I freeze in the middle of lowering my glass to the table. The temperature in the room drops a thousand degrees.
I know Liam is tense beside me. But I can’t look at him.
Then, I feel his hand cover mine, the one I am clenching into a fist in my lap.
The moment Liam’s hand touches mine, I feel grounded. His touch brings me back to the now.
My eyes go to his. The look in them washes over me like a safety net, catching and holding me carefully in place.
I release the breath I was holding. I put my glass the rest of the way down and moisten my dry lips before speaking, “My parents passed away.”
Passed away.
It sounds so calm, so easy, when said that way.
Nothing about how they died was calm or easy.
They died because of me.
But I can’t say that out loud because it would make them feel uncomfortable.
And if I’m being true to myself, I don’t want Liam to know.
I don’t want to change the way he looks at me. And if he knew, it would change. He wouldn’t like me or think of me in the same way.
I don’t want to lose that in the time I have left with him.
Liam’s hand is still covering my fist. Relaxing my fingers, I turn my palm over to meet his. Our fingers slide together, joining that one part of our bodies.
I can feel Liam’s eyes on me. But I don’t look at him.
Because I’m afraid, if I do, I might just crack and break.
So, I look at Bernie. His expression hasn’t changed, and I appreciate that very much. He’s not looking at me with sympathy that I don’t deserve. He’s just looking at me.
“I am sorry to hear about your parents, Taylor.”
“Thank you.”
I really hate saying thank you, but what else can I say? Don’t apologize. It was my fault they died. I killed them. No, I definitely can’t say that.
“Do you have any siblings?”
I did…but not anymore.
I shake my head in answer. Talking about my parents is bad enough, but I can’t talk about Parker and Tess. At least my parents had some life. They went to college. Fell in love. Had jobs. Had children.
Parker’s and Tess’s lives were just starting when I stole it from them.
“My wife died when she was thirty-five,” Bernie tells me.
And even though we’re still talking death, I’m relieved not to be talking about my family anymore.
“Cervical cancer. Liam’s father was five at the time. It’s tough, losing someone you love.”
I see his eyes flicker to Liam, and I know that Bernie is thinking of Liam’s mother.
I move my gaze to Liam. His eyes are already on me. I feel this swooping sensation in my stomach along with safety. I feel safe in his eyes.
The doors to the room open, and the waiters come in with our soup, putting a halt to any more conversation for now.
“Thank you so much for dinner,” I say to Bernie.
We’ve just arrived back at Hunter Hall, and we are standing in the ginormous hallway.
“You don’t have to thank me. The pleasure was all mine, Taylor.”
“You fancy a nightcap, Grandpa?” Liam asks Bernie.
“No, I’m going to head to bed. But you two youngsters go ahead.”
“You up for a drink, Boston?” Liam turns to me.
I’m feeling a little wiped out after all that food and wine. The seven courses were small, but I’m stuffed.
I still find myself saying yes to Liam though because I’m not ready for the night to be over just yet.
“Good night, Taylor.” Bernie kisses me on the cheek.
“Good night,” I say.
He hugs Liam. “Night, boy.”
“Night, Grandpa.”
We both watch Bernie head for the sweeping staircase.
“Oh, and the good brandy’s in the decanter in the drawing room,” he calls over his shoulder to us.
Liam chuckles, and then he takes ahold of my hand and tugs on it, leading me across the hall, heading for the drawing room.
“The good brandy? Or something else?” Liam asks, walking over to the drink cabinet.
“It’d be rude not to have the good brandy.” I smile.
Liam gets two brandy glasses out and then pours in the brandy from the decanter. He carries them over to me and hands me mine.
“Cheers.” He holds his glass up to mine.
“Cheers.” I clink my glass against his and then take a drink.
It is good brandy but strong.
“That has some kick to it.” I blow out a whistling breath.
“Yeah, I guess I’m kind of used to it.”
“Seasoned drinker?” I jest.
“Nah, brandy is just Grandpa’s answer to everything. Fall over and scrape your knee? Glass of brandy. Girlfriend dumps you? Glass of brandy.”
“He gave you brandy when you were young?” I’m guessing he meant young from the scraped knee comment.
He laughs. “Only a toddy.”
“He did have you flying planes when you were barely out of diapers, so I shouldn’t be surprised at the hard liquor.”
“I told you that he was a little unconventional.” He grins.
“But it works for him. He’s a wonderful man. He loves you a lot.”
“I love him a lot, too.”
Hearing him say that about his grandpa sets off an ache deep inside my heart. The one that reminds me that I used to have that. I used to have people who loved me in that way.
And, now, I don’t.
Liam clears his throat. “Boston, I’m sorry that my grandpa asked about your parents at dinner. I should’ve thought ahead and told him it was a no-go area.”
“It’s fine.”
And it was. It could have been a lot worse. But I handled it better than I had before.
That’s because of Liam. Because he was there beside me. His strength gave me the strength to talk about them.
A bunch of framed photographs on a table over by the window catches my eye. Leaving Liam, I walk over to them. I put my glass on the table by the pictures and start looking at them.
There are pictures of Liam with his grandpa and ones of a young Liam dressed in his school uniform.
“Aw, you were really cute when you were a kid.”
“Hot, I think is the word you’re looking for, Boston.”
I glance at him over my shoulder. He’s sitting on the arm of the sofa.
“Um, no, I definitely mean cute. Pedophilia isn’t my thing.”
“Ah, yeah, good point.” He chuckles before putting his glass to his lips.
I look back at the pictures. I see one of Liam, Cam, and Eddie. They’re dressed in rugby uniforms, standing in a line, and they have their arms around each other.
I spy a picture at the back. It catches my eye because it’s a picture of Liam with a girl.
I pick the photo up and stare at it.
Liam and the mystery girl are standing in front of a small airplane. The plane has Liam’s company logo on the side.
He looks younger than he does now. I’d say he’s in his early twenties in the picture. The girl looks to be about the same age. And she’s pretty. Really pretty. Long pale-blonde hair. Eyes so blue they stand out in the photograph. And she looks tall, standing next to Liam.
I turn to him, the picture still in my hand. “An ex-girlfriend?” I say the words calmly, but the jealousy I feel is shocking in its intensity.
The expression on Liam’s face freezes when his eyes meet with the photograph.
I feel an uncomfortable twist in my gut.
His eyes darken. “I didn’t know that was there.” The tone of his voice is hard and unyielding.
I’ve never heard him sound that way before.
He puts his glass down on a small table by the sofa. Then, he comes over and takes the picture from my hand. He stalks over to a cabinet and opens the drawer in it. Liam puts the frame in the drawer and sh
uts it so hard that the cabinet shakes. He walks back over and picks his glass up from the table.
My heart is beating hard. I’m not sure what just happened. And I’m not sure what to say.
But I do know that I feel rattled that a picture of his ex-girlfriend could elicit such a strong response from him.
“Who…is she?” I tentatively ask the question.
Liam doesn’t say anything. He just stares down at the liquor in his glass.
I figure he isn’t going to answer, so I’m surprised when he does.
“Kate.” The word comes out coarse and angry, and it’s all he says.
Kate? Why does that name sound familiar?
I search around my mind, trying to recall why that name sounds familiar, when Liam quietly says, “She was my fiancée.”
Oh.
Oh, wow. That hurts.
There’s an actual pain in my chest, and my stomach feels like it’s just bottomed out.
For a moment, I feel cheated. Like he’s lied to me. He didn’t tell me something as important as the fact that he once had a fiancée.
But then again, why would he? It’s none of my business. He’s just fucking me.
And it’s not like I’ve been truthful with him.
I’ve told him that my family died, but I haven’t told him that the reason they died was because of me. Because of my selfishness.
I haven’t told him that I’m dying. That I’m letting this brain tumor kill me, so I can pay penance and be with them.
It’s not exactly like I can get up on my high horse about this.
So, I just simply say and do nothing.
Liam seems to break from the trance he was in. In an angry movement, he downs the brandy in one gulp and slams the glass back down on the table.
“Let’s go to bed,” he speaks to me without looking at me, already moving for the door.
I don’t answer. I just quickly finish my own drink.
Liam is already a good way down the hallway, striding in the direction of the staircase. I have to hurry to catch up with him. When I do catch up, he doesn’t acknowledge my presence.
The walk to his room is painfully silent and filled with confusion on my part.
I feel like we’ve had a fight without actually having had the fight.
As soon as we get into his bedroom, I grab my pajamas and toiletry bag, and I head straight for the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
I’m dressed in my pajamas, and I’ve just finished taking off my makeup when the headache hits.
And it hits bad.
Fuck. No. Not now.
The weight of the pain in my head has me sinking to my knees on the cold tiled floor. Leaning forward, I cradle my head in my hands. The pain is so bad and intense, worse than anything I’ve felt before. Tears are streaming down my cheeks.
“Look, Boston, I’m sor—Jesus, Taylor, what’s wrong?” Liam is by my side in an instant, panic clear in his voice.
Why did he have to come in now?
I don’t want him seeing me like this. The last time I had a headache at his place and he saw it, it was bad enough, and this attack is much worse.
The attacks are getting worse and worse, Taylor. You know what that means.
I just need him to go. I need to be alone.
I try to part my dry lips to tell him to go when the wave of nausea hits.
I’m going to be sick.
Pushing away from Liam, I crawl to the toilet. I lift the lid just in time.
Liam’s there, beside me, his hands gathering up my hair and holding it out of the way, while I vomit dinner up.
“It’s okay, babe. Get it out of your system. You’ll feel better for it.”
This time, I will.
But it will happen again.
And again.
I feel like crying.
Liam will probably just think I’m sick with a bug.
But I’m not.
I’m sick because I’m dying.
I’m a liar and a fraud.
Liam is holding my hair back for me, caring for me, and he doesn’t even know the reason I’m like this.
I hate myself in this moment.
Hating myself isn’t a new concept to me. But, somehow, this hatred feels different to the hatred I’ve felt for myself ever since my family died.
Liam’s other hand starts to gently rub my back.
I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve to be here with him.
The sickness subsides to light retching. When that calms and I feel ready, I reach for the flusher.
I rest my arm on the toilet seat and lay my still throbbing head on my arm. “Go—now. I’ll be okay.”
“I’m going nowhere. Have you been feeling ill long?”
I mumble, “No.”
Another lie.
“Do you think it was the food from the restaurant? Because I feel okay. But I should probably go check on my grandpa.”
“It wasn’t the food.” It’s the ever-growing tumor in my head. “It’s just one of my headaches. They make me sick sometimes. I’ll be fine.”
Lie. Lie. Lie.
Another pain hits out of nowhere, like lightning striking through my head, splitting it open. I cry out in agony as my arms cradle around my head, trying to cushion the pain.
Stop. Please stop.
“This isn’t just a headache. Jesus, Taylor…you’re scaring me. I’m going to call a doctor.”
I feel him start to move, and that forces a quick response from me. I release an arm from my head, and I grab his arm, stopping him. “No,” I whisper. “No doctor. Just need my pills. It’s just…a headache. My pills always fix it. It’s just like the one before, remember?”
“No, it isn’t. This is worse, Taylor. Way worse. You’re throwing up and crying from the pain—”
“Please, Liam.” I lift my head a little, squinting at the brightness. I try to look at his face. “I just need my pills.”
He stares at me for a long moment, indecision written all over his face.
I let go of his arm and lift my hand to his face. I press my palm to his cheek. “I’ll be okay. I just need my pills. Please, Liam.”
He presses his hand to mine that’s still against his face. “Okay,” he exhales.
When he moves his hand from mine, I let mine drop, and Liam gets to his feet.
I think he’s going to get my pills, but he comes back with a toothbrush with toothpaste on it and hands it to me.
“I thought you’d want to brush them now because I’m carrying you to bed. Then, I’m getting you your pills, and you’re not moving for the rest of tonight and probably not tomorrow either.”
I don’t argue. I just put the toothbrush in my mouth and brush my teeth the best I can.
When I’m done, Liam takes the toothbrush from me, rinsing it and putting it on the sink.
He comes back to me. Bending down, he slips one arm under my knees and his other arm around my back. “Put your arm around my neck, and hold on,” he says softly.
I lift my arm and hold on to him.
Liam stands with me in his arms. I rest my head against his chest.
The smell and warmth and strength of him soothe me in ways I can’t even begin to describe.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble against his shirt as he walks.
“Don’t be.” He reaches the bed and gently lays me on it. “You’re sick, babe. You can’t help that.”
He brushes my hair off my forehead right as another wave of pain hits me. It’s not as bad as the last time, but it still hurts. I close my eyes against the torment, my face contorting.
“I’ll get your pills,” Liam says. I can hear the concern still in his voice. “Are they in your handbag?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
I hear him moving around. Then, I hear running water in the bathroom.
He sits on the edge of the bed beside me. “Here.”
He puts the pills to my lips. I open up, letting him drop them into my mouth. He slide
s a careful hand under my head, lifting it a little, and presses the glass to my lips. I take in some water, swallowing the pills down, and then my head is lowered back to the pillow.
Liam puts the glass on the nightstand next to me and stands. He crosses the room and turns off the light switch.
The only light in the room is the glow from the bathroom light that’s been left on, the door slightly ajar.
I hear him undressing. Then, he gets in bed next to me, lying on his side.
“How are you doing?” he asks softly.
I turn my head on the pillow, half-opening my eyes to look at him. “Better now that you’re beside me.”
He smiles and then presses a kiss to my bare shoulder. “Close your eyes, Boston. Get some rest. I’ll be here if you need me.”
With those words in my mind, I close my eyes.
Liam lies there with me, his hand stroking the skin on my arm, relaxing me.
And I silently pray for the tumor to give me a little more time with him before it takes me.
I wake to warmth and strength and stability wrapped around me.
Liam.
We’re still lying in the same positions we fell asleep in. Liam is on his side beside me, his body pressed up against mine. His long leg is bent and lying on top of mine. His foot is tucked in between my legs. His arm is stretched out over my stomach. His hold on me is tight, and I like it. It makes me feel safe.
It’s like neither of us has moved all night.
But I don’t feel stiff. I feel well rested, and the headache is long gone.
For the time being.
I know Liam is awake because his fingers are stroking the bare skin on my waist from where my pajama top has ridden up.
I open my eyes and turn my head on the pillow. His eyes are open and staring back at me.
There’s never been a more beautiful sight than the one I’m looking at right now.
Liam in the morning is my heaven on earth. His wavy dark hair is all tousled up, a few strands teasing his forehead. The shadow of his stubble, which grew throughout the night, covers his chin. And, of course, the naked chest is always a bonus.
I think Liam looks younger than his thirty-two years first thing in the morning. Not that he looks old normally. He just seems more carefree and relaxed in these early moments.