Worth Fighting For - PUBLISHED

Chapter 4

Liam

Lewiston, Maine. The place I called home until I was eighteen before I left and tried not to look back.

Coming around again always feels weird for me. I try to limit my visits, but I miss my family. It scares me to visit home because I'm never one-hundred-percent sure as to what I'll walk in on.

My mom struggled with the bottle for a few years when I was a teenager. Our life imploded and instead of being strong for us and leaning on our love, she turned to vodka. Although she's been sober for a little over three years, I'm never fully sure it will stick.

Relapses are very much real, and they're nasty. She had two before her sobriety stuck. I was eighteen when she took back her strength, and she's been seemingly doing well ever since. I wouldn't have left for college back then if I thought she would fall off the wagon.

But the fear... It's still there, prominent and loud in my head. I never want our family to go back to those dark times. The thought of the feelings it would unleash makes me nauseous, and I put it out to whoever will listen and pray that things will still be the same, that mom will still be sober.

We talk at least once a week, but it's easy to hide behind your words. Actions usually don't lie.

Pulling into the driveway, I grab my overnight bag and make my way up the brick steps, taking in the historically modern style of my childhood home. Being back here brings up contradicting emotions for me. I didn't have a totally horrible childhood, but my teenage years, well... they sucked to put it simply.

That's what happens when you're forced to be a grown up at the ripe age of fourteen.

Mom greets me with a hug as she opens the door, the scent of her perfume, clean and aromatic, like roses, envelopes me. She seems like my mom, and I sure as hell hope she is.

"I'm so glad you could make it home for a visit," she muffles into my chest.

My mom, Claire, looks up at me with total admiration and love in her eyes. Our relationship wasn't great during her drinking days, and they've been rocky at best in her sobriety. But she's still my mom and I love her. One visit. My first in six months, is all she needs to see that.

"This is my last stretch of days off before classes and my internship start, so I wanted to make sure I got to spend some time with you before that. I'm not sure if I'll be able to get back before Thanksgiving because of the new crazy schedule."

"It's okay," she says, her expression saddening. "I know that you're busy trying to build yourself a life. I just miss you, that's all."

"I know, mom. I miss you too." I pull her back to my chest, soaking up all the love she's giving with one simple hug. "Where are Aiden and Harper?"

"Aiden is at practice and should be home soon. Harper, who knows. I think she's working, but she could also be with a guy."

"Do you not care to ask where she's going?" It comes out with a bite, completely unintentional on my part. When you're lacking a father figure and you're also the oldest of three, the need to become the protector of the family increases tenfold.

"You act like she'd tell me." Mom laughs, unaware of my previous tone. That, or she's choosing to ignore it. "You know how that girl is."

"I'm well aware."

When I was seventeen, Harper, my sister, snuck out of the house to meet a boy when I told her she couldn't go out with him. He was in my grade, and he was a total tool. I'd heard things in the locker room that I didn't like. I didn't want my sister around it, rightfully so.