Liam’s POV
The whiskey glass clinked against the counter loudly as I slammed it down. That was my 6th shot for the night. The bartender gave me a look — that kind of look that says you’re not my first sob story tonight, pal.
“Another?” he asked, already reaching for the bottle.
“Yeah,” I muttered, pushing the empty glass forward. “Make it a double this time.”
He poured and I stared at the amber liquid like it had answers hidden in it. How had my whole life gone to s**t in such a short timeframe?
“Rough day?” he asked, leaning his forearms on the counter.
I let out a humorless laugh. “I’ll say rough week.”
He waited, the way bartenders do quiet but not absent. It was all the invitation I needed.
“I really f****d up,” I said finally. “Like—royally. I had a good thing. The best thing
