"You sound like shit," he says after a long pause.
"I feel like shit."
He laughs, but it's not the kind that fixes anything. "Still ignoring him?"
"Isn't that the point?" I ask, picking at a loose thread on my comforter. "I don't want him to think I'll forgive him just because he crawled."
Liam sighs. "He's not doing great, Brie. I know you don't care, but he's really—"
"You're right. I don't care," I snap, louder than I mean to. "I'm not responsible for him anymore."
Liam doesn't say anything.
"Was he really in rehab?" I ask into the silence, unable to stifle the question.
"Yeah." He clears his throat. "Yeah, he was."
"Why?"
"I'm not sure you're ready to hear that answer," my brother says, his voice soft.
"Just tell me, Liam."
"He tried to drink himself to death."
I blink, my hand clenched tightly around the phone. "What?"
"He almost destroyed his company after you left. He almost destroyed everything," Liam says softly. "I think you've been the only thing keeping him off the ledge for a long goddamn time. Once he pushed you out, there was nothing for him to hold onto." He pauses. "I think maybe he didn't want anything to hold onto after what he did to you, so he started drinking, and he just didn't stop."
"Why are you telling me this?" I whisper, my throat so raw the words hurt.
"Because he never will," Liam says simply. "He's carried his guilt and shame over the accident for a long time, trying to hold onto you to keep himself going, and trying to make you hate him because it's the only way he thought he deserved to keep going. But he'll never tell you how much his secrets cost him, because it's not your burden to carry."
"I hate him so much," I whisper.
"I know."
"I love him, too."
"I know that, too, baby sister." He's quiet for a second before he sighs. "You know, you're allowed to be happy."
The line goes silent. He doesn't hang up. He just waits, letting the words settle between us, like he knows that if he pushes, I'll bolt.
"I don't know how to be anything but angry," I finally admit.
"Start with that," he says. "It's better than nothing."
He's right. Anger is better than nothing. It's the only thing keeping me warm these days.
I thank him, though I'm not sure he hears it, and hang up. I put my phone down and try to pretend, just one more time, that I'm the kind of person who can let go and move on.
But I know I'm not.
I'm leaning over my kitchen counter, eating cereal straight from the box, when my phone rings again.
This time, Joel's name flashes across the display. I haven't talked to him since he broke the news that Asher had me blackballed.
"Hey," I say, my mouth dry from the cereal.
