who lost her license this way. It could destroy my whole life.”

  “You can’t put your career above your health,” Helen implores as she tightens her grip on my arm. “There must be something we can do.”

  I hesitate. “Okay. Maybe I’ll ask someone to prescribe me some sleeping pills, so at least I can get some more rest. Once I’m sleeping more restfully, I think the other issues should be easily resolved. Does that sound reasonable?”

  “Yes,” she says softly. I only then notice that her eyes are puffy and red, like she has been up all night. “But it’s not enough.”

  “I have a buddy at the hospital who deals with a lot of sleep-related illnesses. Maybe I can ask him for some advice, off the record?”

  Helen nods hesitantly. “I guess that will work for now.”

  “Great,” I say, moving forward to give her a kiss on the forehead. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to wash all the Vegas glitter off my body before my fiancée suspects what happened last night and leaves me standing at the altar.”

  When she smiles at my joke, I wink at her and head for the shower. I lock the bathroom door and step into the tiled enclosure, before turning on the cold water. I lean forward and let the freezing water wash over my head as I stare down at the tiles. It’s so cold.

  Did I really hurt Owen yesterday? I wish I could remember. Is there really something wrong with me? Even as I stand here, completely awake, the haunting images from my nightmare rush back to me.

  “It’s so cold. She doesn’t even have clothes yet. Can we go back now?”

  “There is no baby. There never was a baby.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Helen Winters

  “I’m standing outside the bridal shop,” I say loudly into the phone, trying to be heard over the noise of the city traffic and people walking by.

  “Hellie, I’m sorry. I don’t feel up to it.”

  “You don’t even have to change out of your pajamas!” I assure my sister. “The shop is right downstairs. You can just throw on a jacket and get in the elevator, and walk across the street—you should see me waving. It’s less than a block away, I swear!”

  “As much as I would love to see you in your dress, or try on my bridesmaid dress, I really don’t feel ready to leave home right now. I know the clothes will look amazing—we ordered really great styles from the catalogue and took careful measurements.”

  I sigh in disappointment. “This sucks, Carm. You’re my only bridesmaid. I wish you could be here—I never got to do this stuff with you when you got married.”

  “It’s fine. I was marrying a schizophrenic rapist who would soon be dead anyway.”

  Lifting my eyebrows, I pause before speaking. “It doesn’t sound like you’re in the greatest mood. I’ve never known you to cancel on any situation related to clothing, Ms. Fashion Blogger. I thought you’d be all over this.”

  “The last time I wore a wedding dress, it got covered in blood and locked away in evidence after I shot a psychopath in the face.”

  “Okay, I can see how that would put a damper on things.” Taking a deep breath, I force a smile; even though my sister cannot see it, I am hoping she can hear it in my voice. “Don’t worry about coming out. I’ll bring the dresses up to you!”

  “I’m so sorry, Hellie.”

  “It’s okay. I was always the one who bailed when you asked me to go shopping when we were younger, so you have a really big pile of coupons you can use to bail on me. I’ll see you soon!”

  Moving to the entrance of the bridal shop, I grasp the handle and walk inside.

  A pretty young shop attendant greets me, and I notice that the letters on her nametag read Kristen. The name strikes a chord in my memory, and I feel like there is something important I have forgotten. Someone I’ve forgotten.

  “I was told that my dresses would be ready for pickup today,” I inform her. “Helen Winters?”

  “Oh, yes! They are in the back. If you’ll just wait here, I’ll prepare a fitting room for you. Are you expecting any of your bridesmaids to join you?”

  “No, they’re busy today,” I lie.

  She nods and disappears, and I keep mulling over where on earth I’ve heard that name before. Did I use it in one of my books for a secondary character? Did I ever know someone named Kristen? Or Kirsten? I try to dig through my brain, and I feel like it’s almost there, at the tip of my tongue. Kristina? When I recovered memories from the last three years, it was never complete. It wasn’t like the movies where an amnesia patient would suddenly remember everything in a cool montage with music playing.

  I had brain damage. I’m lucky that I didn’t lose more memories, or even motor skills. There are still gaps missing here and there, and I still regularly learn of events that completely escaped me. Oftentimes, I never would have regained my memory if something didn’t remind me of what I’d forgotten—and if I didn’t have people in my life to confirm that I was correct about what I remembered.

  I pull out my phone and send Liam a text message:

  The phone informs me that he is already responding, so he must be on a break at work. But before I can receive his message, the saleswoman returns with a bright smile on her face. “The dress is gorgeous!” she says with excitement. “If you come with me to the back, you can try it on and we can make sure everything is okay.”

&nb
sp; “Great,” I say, following her deeper into the store. When my phone pings, I quickly check Liam’s message.

  Krista. That makes sense. It feels right. And she’s a waitress? We were friends? I must have her number in my phone. Maybe I could call or text her. I am trying to imagine her face when the woman I am following stops and turns back to me.

  “We only have one bridesmaid dress here. Is that a mistake?”

  “No, that’s correct,” I tell her.

  “Must be a small wedding,” she comments. “Sometimes those are the best kind! I was supposed to keep it a secret, but your father is here. He said that he wanted to be the first one to see you try on the dress.”

  “Aww,” I respond at once, a soft smile touching my lips. “That’s so sweet of him.”

  “Just right through here,” she says, guiding me.

  My spirits are lifted to know that someone from my family will be here for this moment. There is something very sad about going to pick up your wedding dress alone. This is the sort of thing that Mom would have loved; she would have been all emotional and taken hundreds of photos. I was never really the type of girl who dreamed about having an elaborate wedding, but I did expect there would be some sweet moments spent with my family.

  When I walk through the doorway, I find that my feet are suddenly frozen in place. I try to speak, or move, but my whole body feels paralyzed in shock.

  The man who is waiting in the room for me is not my father.

  My heart jumps into my throat, and I can hear it beating loudly in my ears.

  “Pretty little Helen,” the man says in a sickly sweet voice as he uses a cane to stand up. “I’ve been waitin’ for you.”

  “I’ll give you two some privacy,” the saleswoman says, turning to leave. “The wedding dress is in room three.”

  I want to stop her from leaving, but I am too slow.

  “You’ll be a damn fine lookin’ bride,” the man says as he limps forward, his arm shaking as he uses his cane. “Is it a pricey dress? It must be. This is a snotty store, and you seem like an expensive little whore.”