Page 48 of Keeping Score

Our father arrived at the table, staring at Liam with an awestruck look on his face, as if he were in the presence of some celebrity rather than his own son.

“Liam,” he breathed.

Liam responded with a clenched jaw, sitting down in an almost slow-motion movement.

He didn’t say anything at all, just kept his eyes on our father like he were a threat that might need to be dealt with at any moment.

“Dad,” I said, shifting the energy away from Liam and his death glare. “So glad you could make it.”

Sometimes I felt like I talked to him as if he were a supervisor. A boss of some kind. I shook that energy off.

He was just my dad. I didn’t need to be this stressed about dinner with him.

It took him a minute before he tore his gaze away from Liam and turned to me.

“Margaret,” he nodded simply, before sitting down.

Liam scoffed, and our father’s energy was once again directed at him, body angled toward him in anticipation.

“Thanks for coming, son,” he said wearily. “It—it means a lot to me.”

“I didn’t know you were going to be here.” Liam shook his head, a look of disgust clouding his features.

Dad looked taken aback, turning to me with a curious look.

Didn’t he know I did this for him? I gave him what he’d been asking for for years—to see Liam. To have a chance to explain things to him.

“Regardless,” Dad shook his head clear of any thoughts, “I’m so happy to see you.”

“Can’t say the same on my end.” Liam bristled.

The waitress came over at that opportune moment, starting her spiel about drink orders, before her head whipped back to look at Liam.

“Oh my gosh, are you—” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you Liam Brynn?”

Dad beamed.

“He sure is.”

Liam shot him a sideways glare and I sank lower into my chair.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Liam was supposed to let his defenses down a bit. He was supposed to be open to conversation. For me.

The waitress, sensing the hostility running rampant at our table, assured us she’d be back with waters and bread, then scurried off as far as possible.

Hell, I was thinking of going in the back to offer help washing dishes, if only to get away from the suffocating resentment pouring off Liam.

I got him here. That was as far as the plan went in my head. I figured the rest would work itself out. Like dominoes falling in line and whatnot.

I should’ve known my brother would have the willpower of steel when it came to being oppositional.

“Son, I’ve been wanting to talk to you for so long—”

“Don’t call me that,” Liam spat.

“For God’s sake, Liam,” I interjected, “give it a rest. He’s just trying to have a conversation with you.”

“And I already made it clear, I don’t want to have a conversation with him.” Liam scowled at me. “I mean, really Maggie, what the hell were you thinking?”