Here Comes the Sun | ✓

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Liam

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Liam

Today is July 4th. This holiday has never been a normal one in this house because, of course, my birthday falls on it.

Twenty years old.

How has twenty years gone by so fast? So precariously? I shake my head at the fact. Twenty years. There's nothing special about the age, rather than the fact that I've survived the brutal world for two decades and that I'm one year away to be able to drink and get away with it. Not that it matters. Drinking is too far out of my range - especially now, where Jeremiah is five-years-old and I'm the dad who needs to have his shit together.

Right now, I'm watching Libby sleep in my bed, her nose red from rubbing roughly with tissues and her mouth hanging open with exhaustion. Poor girl couldn't even make it down the stairs without collapsing.

A tugging on the hem of my shirt makes me jump in my spot, whirling around and peering down at the little body who is looking up at me with worried eyes.

"Why's Libby sick, Daddy?" Jere asks me, his voice barely above a whisper because the subject was sleeping less than a yard away.

I purse my lips to the side and sigh, shaking my head in reply. "I dunno, bud." I hesitate from saying something else when Libby stirs in the bed, the sheets sliding off her legs and revealing the slender amazingness that exists there. Damn.

"Dad," Jere tugs at my shirt again, snapping me out of my Libby-induced haze once more.

"What's up little man?" I ask, looking down at his tiny figure. It's two in the afternoon and we're all still in our pajamas. Jere's light brown hair is disheveled looking - the bedhead pretty intense - and his matching top and bottoms are wrinkly and had some recently added orange juice stains on them.

"I want food but we're out of noodles," he pouts, looking up at me with the most frustrating expression on his face. Take care of Libby, or provide food for everyone? My stomach chooses this second to grumble and remind me that the only thing I've had this morning is coffee and some saltines that Libby had shared with me earlier.

The answer is simple: Food.

Patting Jere on the head, I turn away from the room and head down the wooden staircase as silently as I can, only to find Jimmy still passed out on his couch. I walk up to him and lightly pat his cheek with the back of my hand, watching as he blinks himself awake. He cowers a bit further into the couch when he sees me peering down at him by his side, scowling at me because of this awakening.

"What do you want?" I roll my eyes at his crude behavior and turn away from him and his five-o'clock shadow, checking my jean's pockets for my wallet and key.

"Going to the store, so the question is what do you want?" I reply, glancing back at the stairs as Jere came prancing down the stairs with Libby at his heels. "Libby," I breathe, my eyes locked on her small figure as she makes her way slowly down the stairs. She's gonna fall. But to everyone's surprise she doesn't, and she smiles triumphantly at herself as if proving herself wrong.

"Hey, I'm getting a better!" she says, although it comes out more as a wheeze.

Jimmy notches a brow at her. "Getting down the rest of the flight of stairs is not exactly an accomplishment, Lib. In fact, it's a God-damn travesty."

"Jimmy!" Libby and I scold at the same time, glancing at Jere who's sitting in the recliner quite calmly as he witnesses this exchange.

But Jimmy just shrugs and nods towards my son when  he says, "What? He's use to it." I don't reply when Jere only nods solemnly. God damn you, Jimmy.