How To Play the Player (COMPLETED)

All By Myself

                 

There was no hesitation in Liam brewing a pot of a coffee as soon as we stepped through the front door. I'd been in his house a few times over the last three years, but there was something incredibly eerie about being here without teenagers overflowing out every door. The living room that had always looked so small with the jocks lounging on the worn furniture actually looked inviting, homey. The family tree frame that held various pictures on its branches as it stretched out across the wall over the vinyl sofa against the wall, beckoned me over as soon as I laid eyes on it. Bryan had always been into photography, so I'd seen things similar to it hung in the hallways of the Waters house. In fact, Bryan's entire room looked like an art gallery.

As I approached the tree, my eyes immediately fell on the top center of the tree. It was a picture of Liam at his first Playoff game Freshman year. His entire family was in the picture, but the bright lights of the stadium seemed to illuminate Liam only. He hadn't quite grown into himself yet. He'd shot up the summer prior, I remembered that, because Raya had made a comment about it when we'd caught him jumping out of his truck the first day of school. But his growth spurt hadn't graced him with the toned body we all saw now. He hadn't started hitting the school gym until Junior year after the accident that had shaken our small town to its core. It was almost as if working out were his escape, and a part of me felt guilty I'd ever judged him for doing it out of conceit.

In the photo he stood between his parents, both staring down at him adoringly, their faces partially shadowed into the dark night. Liam was taller than his mother, but stood a good few inches shorter than his father, blue eyes almost twinkling in the bright lights. He was wearing a genuine grin I hadn't seen since the accident, but had seen hints of every time he played football. The jersey he was wearing was much like Jay's uniform tonight; extremely large, but worn with a confidence that drew the eye elsewhere.

"I miss them." Liam's voice was low, barely audible. "It's part of the reason I throw parties. I can't deal with being in this big house all alone. It's so empty, so creepily quiet, that I can hear my thoughts loud and clear and I hate it."

I turned to get a good look at him behind me and regretted it instantly. The light concussion had done a number on him, and my poking around at his personal life couldn't be helping. He wore the same look of exhaustion that stared me down every time I looked in a mirror. His eyes were heavy, half open, but what I could see of them was just pure devastation. His body matched; slouched, nothing like the confidence he wore as proudly as his Letterman on the daily.

"I wish my house was like that." I whispered. "But every day I come home, I don't know what I'll be walking into. Usually it sounds like a warzone in there."

"I'd give anything to hear my parents argue one more time." Liam responded with a sympathetic look casted in my direction. "But I understand. You feel like you're in the middle of it all, right?"

I felt my head moving side to side as I took the coffee mug in his extended hand. "Not at all. My dad blames me for my sisters death. Thinks none of it would of happened if I hadn't called her to pick me up."

Liam's lips parted in surprise. "Shit, Reese. I'm sorry."

I ignored the words and fell on to the couch, sipping at the coffee. He stood in front of the picture for a moment before he sat on the sofa beside me, close enough where I wouldn't have to strain to hear him, but far enough away that I wasn't uncomfortable.

"So are you coming to the game next week?" I knew he was trying his best to divert the subject, but I wasn't exactly fond of the topic he'd changed it to.