Page 156 of Bad Blood

Tears roll off my chin, the droplets blooming as they fall onto my T-shirt.

Liam’s chapped, peeling lips turn into an ornery grin when our eyes meet. “Look at you. Pull yourself together.”

I wipe a hand across my cheek, chuckling. “We can do this.”

“I know. But that doesn’t mean I want to.”

“I get that.”

“It takes forever for me to feel better, and it’s getting worse and worse each time. I can’t stop the tightness in my chest whenever I think about it.” His voice is breathy, weak. He rubs his fingers over his ribs, agony filling his eyes as a coughing fit takes over. He tucks his head against his arms, turning away from me.

“You’ve made it this far.”

He drops his head against the mattress and stares at the ceiling. “She didn’t explain this part.”

“What part?” His reference to Brighton doesn’t go unnoticed, but I don’t want to add to Liam’s stress. And I don’t know how to be near her without screwing everything up for him.

“My wanting to quit.”

“That’s because you can’t.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” He lolls his head to face me. The purplish hue under his eyes weighs heavy as a reminder of what he’s going through, even when he doesn’t voice it. He pulls his hood off his head, rubbing a hand over his patchy scalp. “Can you hand me that?” He points beside me on the nightstand.

“You can’t think like that.” I grab his ball cap, noting Mom’s green notecard with Gran’s phone number, and turn to watch him. I pocket the paper, hoping he doesn’t notice. I don’t want them involved. Not now. The reality of the situation hits me. I want to be strong for him, but all I feel is weakness.

I fucking hate cancer.

Liam groans in acceptance, pinching his eyes closed. He uses the mattress for leverage, and I stand, offering my arm to pull him to his feet. My heart races as he takes his first unsteady step, letting go of my hand. I have the urge to walk behind him with my arms outstretched like he’s a toddler learning to walk. But I don’t, knowing he wouldn’t want me to.

“One week off, three more to go.” He repeats this to himself over and over as he makes his way to his bathroom. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, taking a breather against the open doorway as he turns to face me. His sweats and hoodie sag against his lanky frame.

“I don’t know if I can make it through this,” he says in a low tone. And then quieter. “I can’t.” His face is ashen. His lower lip and chin tremble as his chest bursts in and out with rapid breaths. He rocks backward, stumbling. His body crumbles as slow as molasses. When his head connects with the vanity, there’s a sickening crack.

I can’t move fast enough.

44

Call the Doctor

Dax

Saturday, June 10 th

9:41 a.m.

“This is not your best angle.”

I glare at Liam from the corner of my eye, partially listening to the doctor explain what he’s doing as he finishes the last stitches on the back of Liam’s head.

“Three and a quarter centimeter laceration. Eight stitches. Come back in seven to ten days.”

“But it’s my week off.” Liam shivers at his last couple of words, turning his head and cringing as the final suture pulls taut. His need to stay away from this place is understandable.

The doctor rolls on his chair, facing Liam where he sits on the edge of the exam table. His brow pinches together. “Just a simple suture removal.” He turns, pointing the scissor-like tool at me. “Unless you wanna do it?”

“No way.” I feel all the color drain from my face.

It’s a minor cut. But he’s okay, and that’s all that matters. No food and low blood sugar, and Liam passes out. I could have had none of this information and been completely happy with my life. He scared the shit out of me.

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