Sure Bet (Out of Left Field #1)

31. Liam

Chapter 31

Liam

T he soft glow of chandeliers cast a warm hue over the banquet hall, and Brooke sat beside me, radiant. Her smile illuminated the room as she received her award and recognition of her brilliance. She stood at the podium with a megawatt grin and spoke briefly about her work and its importance in the world.

Brooke earned her success and deserved every moment of celebration. I swore I wouldn’t ruin it for her.

Yet I did.

“And what do you do, Liam?” A question asked at least a dozen times by a dozen different people, all of whom were successful, accomplished, and intelligent.

What did I do? The question echoed in my mind, mocking me with its simplicity. I was—just as I’d always feared—a failure, a collage of shattered dreams and missed opportunities. A college dropout, a failed athlete, and a freeloader, living off the generosity of my sister and the last of my inheritance.

What did I do… Not much, and nothing worthy of recognition. I couldn’t even successfully navigate a college application.

I stumbled through vague explanations and half-hearted attempts at humor. I held a smile while doing it.

I hated myself, not only for my failures and inadequacies, but for my timing in collapsing beneath the weight of them. This was the absolute worst moment to feel sorry for myself.

I was an asshole, but I tried to keep it together. Brooke was sympathetic, but I didn’t want her to babysit me, not on her night. Not on any night.

I shouldn’t have come. Red flags waving freely in the wind, bold and impossible to ignore, but I—of course—managed it. Brooke told me I could skip the gala, she offered to skip the gala. She would have sat at home instead of rejoicing in her achievements, honoring her accomplishments, and glimpsing her hero in the wild. She would have done it. I knew that to be true in the marrow of my fucking bones.

But I refused to be the asshole who asked her to. I refused to be the asshole who left her dateless at the last minute to cry and feel sorry for himself because of his own stupidity.

Instead, I was the asshole who ground his teeth to dust and patted himself on the back like existing in her orbit was the same thing as being present.

As the night went on, my discomfort increased. Polite but probing inquiries sliced through my thin veneer of composure. Questions dripping with expectation.

“I dropped out of college, actually.” I spit the answer like venom to some poor fucker who made the mistake of doing absolutely nothing wrong. Anuj, I think his name was. It didn’t matter. They all blurred together. “I’m mostly a hollow shell of unfulfilled potential.” I sipped my drink, another wine—my fourth? “And you? Which team are you on?”

He scurried off, taking refuge with a group of old men talking about an acquisition merger of two competitors. Anuj would rather endure that.

Didn’t fucking blame him.

Standing at an empty bistro table, I scanned the room over the lip of my glass. My left hand slipped into my pocket; fingers prepared to pinch instead of snapping like a rabid dog.

While guests mingled and enjoyed the party, I sulked and tried to keep to myself. I encouraged Brooke to socialize, but she clung to me like she feared I would leave without her. I wouldn’t, of course I wouldn’t—I couldn’t drive myself home or afford a fucking Uber. But I understood her not trusting me, given my propensity to fuck up.

Brooke went to the restroom five minutes ago, but I apparently managed even to fuck that up somehow, because she glanced back every three feet on her way out of the room to check on me.

“Liam.” The voice was firm, commanding. I didn’t even need to turn around to catch the steely gaze to recognize Dr. Coleman. “Are you enjoying the gala this evening?”

“Dr. Coleman.” I plastered on a smile and nodded. Of all the things to mess up tonight, this conversation was a hard fucking limit. “Very much enjoying this shindig. How wonderful that TechBionic honors its employees and celebrates their achievements. A company that values?—”

“You can cut the shit.” She tossed back the last of her wine and set the empty glass on the table. “I’m not on the board, but if I were, I can assure you that I wouldn’t implement high-stress competitions that discouraged ninety percent of my team and then pay for a catered meal to offset the anguish.”

Well. Hello.

She rubbed her temples and sighed. “Pardon my bad mood. I was forced to come.”

I toasted her. “You should put that on a T-shirt.”

She chuckled and leaned against the table, staring out at the crowd. “My husband put it on a coffee mug for me two Christmases ago.”

Brooke entered the room, her stunning peach dress fluttering with her strides. Her gaze immediately found me. The moment she clocked my companion, her eyes nearly rolled out of her skull. She looked utterly panic-stricken.

My laugh slipped out, catching me by surprise.

Dr. Coleman’s gaze followed mine. “She seems terrified of me.” She waved generally. “They all do.” Grabbing another wine from a passing server’s tray, she added, “I like it that way.”

“She wants to impress you.” I hoped I wasn’t overstepping into a pile of shit. Someone had grabbed Brooke, pulling her in for a chat. Her eyes darted to me.

“She does impress me.” Dr. Coleman studied Brooke from across the room. “She reminds me of my younger self. Determined, strong-minded, and sure to change the world.”

Brooke would quite possibly die when I relayed that information to her.

“In fact, I’m relieved she’s taking on a senior engineer role. We lost our last one six months ago. An absolutely brilliant mind—not that they all aren’t, of course.” Her eyes drifted to Paul. “Mostly.”

My ears began to ring, the feeling eerily similar to Sir Arrick appearing behind Penelope to pluck her a rose. Ludicrous and reflective of my drunken stupidity—and the chokehold of that goddamn book. Or maybe just the residual dregs of the last couple of weeks catching up. Like… what? Brooke would sweep up the debris of my life and whip me into shape? And when that didn’t happen—because the odds sure as fuck weren’t looking great—what then?

“When he left, I worried we wouldn’t fill the void. It’s more than an engineer’s ability and training. Leadership changes the landscape of labs. They lost theirs, but I think we’re on the right track again. Innovation and intelligence aren’t the same skill set, mind you.”

Sam. She spoke of Sam. Brooke’s brilliant ex-boyfriend, worthy of all the degrees and gratitude for his kind heart and hand up in life to his friends and coworkers. Selflessly putting others first. Dumping Brooke because he thought it was in her best interest, buying his dad’s pub, building… whatever the fuck he’d done for Kellen that I didn’t understand. All for others. What a fucking champion!

I should have heard her words as what she intended—praise of Brooke, but the whispers in my ear were of the ways that I failed to match Brooke’s intellect, her ambition, or her drive… and the guy who did dumped her because he didn’t think he was good enough for her.

I knew I wasn’t good enough for her.

I finished my wine, the refreshment doing nothing to ease the dryness in my mouth.

Brooke broke free from the conversation she’d been dragged into, hustling over like I needed to be supervised. Contrary to my teasing, her secrets were safe with me.

As secrets should be.

It isn’t a secret, dipshit. She didn’t think to tell you.

Fuck, I hated myself for even thinking she didn’t tell me that Sam was some fucking genius, and they shared a bond through their work. It sent a surge of insecurity coursing through me. Because… fuck. He sounded like a male version of Brooke.

Her equal.

She just didn’t tell you. Did you tell her what Chelsea does? Monica? Any of your other…

My other what? Hookups? Girls in Boston who wanted me in their beds, but not at the breakfast table the next morning? Who fucked me but wanted husband material to love? Or at least a boyfriend with gainful employment?

“Dr. Coleman.” Brooke joined us with a nervous smile. Christ, her boss really did terrify her. “Sorry to interrupt.”

A lie, but I let it go.

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “What… um, what are you chatting about?”

I sighed. “Not Legos.”

Brooke paled and opened her mouth, but Dr. Coleman bulldozed with some straight-talking truth. “I lectured like he’s one of my employees.” She smiled at me. I grinned back because what a fucking ridiculous notion. “Though you’re far less scared of me, so it might not work out for us. Tell me, what do you do?”

“Liam just moved back from Boston,” Brooke blurted. “He attended college there, a baseball scholarship, actually.” Her eyes flitted to mine. A nervous smile lingered on her face, and her hairline beaded with sweat.

“He had one of the most impressive freshman years for an incoming pitcher in the university’s history. A low opponent batting average… what? Like .190? His fastball consistently clocked in above ninety miles per hour.” She licked her lips, her gaze darting to me again. “Oh! His strikeout-to-walk ratio was exceptional! Five! Five! His ability to throw strikes and his command of various pitches was…”

Inconsequential.

My jaw clenched tighter as Brooke vomited stats, failing to mention the most relevant one in my career. Zero. The number of professional games I’d pitched and would ever play.

Brooke scratched at the clip in her hair, pinned back to expose her sharp cheekbones. The apples blushed pink the longer she rambled. “His decision-making on the mound was excellent, and his control was impressive. Truly.”

I wanted to tell her to stop, to spare me the humiliation of her well-intentioned but misguided attempts at touting my achievements. Upselling and hyping my talents as a means of reassurance. Or, quite possibly, to make her look better for bringing a fucking loser to a winner’s party.

She should have brought Sam.

“That is impressive.” Dr. Coleman’s glazed-over eyes indicated she did not give a shit about baseball. “Well, best of luck with your career, Liam. They ran out of crab rangoon fifteen minutes ago, which means my husband has been desperate to leave for at least ten. Enjoy the rest of your evening. Congratulations again, Brooke.”

Brooke gave Dr. Coleman an awkward wave and didn’t take her eyes off her boss until the powerhouse had collected her belongings and left the event space with her husband. A collective sigh of relief seemed to blow through the room.

“Wow.” She puffed her cheeks and rested her hands on top of her head. “That was… she was so cool. Rumor has it, she hates these kinds of functions and refuses to socialize out of spite?—”

“Why didn’t you tell her?” I shoved my hands in my pockets, scanning Brooke’s bewildered face.

“Tell her…”

“That I don’t play? Why did you make it sound like I still play baseball?” Why had she brought it up at all? She could have told her boss any number of things about me. She’d done it all night in conversations with her coworkers. This is Liam. He’s back from Boston, where he moved when he got a college scholarship to play baseball.

Brooke’s mouth dropped. “I…I didn’t. I spoke in past tense.”

I snickered, cupping my jaw and nodding. “That you did.” Past tense. All of my potential was past fucking tense.

“I’m sorry.” Her hands flattened against my chest, her gaze taking me in. “Did I upset you? I’m sorry, Liam. I didn’t mean to.” The distress tucked in the furrow of her brows and the sheen of tears shut me up.

“No.” I kissed her temple, resting my hand on her lower back.

But that was a lie, and she must have registered it as such, because the remainder of the evening was filled with tense and terse exchanges between us.

“Did you get enough to eat?” Brooke shrugged on her coat an hour later, brushing her hair over the collar as we prepared to leave.

“I’m fine.”

She chewed her bottom lip. I didn’t stop her. The night was over, and most of her lipstick had smudged on her water glass. “Okay. We can stop somewhere on the way home if you didn’t.”

“I’m fine.” I opened the door for her as we exited the venue.

She flexed her hands and brought them up to her mouth to warm with her breath. “Are you sure? Really, I don’t mind. I’m tired, but we get the morning off and?—”

“Do you want me to be hungry, Brooke? Because I’ve told you I’m fine, and that seems like it’s not the answer you wanted to hear. So please, save me the hassle and just tell me if I disappointed you somehow.” I headed for the car with a steady stride. She fell half a step behind me.

“No, that’s… I just didn’t want you to think you couldn’t tell me if you…” She locked step with me but faltered a moment later when her heel caught in a crack in the walkway.

I grabbed her by the arm, silently cursing myself for speed-racing like a child. Brooke insisted she was fine and was only embarrassed by her clumsiness. But that made me feel even fucking worse. These were her coworkers; this was her job and her life, and she deserved to enjoy it. She looked beautiful, radiant, and confident .

And none of that related to me because I’d done nothing but bring the mood down and make it harder for her. If she wasn’t babysitting what came out of my mouth, she was feeding her coworkers past successes that no longer belonged to me. I felt dumb and then dumber for showing up tonight like I belonged by her side.

“I’m sorry. Are you okay?” I checked her over, and though she said she was fine, I knew I had hurt her—not with her stumbling, but with my behavior.

You’re fucking this up. Stop it.

I slowed my stride, holding her hand for the rest of the walk and biting my fucking tongue to keep from creating new problems for myself or, worse, for her.

We rode home in silence.