Released (Caged #3)(28)

“Fuck you,” I muttered, but all the fight was gone from me.

“Does that mean…?” Michael looked at me pointedly, trying to read between the lines of my obnoxious phrasing.

“I’ll apply for it,” I sighed.

“Good! Now let’s put something together that at least resembles a resume, shall we?”

Chimes rang from Michael’s pocket, and he sighed as he reached down and looked at the display before shoving the phone back into his pocket.

He pulled the laptop over and started fumbling around with a couple of different resume templates. We got all my information in, including his address as my own. We even used some of my messing around in the bar as experience and put Dordy down as a reference.

Michael’s phone rang again, but he glanced down and then ignored it. When it continued to buzz in his pocket, he finally gave up.

“Dammit,” he growled. “I don’t know who this is, but let me grab it so they’ll stop interrupting.”

“It’s all right,” I mumbled. While he answered the call, I walked over to the window and looked out over the hill where a thin sliver of the river was visible. I wondered if I had time to sneak outside for a smoke without Chelsea noticing what I was doing.

The woman speaking to Michael must have been pretty ticked off or upset about something—I could hear the sound of her voice across the room though the words were too muffled to be understood. Michael couldn’t seem to get a word in edgewise, and the look on his face was comically tense. Finally, he raised his voice.

“Tria, please just calm down!” he yelled. “Liam’s fine...”

He looked at me, and I felt my guts drop to my shoes.

“He’s right here with me now.”

“Let me talk to her,” I said as I moved quickly across the room. I wanted it to sound like a demand, but it was nothing more than a plea. I could still hear the voice that was now painfully familiar as I approached my uncle.

“Maybe it would be better for him to explain,” Michael was saying. “He’d like to speak with you.”

I grabbed the phone from his hand.

“Tria?”

“Liam! Liam!” The sweetest damn voice in the world was right there in my ear, and the inability to actually see her face or touch her skin made my insides want to explode.

“I’m here,” I whispered.

“Oh God,” she sobbed and continued to speak, but her words were all garbled by crying and I couldn’t understand anything she said.

“Slow down!” I cried into the phone. “Jesus! Are you all right? God, please—Tria—tell me you’re all right!”

The seven seconds it took for her to catch her breath enough to make sense were the longest moments of my life.

“I’m fine,” she sniffed.

I breathed out a slight sigh, but it wasn’t enough.

“And…and are you…I mean, are you still…” I choked on my own words. “Is everything okay with you? With…um…the…”

“I’m still pregnant, yes.”

My body relaxed and I let out a much more audible sigh.

“I was so worried,” she said. “When they gave me the subpoena, the officer asked if I knew where to find you. They had looked everywhere.”

“Subpoena?”

“We have to go to court to testify against Keith,” she told me. “It’s for the sentencing since he pled guilty to aggravated assault or something like that. The police said they had tried to serve you at home and work but couldn’t locate you.”

“Yeah, things have been a little…crazy.” I flinched at my admission.

“I went to the apartment, but no one answered when I knocked. I was worried, so I tried to open the door with my key, but it didn’t work. Then this lady came up the stairs and started yelling at me to get away from her apartment.”

Tria started to cry again.

“Tria—where are you?”

“I’m at Feet First,” she said. “I just punched Yolanda.”

“You what?” I yelled into the phone.

“I need to see you, Liam.”

I looked up at Michael.

“Can I borrow Damon and a car?”

“Of course.”

“Tria, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I told her. “Just stand out front with Wade, okay?”

“Okay.” She sniffed again.

As much as I hated to do it, I hung up the phone and handed it back to Michael. A minute later, I was in the back of the Rolls, and Damon was heading down the drive.

“Do you know where we’re going?” I asked Damon.

“Of course, Mr. Teague,” Damon replied. “I’ve taken your uncle to that particular venue many times.”

I tried to remember how many times Michael had come to Feet First and realized it had to have been a lot more often than once a year. I’d catch glimpses of him every now and again but usually chose to ignore him. Sometimes he’d approach me, but usually he gave up and left without saying anything.

How many times? How many times had he been there, trying to help me, and I’d just been a complete ass to him? How many times had Ryan done the same thing? How many times had Chelsea called just to have me hang up on her?