Bad Habit, page 22
“I’m what?” Liam pushed away from the sand.
“It’s not right. You shouldn’t feel all trapped into hanging around, needing a ride.”
“Trapped? Like, you mean, with you? For fuck’s sake, Scott. I thought you—we—”
“Now who’s going from zero to a hundred? I want this to work. Us. So when we get an apartment—”
Liam launched himself on top of Scott. “It’s our second date and you’re asking me to move in?”
Scott had latched his arms around Liam’s ribs as he landed. Now Scott dropped them to his sides. “Asshole.”
“Sorry. I’m just—you—” Liam kissed him.
It was too much, too big for words. Scott saw a future for them. Scott trusted him—them—enough to want to live together again. The carbonation in his blood crossed into his brain and God, everything was going to be good again. Scott held Liam’s shoulders, mouth opening for him, the stroke of tongues rippling sensation down Liam’s spine so he had to get closer, get more.
When he stopped for a breath, Scott’s eyes were lit up with those sunbursts, wide and soft and hopeful. “Is that a yes?”
“To an apartment, yes. To you buying me a car, no. You need the money for the IRS.”
“Chai’s not planning on firing me yet. Even if we get something close to a busline, you need to be able to get around. To get to work. Because we both know the shit is going to hit the fan when you tell your mom.”
Liam slid off onto a hip.
“Or were you planning on never bringing it up?” Scott went on.
Liam rolled onto his back and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, which got sand in them. “Fuck.”
Scott was right. It definitely would be a shit show. To make it worse, he’d have to admit he’d lied when she asked. She might like to phrase things in her recovery-speak way about Scott’s anger addiction and learned helplessness, but Liam knew it was more. To her, Scott was a reminder of someone who’d been there for Liam when she couldn’t be and she’d never forgive Scott for that. The sand was cold against his back and scratching the hell out of his corneas.
Liam blinked hard to get the sand out. “No. Just putting it off. Like maybe until moving day?”
Scott leaned over him and brushed the sand away gently. “Hey. I’m not going to push. That’s between you and your mom. But we gotta make it so you can get around. You shouldn’t have to be dependent on me either.”
A car had always been at the top of Scott’s wish list, and Liam understood the freedom it represented to Scott. Being able to drive himself would make Liam’s life easier though.
“Okay.”
Scott arched a brow.
“We can look into getting me a car,” Liam clarified. “And us an apartment. And eventually telling my mom. But two things are not up for negotiation.”
“Is this like a prenup or something?” Scott smirked.
“I don’t know, are you proposing?”
“No.” Scott’s stunned expression made Liam laugh.
He thought about it for a second. About making promises in front of a clerk and some witnesses. Scott’s cop friend and maybe Reeve. Maybe someday.
But even getting married couldn’t make this any more real, wouldn’t change how Scott was the only person who let—no, made—Liam be whole. Scott’s honesty didn’t let Liam fake anything. His anger forced out the darker feelings Liam always wanted to hide. Loving Scott would always come with some pain, and it was good because it kept Liam from being numbed into niceness.
He had to say it. “I really fucking love you. You get that, right?”
Scott’s mouth twisted like he was disgusted, but his eyes stayed bright and happy. “Yeah.” He ducked his head and kissed Liam’s palm. “Me too.” Shifting onto his belly, Scott stretched out on the sheet. “Christ. This dating shit is exhausting. I need some sleep before I drive back.”
It was stupid, but Liam would miss him while Scott was asleep. But Liam pressed himself up. “Go ahead. I’ll wake you up in an hour or so.”
“Hey. Almost forgot. What are the two nonnegotiable things?”
“I get to make music.”
“Of course.” Scott grunted like it was the only possible answer.
“And I get to be with you.”
SCOTT SCRUBBED the sweat off his face and neck in the storeroom sink and patted around with a towel. He didn’t think he’d even have time to feel the dips and ridges in that cot before he was asleep.
It had been one hell of a night. Chai had him filling drinks and running stock and working the register and security. Mostly security. Delayed Autopsies went in big for costumes and theater, so they had some weird-ass fucking fans. The face tattoos alone were enough to give him nightmares.
His phone chirped with a text.
U up?
He sat on the cot to answer Liam. Booty call much?
The phone rang a second later. “What’s up?”
“Hey.”
Scott couldn’t afford the minutes for phone or text sex, but as soon as he heard Liam’s voice, it was obvious that wasn’t the reason for the call.
Liam sighed. “Christ. I really wish you were here.” His voice sounded like it had been wrung out to dry.
“Rough time at work?”
“Nothing special.”
Scott waited. Phones hadn’t ever been their thing, so he didn’t know if this would work the same way it did in person.
After a few quick breaths from Liam, Scott got his answer.
“You know how I said I didn’t get that dream often.”
A jolt of adrenaline pulled Scott up off the cot. Liam thrashing, punching, trapped in the kind of night terror Scott had gotten when he was younger, and no one was there now to pull him out. There was nothing Scott could say or do to fix it, nothing for the adrenaline burst to do but make him nauseous and leave him pacing.
What could he say? “Right.”
“Stupid, I know. Just a dream.”
But they both knew that wasn’t true. Liam had been soaked with sweat, muscles shaking when Scott pulled him awake.
“Scott.”
He couldn’t have the phone pressed any closer to his ear without putting it through his skull.
There was a wet sort of click, like Liam had swallowed. “I need—”
Scott didn’t make him finish it. “I’ll be right over.”
On mostly empty streets, it was a fifteen-minute drive. Scott made it in under ten. It wasn’t until he was parked in front of the house he’d seen Liam come out of that the parade of complications marched through Scott’s head.
He grabbed his phone.
“I’m here. You want to come out?” The house was one-story. Maybe Liam’s bedroom was in the front, easy enough to make it to the door.
“Not really.” Liam’s voice had an uncertain waver in it that squeezed Scott’s ribs like a giant fist.
“I don’t suppose you’re wearing your leg.”
“My room is the back left as you face the house.”
Scott tucked the phone in his pocket and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. Because what Scott’s night really needed was a creep around the outside of Marilyn Walsh Becker’s house at three thirty in the morning. He did it anyway.
Liam opened his window as Scott walked up. The ledge was about the middle of Scott’s chest—if he’d been able to get that close. There was a prickly bush in the way.
A shirtless Liam leaned out. “Aren’t you supposed to throw pebbles?”
Scott stared at him. “You want me to hit you with rocks?”
“Never mind.”
This was why things got so fucked-up. Scott could not make himself stop and think shit through when Liam was involved. Liam needed him, and here he was. Those diagnoses had been wrong. Scott didn’t have poor impulse control. He had poor Liam control. Light flashed in the cloud-filled sky. Two Mississippis later, a long roll of thunder beat on the bones of Scott’s ears.
Right then, poor Liam control was going to get Scott wet. “So what now?” Scott whispered.
“You could come in.” Liam jerked his thumb at the room behind him.
“Seriously?” Despite himself, Scott tried to get closer. The bush drove tiny needles through his jeans up to midthigh. Scott wasn’t thrilled about risking his boys in a climb. “A neighbor’s probably already called the cops. I’ll be lucky to not get shot.”
The light flicked on in the room behind Liam. “Liam, honey. Are you—what are you doing?”
Marilyn appeared behind Liam’s shoulders and stared silently at Scott as another rumble echoed and mumbled to a stop.
“Scott,” she said finally on a long-ass sigh.
He nodded. “Mrs. Becker.”
“Perhaps you could use the front door if you’d like to visit.” Her too-pleasant tone dug in sharper than the thorns on the bush.
He should have worn a fucking ski mask.
Chapter Twenty-Three
MOM LEFT his room with a sighed We need to talk. Liam grabbed his crutches and swung himself at the door with the biggest jumps he could manage, terrified that by the time he got to the front steps, Scott would already be a blur of taillights.
But when Liam yanked open the door, Scott was on the cement stoop, chewing on his thumbnail with his other hand tucked in his pocket. Liam’s chest loosened enough for him to catch his breath. Maybe he was just as bad as he accused Scott of being, quick to see disaster in everything. He needed to remember how it had felt on the beach. Just them. Everything else was bullshit.
Scott stared at his boots. “So, I should go.”
“No. You should stay.”
Scott looked up at him, brows wrinkled in confusion.
“I put it off, but that was wrong,” Liam explained. “And this isn’t just about me. We’re not giving anyone else the power to fuck us up.” He reached for Scott, and when Scott didn’t retreat, Liam pulled him into the house. “You were invited in. Let’s have some coffee.”
No confusion now, just that one brow arch Scott did when he didn’t have a good answer right then. He’d damned well better hope that he never lost control of his facial muscles. God forbid Scott have to actually say what he was feeling.
One bonus to Mom being in recovery was that there was always a pot of coffee ready. She didn’t have a lot of fancy stuff in her kitchen, but her coffee maker was like something from a spaceship. It even ground the beans. He poured them both a mug and, since he was fucking exhausted, let Scott carry the coffees to the dining table so they could sit down.
“Sorry about that,” Liam offered, curling his hand around the mug while low thunder vibrated the fillings in his molars.
“You control the weather now?”
“You know what I meant.”
A murmur of voices, Mom’s and Greg’s in the hall, was followed by the flush of a toilet and a bedroom door creaking closed. Then Mom cut through the dining room on her way to the kitchen. Oh shit. She could not seriously be planning for the We need to talk to happen now?
Her coming back in with her Progress, Not Perfection mug and pulling out a chair answered that. Liam snuck a sideways look at Scott in the chair next to him. He didn’t look angry, but Liam knew that blank face. It meant he was keeping something locked in. Sometimes the look meant he was a second away from grabbing Liam and kissing him until he couldn’t breathe. But usually it was an indication that he was about a second away from exploding into punch-a-hole-in-the-wall rage.
Liam wished he was the optimist Scott always bitched about him being. It was just that life had made Liam used to working without a net. Tonight it seemed like it was one hell of a long way down. He took a step out onto the high wire and squeezed Scott’s thigh under the table. It was like trying to reassure granite.
Scott and his blank face stared down into his coffee. Liam wasn’t even sure he was blinking.
Mom took two long sips on her mug, then put it down and looked right at Liam. “You could have told me the truth. I specifically asked if you were back with Scott.”
“Because you would have approved?”
“Of course I wouldn’t.”
Liam tried to keep his voice calm. “I’m twenty-seven years old. I don’t need you to approve of who I date.”
“Obviously. But you’re not acting like you’re twenty-seven. You’re acting like a teenager sneaking a boy into your bedroom.”
Scott slumped back against his chair. “Gotta award the points to Mom there,” he sneered.
“We didn’t—I didn’t want you to know. Because you’ve always been down on him. On us.” It took everything Liam had been learning about controlling his voice to not sound like a whiny brat. “You think either of us wanted to deal with more of that?”
Mom rested a hand on the table, palm up. Something out of her substance abuse counselor classes, probably. “If you think something is right, you don’t lie and hide, Liam. What does that tell you?”
Scott made a sound in his throat, something like a growl, but whether he agreed with Mom or not wasn’t clear.
“You’ve never had anything good to say about Scott. What does that tell you?” Liam didn’t give a shit what his voice did now.
Mom folded her hands in her lap and looked at them before meeting his eyes again. “I admit that when I was using, I saw him as competition for your attention. I used your support to enable my addiction, and he pulled you away from me. I know I wasn’t your mother when you needed me to be, honey.”
There were tears in her eyes and in her voice. Liam swallowed. “It’s okay. You were sick.” The words spilled out, easy and familiar, like they had his whole life. But tonight, the aftertaste was more bitter than the coffee.
“And, Scott, I owe you an apology for my behavior then too. Liam’s enabling must have put a lot of stress on you.”
Scott shoved away from the table, grabbed his mug, and strode off into the kitchen. Liam held his breath. Any moment there’d be a shatter as the mug hit the sink, the floor, the wall. He waited for the slam of the back door, but everything was quiet.
“I get it, Mom.” Liam’s ears still strained toward the kitchen. “But that doesn’t explain what your issue is with Scott now.”
“Because I can see that this isn’t healthy for either of you. If you’d go to the Nar-Anon meetings, you’d see the patterns.”
“I’m not a fucking pattern, Mom. Neither is Scott.”
She shut her eyes and picked up her mug, but Liam didn’t see her drink from it.
“Scott has never addressed his addiction to anger. Until he understands his powerlessness—it will impact his life and the life of anyone who loves him.”
“Jesus Christ, Mom. Scott would never hurt me.” He managed to not rub the bridge of his nose. There was still a bump there. But he wasn’t lying. That punch had been a startled reaction. For all the times Scott had been angry enough to break a dish or punch through plaster, he’d never aimed at Liam. “Besides, I think he’s controlling his anger pretty damned well right now.”
The vibration of steps behind him told him Scott had come back out of the kitchen to stand behind Liam’s chair. “Got a lot of practice of you hating me, Marilyn. Twelve years of you telling him I’m a piece of shit and ruining his life.”
Mom shook her head. “It’s not that I dislike you, Scott. I know you’ve faced a lot of challenges in life, and I’m sorry that my addiction added to them.” She turned to Liam. “And you know this has nothing to do with your sexuality, honey. You may be twenty-seven years old. But I can’t stay silent when I can see you walking into disaster.”
“Disaster?” Liam wished he had his prosthesis there so he could take it off and shove it in her face. “I think I’m pretty freaking familiar with disaster.” He leaned back until he felt Scott’s hands against his back. Scott rubbed a knuckle back and forth across a tight muscle. Liam found a way to lower his voice. “I’ve already heard everything you have to say. You said me leaving Scott was the best decision of my life. Yeah. That worked out great.” He lifted his crutch up and used the tip to shove the napkin holder a few inches off center.
Tucking her hair behind her ears, Mom ignored the evidence and went back to her sales pitch. “Which is why I think you should go to Nar-Anon. You’d learn so much. Sweetie, you’re only going to keep hurting each other.”
“I told you Scott would never—”
She cut him off. “Emotionally, I mean. Haven’t you ever wondered why you find Scott so irresistible?”
Liam choked back Have you seen his ass in tight jeans? Scott squeezed the chair back so hard Liam felt the wood shift in the seat.
His mother sighed like she’d heard his thoughts. Her tone sharpened as she leaned forward. “You think dysfunction is love. And that’s my fault, I know. But you just keep creating it because it’s all you know. You chase chaos. Of course you would pick Scott over someone emotionally steady like Deon. You want the codependency of an addict relationship; you need someone to try to save.”
Shock hit Liam like a sucker punch, driving the air from his lungs. As he caught his breath, he waited for the guilt worms to start squirming around, letting him know she was right. That Scott was just someone else Liam would try to fix and fail.
The worms were quiet. They already knew what Liam’s brain was just catching on to.
Scott jerked his hands away like the chair had caught fire and slammed out of the house.
“At least he knows I’m right,” Mom said.
“No. That’s bullshit.” Liam tucked his crutches under his arms. Greg stumbled out of the hall, but Liam charged by him without a word. He wasn’t running for his life or even from it. He was running to it, and it had damned well better wait for him.
SCOTT SLID into the Mustang and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. He blew out a breath and then punched the top edge of the dash.
Fuck. Right the fucking hell staring him in the face the whole time and he’d never seen it. Liam had grown up loving disaster. No wonder he’d fallen for Scott.
And the shit cherry on top of the whole shit sundae was that Marilyn Walsh was the one to open his eyes.
