Bridget. Where the hell was she? Why hadn’t she returned his call?
Muggle methods of contact were the only way to go, at least for now, while he was trying to lay low. The full moon was the following day and he wanted to get the hell out of London for a while until he could figure out what he was going to do for now, since the changes were all so new and they knew things were bound to get dangerous. Liam would wait here until he heard back from her, maybe head up into the office if he had to. He’d lie down on the small bed he had set up for late nights he or Kara had to stay here after an event or just a busy night and didn’t want to head home. It was quiet enough here that he wouldn’t have to endure the busy streets with all the sights and sounds and smells that were bright or loud or foul.
The aftermath of that attack gave him a window to escape, and he would have been a fool not to take it. Unfortunately, the only place he thought to go was the Abbey, deep into neutral territory as opposed to the dangers of a home he had left in shambles since the night he destroyed his marriage. God, he hadn't thought of that since the night after, before they retrieved him. Everything with the attack made things so hazy, and the rapid heartbeat and feral instincts were throwing him for a loop.
Liam impatiently tapped at the side of his glass, hearing the clink of the ice breaking apart into smaller pieces. Liam sighed. What the hell am I supposed to do with this place? And my house? Kara wanted a divorce. Thinking about her saying those words made him revisit the rage he felt from that night—and he nearly cleared the middle shelf of the expensive bottles and alcohol. How could he be so stupid? So God damn careless? He was losing the love of his life--if not, he'd lost her already. She. Wants. A. Divorce. He kept going over those words in his head as if reality hadn't truly settled in yet, it just smacked him around a couple of times and here he was. Lost. Hurting--physically and mentally. He cursed her? Everything about that night was so fuzzy, he was so angry. Angry, because it was an affair with Casey stacked on top of the terrible, emotional outbursts brought on ever since those scientists in Azkaban did...whatever it was they did to him. He knew he wasn't himself anymore. He wasn't the same.
He was a fucking monster.
NO. Breathe. Just breathe. His insides were lava hot, and his hands were shaking as he clenched them at his sides.
They bar closed at 11 on Sunday nights, to his recollection. Regardless, this Sunday of all Sundays, it was going to be shut at 11. No questions asked. The staff already went home, leaving Liam alone with his own bar for the first time in over a year. So much space and so much alcohol, entrusted to the owner himself. At one point, he thought to drink himself stupid, catch up on lost time, let the stress drown in the sea of mixed liquors…but he didn’t. If the plan was to run out of town, he knew he couldn’t dull his senses too much.
The bell over the door rang and as the jingle echoed in his mind as if it was amplified tenfold, Liam cursed under his breath. He forgot to lock the door behind him. With a vice grip, he held onto the bar counter, and dipped his head low before bringing his gaze up to the door, where his new guest had entered. “Hello.”