Chapter 40: She Might Be The Problem.
The drive back was quiet for the most part. Seattle at this hour had a different quality to it — the streets thinned out, the traffic lights cycled through their colours for nobody in particular, and the city’s usual noise settled into something almost contemplative.
Darren sat in the passenger seat with his jacket off and his tie hanging loose, watching the buildings slide past. He looked like a man slowly returning to himself after spending two hours inside a pressure cooker.
"You don’t have to take me home," he said, somewhere around the third traffic light.
"Why do you speak like I’m trying to get into your pants?"
"I can get an Uber, dumbass."
"Darren, do you want to fuck me?"
"What the fuck are you—"
"You came out tonight because I asked you to." Liam kept his eyes on the road. "Last thing I’m doing is putting you in an Uber at midnight in a suit you didn’t own this morning. I need to make sure you’re safe."
Darren looked at him for a moment, then turned back to the window. "Alright, dumbass."
He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t need to. With Darren, acceptance was the thank you.
They pulled up outside the building twenty minutes later. The neighbourhood was quiet, the streetlights doing their usual half-hearted job of illuminating the block. Darren unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed the door open, then paused.
"You good getting back?" Darren wanted to make sure.
"I’ll be fine." Liam killed the engine. "I’m coming up for a minute."
Darren frowned. "You’re coming up."
"Water. I just want a glass of water. I’m not coming to fuck you."
"You are so dumb, man! You were just at one of the most expensive restaurants in the city and you didn’t think to get some water?"
"And I didn’t drink anything." Liam was already out of the car. "Two minutes."
Darren shook his head but didn’t argue. He held the building door open and they took the stairs up in comfortable silence, the kind that only exists between people who have known each other long enough to not need noise to fill the space.
The apartment was exactly as Liam remembered it — small, functional, lived-in in the way that said this was a man who spent money on food and nothing else. Darren dropped his jacket over the back of a chair and moved to the kitchen. Liam loosened his own jacket and sat at the counter.
A glass of water appeared in front of him.
"You could just stay," Darren said, leaning against the counter across from him. "Couch is free. It’s late."
Liam drank, set the glass down. "If I’m spending the night anywhere, why would it be your couch?"
Darren stared at him for exactly one second before it clicked. He pointed a finger. "Rachel."
"She’s in the building."
"Liam—"
"I’m joking." He picked the glass back up. "Probably."
Darren pulled out a chair and sat down, the suit jacket gone now, sleeves rolled to the elbow. He looked more like himself. He was quiet for a moment, he was deciding whether to say something.
He said it.
"Be careful with her."
Liam lowered the glass. "What?"
"Rachel." Darren leaned back, arms crossed loosely. "Just — be careful."
"She’s your landlord. You told me she was fine."
"She is fine. As a landlord." He paused. "The divorce though. It wasn’t — it wasn’t a clean thing."
Liam watched him. "What does that mean?"
"It means the husband wasn’t the problem." Darren said it simply, without judgment, he was just stating a fact.
"I don’t know the full story. You know how it is in these buildings — walls are thin, people talk, I wasn’t trying to find out her business. But from what I’ve gathered, the split got ugly and it wasn’t because of anything he did."
Liam was quiet for a moment.
Then: "Of course she is." He set the glass down and let out a short, dry laugh. "Of course she is crazy. I have a thing for attracting crazy women. It’s a gift, apparently."
Darren shrugged one shoulder. "I mean, Sara was—"
"Don’t." Liam held up a hand. "Don’t compare them. That’s insulting to Rachel."
"Fair point." Darren conceded that without argument. "All I’m saying is, just know what you’re getting into. She’s good people from what I can tell. But good people can still have messy histories."
"Everyone has a messy history."
"Sure." Darren scratched the back of his neck. "Some are messier than others."
Liam turned the glass slowly on the counter, thinking. He hadn’t asked much about Rachel beyond what was directly in front of him. Her apartment, her cooking, the quiet depreciating low self-esteem she carried around like something she had gotten used to the weight of.
He knew her body better than he knew her story, and that hadn’t bothered him until right now.
He pushed it away. This wasn’t the time to think about it.
"Does it change anything for you?" Liam asked. "With the rent situation?"
Darren looked offended. "Why would it change anything? She’s still my landlord. We’re cordial." He paused. "I mean. If anything—" He stopped.
"What?"
Darren’s expression shifted into something that was trying very hard not to be a smirk and failing. "You keep doing what you’re doing with her, who knows." He lifted both hands. "Maybe she knocks a couple of dollars off my rent."
Liam looked at him flatly.
Darren stared back, completely unbothered.
Liam drained the last of the water, stood up, and pulled his jacket straight. "I’ll see you later."
"That’s all you’ve got?"
"Goodnight, Darren."
"No denial. Interesting. You freaky pervert."
Liam was already at the door. He pulled it open and stepped into the hallway, the low light of the corridor settling around him. He heard Darren laugh quietly behind the closing door and let it go.
He stood in the hallway for a moment.
He could have texted Rachel. A simple message — ["you still up?"] — and she would have responded within two minutes, he knew that much about her. She would have unlocked the door and had tea on before he arrived at her door.
He didn’t text her.
He stood there a moment longer, Darren’s words moving quietly through the back of his mind.
"The husband wasn’t the problem."
Then he put it away, buttoned his jacket, and headed for her house.
