(LIAM'S POV)
The phone screen glowed too bright in the dark of my bedroom, the only light in the room besides the faint red numbers on the alarm clock that mocked me with how little sleep I'd actually gotten.
3:47 a.m.
I stared at the therapist's website for the tenth time, thumb hovering over the "Book Appointment" button. Dr. Roland Kyle. Highly recommended. Trauma, guilt, recurring nightmares—basically a checklist of everything wrecking me right now. His office was in Yellowstone, two towns over from Greenwell. Just far enough that nobody would recognize me walking in.
Because there was no way I was doing this in Greenwell.
I could already hear it. The whispers. The laughter behind closed doors. 'Liam Carter? In therapy?' The same people who called me tough, who expected me to have it all together—they'd tear me apart for this. Say I'd finally cracked. That being part of my family had finally broken me.
No. I wasn't giving them that.
