Chapter 24: Mental Health.

Liam grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

The apartment could wait. The termination letter could wait. Vanessa’s perfume, still lingering in his hallway, could definitely wait.

Darren had called.

Not texted. Called. And Darren wasn’t the kind of man who reached for the phone unless something was wrong. Liam had known him long enough to recognize the signs—the way his voice had sounded tighter than usual, the way he had asked "Can you meet me?" instead of just showing up like he always did.

Liam had said yes before Darren even finished the sentence.

"Twenty minutes,"

Liam thought, checking his phone. "

He said the diner on Fifth."

The car started this time. No clicking. No coughing. Just the smooth purr of an engine that finally had enough water in its radiator. Liam pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the main road.

The afternoon traffic was light. A blessing. He made it in seventeen minutes, even with two red lights.

The diner was a small thing—faded sign, cracked parking lot, the kind of place that served coffee so old it had memories. Liam had been here once before, years ago, after a late-night study session in college. The food was average. The prices were cheap. And no one ever asked questions.

"

Perfect for a conversation Darren doesn’t want to have,"

Liam thought.

He parked the car and sat for a moment, letting the ache in his body settle. Mike’s workout was still haunting him. His shoulders throbbed. His lower back screamed every time he turned the steering wheel. But he pushed through it.

Darren needed him.

Liam stepped out of the car and walked toward the entrance. The bell above the door jingled as he pushed it open. The smell of grease and old coffee hit him immediately—not unpleasant, just honest.

And there, in the corner booth, sat Darren.

Liam saw it right away.

The way Darren’s shoulders were hunched. The way his hands were wrapped around a coffee cup like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. The way his eyes stared at the table instead of the door, like he was watching something far away that no one else could see.

"

He’s not fine

," Liam thought.

But he didn’t say that.

Instead, Liam walked over, slid into the booth across from Darren, and cracked a smile.

"Damn, man. You look like someone stole your pet fish. What’s wrong? Goldfish finally kick the bucket?"

Darren looked up. For a moment, his face was blank. Then a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was there and gone in less than a second.

Not his usual smile. Not the easy, carefree grin that Darren wore like armor. This one was tired and strained. The smile of a man who was running on fumes and didn’t know where the next gas station was.

"Nah, Goldie’s fine," Darren said, his voice flat. "Goldie’s the only thing in my life that isn’t falling apart."

Liam’s smile faded the moment he heard this, Darren wasn’t even masking it.

He signaled to the waitress—a woman in her sixties with a beehive hairdo and a name tag that read Flo—and ordered a black coffee. Then he turned back to Darren.

"Talk to me."

Darren exhaled, long and slow. He stared into his coffee cup like it held the answers to questions he hadn’t asked yet.

"I’m drowning, man," Darren finally said. "Financially. I can’t keep up. The bills are piling up. The rent—" He stopped, shook his head. "You already know about the rent. That’s why you paid it. But it’s not just the rent. It’s everything. Electricity, water, credit cards. I’ve got a final notice on my table right now that’s got a date circled in red."

Liam leaned back in the booth. He didn’t interrupt. He just listened.

"I’ve been trying to figure it out on my own," Darren continued. "You know me. I don’t like asking for help, I don’t like people knowing I’m struggling. But I can’t... I can’t see a way out of this one."

"There’s always a way out," Liam said.

Darren laughed. It was bitter and short. "Yeah? You got a magic wand I don’t know about? Because I’ve run the numbers seventeen times. Seventeen, Liam. And every single time, they come up short. I’m two bad weeks away from losing everything."

The waitress arrived with Liam’s coffee. She set it down, looked between the two men, and seemed to sense that she shouldn’t linger. She walked away without asking if they wanted menus.

Liam wrapped his hands around the warm cup. "How bad are we talking?"

Darren hesitated. Then he pulled out his phone, opened a note, and slid it across the table.

Liam looked at the numbers.

His stomach tightened.

It was bad, worse than he expected. The kind of debt that didn’t disappear with a single paycheck or even two. The kind that required a real plan—and real sacrifice.

"When did this happen?" Liam asked quietly.

"It didn’t happen all at once." Darren took his phone back, shoving it into his pocket like the numbers might crawl out and attack him.

"It’s been building for years. Little by little. I’d miss a payment here, make a late payment there. Interest piled up. Fees piled up. And then I lost some freelance work last month, and everything just..." He spread his hands. "Collapsed."

"Why didn’t you tell me sooner?"

Darren looked away. "Because I didn’t want you to look at me the way you’re looking at me right now."

Liam blinked. "How am I looking at you?"

"Like I’m a problem you need to solve." Darren’s voice was quiet but sharp. "Like I’m a case file. Like I’m something broken that needs fixing."

Liam sat back, stung.

He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. Because Darren wasn’t wrong. That was exactly how Liam’s brain worked. Someone presented a problem, and he immediately started looking for solutions.

It was what made him a good lawyer. But it was also what made him a shitty friend sometimes.

"You’re right," Liam admitted. "I was doing that. I’m sorry."

Darren nodded slowly. "I’m not telling you this because I want you to fix it. I’m telling you because I needed to say it out loud. To someone who isn’t gonna... I don’t know. Judge me."

"I’m not judging you."

"Maybe not. But you’re thinking about how to save me. And I don’t want to be saved, Liam. I just want to be heard."

Liam took a sip of his coffee. It was bitter. He didn’t add sugar.

"Okay," he said. "Then I’m listening."

Darren looked at him for a long moment. Then he nodded, just once, and picked up his coffee cup.

"I don’t know what I’m gonna do," Darren admitted. "I’ve thought about everything. Selling the car, moving back in with my grandparents. Taking out another loan to cover the first loan. None of it works. None of it gets me ahead."

"What about a second job?"

"Already looked. My schedule’s too tight. I’d have to quit my day job to make room for a night job, and then I’d lose my benefits. It’s a wash."

Liam turned his coffee cup in circles, thinking.

Darren wasn’t asking for money, that much was clear. He wasn’t asking for a handout or a loan or a magical solution. He was asking for something harder—something Liam wasn’t sure he knew how to give.

He was asking to be seen.

"Okay," Liam said finally. "Here’s what I’m not gonna do. I’m not gonna offer you money. I’m not gonna tell you to budget better. And I’m definitely not gonna call you every day to ask if you’ve figured it out yet."

Darren raised an eyebrow. "Then what are you gonna do?"

"I’m gonna sit here. Drink this terrible coffee. And listen to whatever you want to tell me. And when you’re done talking, we’re gonna sit in silence until one of us thinks of something stupid to say."

Darren stared at him.

Then, for the first time since Liam walked in, Darren’s smile looked real.

"You’re an idiot," Darren said.

"Maybe. But I’m your idiot."

The bell above the door jingled. Someone walked in. Neither of them looked.

Darren took a long breath and let it out. The tension in his shoulders didn’t disappear, but it softened. Just a little.

"I don’t know what I’m gonna do," Darren repeated. "But I’m glad you’re here."

Liam nodded. "I’m not going anywhere. We will figure this out together."

And he meant it.