Page 120 of Bad Blood

“Before you say anything, you need to hear me out.” He faces the TV, the sound of clicking paddles from the controller in his hands getting faster and faster. He leans to the left and dodges to the right, coaxing the character to follow his movements. An explosion fills the screen, and he drops back on the cushion. “Dammit.”

“Liam?”

His attention stays glued to the TV.

“Hey.”

“What?” He groans in frustration, standing as he bobs and weaves.

Bane nudges my hand, and I ruffle his ears. “Who’s a good boy?” I go into the kitchen before dropping my keys on the counter. “I asked you not to go out.”

He pauses for a second. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I thought something happened to you.”

“But it didn’t.” He turns at a snail’s pace, analyzing my face.

We both know none of this would have happened if I hadn’t gone upstate for work, but neither of us mentions it.

I wipe a hand down my face, tired of arguing with him. “What were you saying?”

His mouth widens with a smile. “If we take our annual trip to see . . .”

“No.”

Liam glares at me, tossing the controller onto the cushion. “You didn’t give me a chance to tell you my idea.”

“No.” I yank open the fridge and grab the OJ, taking a swig and replacing it.

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“We’re not risking it.”

He’s out of the living room and in the kitchen faster than I figured possible for his current state. As he comes to a stop, leaning against the counter, he absentmindedly rubs at his hip and holds up both hands as he says, “Hear me out.”

“It’s not worth it. If something happened, what would we do?” I mimic his posture, leaning against the counter diagonal from him and cross my arms over my chest as I examine him. He mentioned not feeling great after this chemo session on our call, but he looks normal-ish. Has he lost weight?

“We’d only be a couple hours north of here. I’m pretty sure I’ve been stuck in traffic for longer than that.”

“I don’t like it.”

“And I don’t care,” he says, placing both hands on the countertop behind him, leaning forward.

“I’m not changing my mind,” I say. There have been a handful of times he has challenged me in the past couple of years, and a part of me wants to relent. But if something did happen, and it was because I wasn’t watching out for him, it would be my fault. It’s not a risk I’m willing to take. I push off the counter, round the island, and head to the sofa.

“You don’t know what this is like. You don’t get to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, feel, or think. This could be it. My last summer,” he says, his comment hitting me where I’m weak.

“Don’t say that.” I wince, rubbing a fist over the aching in my chest. The truth of what he’s saying is like a sucker punch to the rational side of my brain. How did this happen? How did we get here?

“I’m afraid of not living with the time I have left. Is the truth too much for you to handle? I never know how you’re going to react.” His voice grows louder, but I refuse to turn and face him.

“It’s not like that.”

He stops beside me. I can see him out of the corner of my eye, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. “Let me tell you what it is like. Uncertain. Unknown. Unlikely. Want me to keep adding to the list? I could go on and on.”

I pivot to the right and catch him off guard, pulling him into a hug. There’s a knot in my throat that won’t let words pass. I clench my jaw, willing my blurry eyes to stop watering. His reference to how I freaked out and disappeared when things got to be too much after our parents died is something I wish I could wipe from my mind forever.

He keeps his arms pinned to his sides. I don’t expect him to reciprocate. “I don’t want to do this alone, but I won’t be your burden,” he says as he clears his throat, and his body starts to tremble as he drops his head on my shoulder.

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