High Hopes (Coastal Rivals #3)

26. Liam

26

LIAM

The bowling alley near my parents’ place doesn’t smell like old shoes and popcorn. It’s not nostalgic or charming. A piss-poor excuse for atmosphere and exactly the kind of place I wouldn’t have chosen for a night out.

Yet, here I am, crammed into a lane with my brother and his friends.

What was supposed to be a triple date—Hayes and Emmy, West and Jade, plus some other couple they know—turned into a sibling outing when the latter bailed. James and I were the last-minute replacements, though I’m pretty sure neither of us fits the vibe they were going for.

A little less “cute couple energy” and a lot more beer and trash talk.

“Liam, you’re up!” Jade calls, waving me toward the lane. Jade used to be a student at Dayton, too, in the same class as James and the others. She’s dating West, a running back for the Carolina Bobcats in his first season.

I grab a ball that’s too heavy, ignoring the sparkly purple one she insists is “lucky,” and step up to the lane. My first roll veers into the gutter almost immediately, and the second isn’t much better.

“Solid work,” James says dryly.

“I’m pacing myself,” I shoot back, shrugging.

Hayes snorts. “If that’s pacing, I’d hate to see you try.”

He may be my brother’s best friend, but he was also my roommate for all of last year. We’re close, and he loves to needle me whenever he gets the chance.

His girlfriend, Emmy, sits beside him. She has bleach-white hair and an effortless, edgy style. I like her. She’s sharp and quick-witted, with a kindness that sneaks up on you. Right now, though, she’s half watching the game and half answering emails on her phone. She’s been juggling work with a startup company—a big digital marketing campaign she’s spearheading.

“Don’t listen to him,” Emmy says without looking up, her fingers flying over the screen. “He’s just cranky because I beat him at mini-golf last week.”

Hayes grumbles, but there’s a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He’s been settling into his new job as the assistant coach for Dayton’s baseball team, and from what James tells me, he’s doing well. Coaching seems to suit him.

Unlike James, who always had his sights set on going pro, Hayes didn’t have the same drive to chase the big leagues. It wasn’t in the cards for him, and I think he’s made peace with that long ago.

We used to be closer when we all lived together last year. Hayes was my go-to for advice, though he had a knack for delivering it with enough sarcasm to make you question if he was being serious. But since he and Emmy moved in together, we’ve drifted.

It’s not a big deal, I guess. That’s just what happens when you grow up and start building your life with someone. Still, it stings a little.

Beside me, West is sprawled out in his seat, scrolling through his phone with the kind of calm that seems at odds with the rest of us. His season just ended, but you wouldn’t know it—he carries that same effortless confidence, like nothing in the world could rattle him.

“Theo, it’s your turn, baby,” Jade says, waving him toward the lane, her sparkly purple ball already in hand for her next turn.

West—Theo to Jade and Jade only—stretches lazily, his movements slow and deliberate. Then he stands, grabbing one of the heavier balls. “Watch and learn, people.”

He steps to the lane and rolls like he’s testing his running back aim, the ball slamming into the pins with a satisfying crash. A strike.

“Show-off,” Jade mutters, but she’s smiling.

“Just lucky,” West says, deadpan. “Because I got my girl here.”

Jade shakes her head, grabbing her purple ball and stepping up for her turn. She’s just finishing her first semester of grad school for journalism and keeps talking about some big investigative piece she’s working on—something about corruption in collegiate football recruitment.

I thought about asking for more details, but sports outside of soccer don’t really hold my interest. It’s not that I don’t care—well, actually, maybe it is.

Her roll knocks down seven pins, and she does a little victory dance. “See? Told you it’s lucky!”

The next few rounds are more of the same. Emmy, surprisingly competitive, gets two strikes in a row and trash-talks Hayes the whole time. West tries to teach Jade how to roll with more power, but she just laughs and claims she’s going for “artistic flair.” James spends half his turns arguing about whether spin counts as a “real” bowling technique.

By the time we’re halfway through, I’m leaning back in my seat, sipping my beer and letting the noise wash over me. It feels good to be here, surrounded by everyone’s energy, even if I’m still half in my head about Birdie.

“You’re up again,” James says, nudging me.

I grab a ball and roll another gutter. No one even teases me this time. They must know I’m not in the mood to try.

When I sit, James gives me a look. “You good?”

“Missing Birdie,” I tell him. “Wondering what she’s up to. Hoping she’s not just crying all alone in bed or something.”

He sighs. “She’s still giving you the runaround?”

“It’s not the runaround ,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s more like she needs space. And I get it. She’s been through a lot, and I don’t want to push her. But with Dad being on the committee, it’s like there’s this shadow over everything that’s connected to me. And because of it, I’m worried she’s never going to let me all the way in. She’ll keep shutting me out because it’s easier.”

“So, what are you doing about it?”

I blink. “What can I do? She said she needed time.”

“Time’s great,” he says, nodding slowly. “But have you thought about what you’re gonna do after she’s had that time? Did you come up with things that would make her happy like we talked about? Or are you just sitting here, hoping the perfect answer is gonna fall out of the sky?”

I glance at him, then at the others. West is lounging in his chair, clearly eavesdropping despite pretending to scroll his phone, and Hayes leans in a little, curious. Jade, who’s just finished her turn, plops down across from me, her expression somewhere between amused and intrigued.

“Fine,” James says, slapping his hands on the table. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re making a list.”

I frown. “A list?”

“Yeah,” Jade chimes in, her eyes lighting up. “A glad/bad list. Stuff that makes her happy on one side, stuff that stresses her out on the other.”

“Because nothing says romance like a pros and cons list,” I deadpan.

“Not a pros and cons list,” Emmy cuts in, finally looking up from her phone. “This is actionable intel. Stuff you can actually use to help her feel better.”

I roll my eyes but grab a napkin from the table. “Fine. Let’s hear it.”

“Bad things first,” James says, stealing a pen from Hayes and clicking it dramatically. “What makes her upset?”

“Loneliness,” I say immediately.

“Failure,” James adds, knowing exactly why we’re in this predicament in the first place.

“David fucking Donovan,” I mutter, earning a collective groan of agreement from the table.

“Okay, solid start,” James says, scribbling furiously. “Now for the glad things. What makes her happy?”

“Pottery,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips. “She’s incredible at it. It’s her whole world. And even though it’s been tainted by losing the fellowship, I know she’ll find her way back.”

“What about family?” Jade asks. “Does she get along with them?”

“Yeah, she loves her dad,” I say, thinking back to how she lights up whenever she talks about him. “That’s where she is now.”

“What else?” James asks, tapping the pen against the table.

“Sour candy.” When I brought it to her in the studio, she practically salivated before ripping the bag open and devouring half of it in one sitting. It was kind of adorable.

“And Liam,” Emmy says with a smirk, nudging Hayes.

“Liam,” James repeats, adding it to the list with an exaggerated flourish. “Glad column, top of the list.”

I shake my head, but there’s a warmth in my chest I can’t ignore. It’s true—her smile changes when she’s with me. It’s freer, like she doesn’t have to keep her guard up. I make her happy, and somehow, she makes me feel like I’m not so hard to figure out.

When James finishes, he slides the napkin across the table. “There you go. Your game plan. When she’s ready to talk, hit her with the glad things. All the glad things.”

I stare at the napkin, at the messy scrawl of words, and let out a slow breath. It’s silly, maybe even a little juvenile, but it feels like a step in the right direction.

“Thanks,” I say, pocketing the napkin.

“Don’t mention it,” James says, clapping me on the shoulder. “Seriously, don’t. I have a reputation to uphold.”

We all laugh, the tension breaking, and Jade grabs her ball for another turn. The game winds down not long after that, but the energy lingers as we pile into the cars and head back.

It feels good to have a plan. Like maybe I can help Birdie find her way back to herself. And when she does, I’ll be there, waiting to catch her the next time she falls.

Christmas dinner is just as unbearable as I expected. The table looks like it belongs in a magazine—polished silver, crystal glasses, and garlands running the length of it, all meticulously curated by my mom, who thrives on making sure every holiday appears perfect.

But sitting here, everything feels off.

James is across from me, throwing out the occasional sarcastic comment to lighten the mood. My mom keeps glancing at my dad like she’s bracing for impact, and my dad? He’s carving the turkey with the same precision he uses to sculpt clay, like even this is some kind of art piece he’s obligated to perfect.

“So,” I say, breaking the stifling silence. “Thought you might like to know that Chase got his Adidas contract. He’s leaving in January for whatever team picks him up.”

James perks up, clearly impressed. “That’s huge. Good for him.”

My dad doesn’t even look up from his plate as he mutters, “What about you, Liam? Any plans to get serious about what’s next?”

And just like that, something snaps. I’ve been holding my tongue since the fellowship dinner fiasco, but I’m done pretending everything is fine.

“What’s next?” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Maybe sabotaging more of my relationships. Seems like that’s the family tradition, right?”

My mom freezes mid-cut, her knife hovering over her plate.

“Excuse me?” my dad says, his voice sharp and measured.

“You heard me,” I snap. “Birdie worked her ass off for that fellowship, and you made sure she didn’t even stand a chance. All because what—she asked me for help? I thought that’s what you’re supposed to do for the people you care about.”

“This again?” His jaw tightens, his voice clipped. “That fellowship wasn’t the right fit for her, and I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Don’t be naive, Liam.”

“Oh, right,” I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “Because you’re such an excellent judge of character.”

“Enough,” my mom says, her voice shaking slightly. She’s always the referee, swooping in to stop things before they spiral too far. “This is Christmas. Can’t we just have one peaceful meal?”

I glance at her, then at James, who’s giving me a subtle shake of his head. I wish I could be the kind of person who lets it go, who can bite his tongue and play along for the sake of peace. By now, that’s the only thing that keeps the tension from boiling over.

My dad will believe whatever he wants, and nothing I say is going to change that. He’s immovable, untouchable. God forbid I act the same.

I sigh and drag a hand through my hair. “Fine. Forget it. If you want to move on and pretend it never happened, then let’s talk about something neutral, something that won’t ruffle David’s feathers.” I cough to clear my throat. “Chase is leaving, which means I’m going to be roommate-less for the rest of the year.”

“You should ask your cousin,” my mom says, perking up like she’s just solved world hunger. “Your uncle mentioned Warren needs a place. Wouldn’t it be nice to be with family?”

I snort. “He’s hardly family.”

It’s not a fair argument. Warren’s mom married my uncle years ago, and by all accounts, they’re part of the Donovan dynasty. But Warren? He was already a full-grown adult by then, and it shows. He’s distant, like life handed him a bad deal, and he’s still mad about it. Not exactly my idea of an ideal roommate.

My dad sighs. “If you’re so particular, find someone else. But don’t expect us to cover the difference if you’re living alone.”

I stab a piece of ham and chew it like it personally offended me. Warren’s not ideal, but the thought starts to settle. He’s grumpy, sure, but maybe that’ll work. I’m not looking for a best friend—just someone to split costs with, someone who won’t care if I come and go without small talk or forced bonding over video games.

“Fine,” I say finally, my voice low. “I’ll think about it.”

My mom smiles like I’ve just saved Christmas, and James gives me a small, sympathetic smirk. I tune out the rest of dinner, retreating into my own thoughts about the tournament, about Birdie, and the looming reality of another semester filled with more questions than answers.

All I know is peace might be what my mom wants, but it’s the last thing I’m feeling right now.