Page 80 of Bad Blood

“It wasn’t like that.” My need to clarify goes into overdrive. “She was choking. I gave her tea, and we went to the park. It was nothing.”

“I know you better than that.”

“I wouldn’t cross that line.” I considered it, which he never needs to know, but having Liam freak out and knowing nothing happened makes her not worth it.

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Looks like you already did.”

His interest seems a little over the top, even for him. There’s only one logical explanation: I’m an easy target for the brunt of his frustration.

He’s not pissed at me.

Even if he has every right to be.

This is something else. Something he’s taking out on me: He’s pissed at life.

If I could get him to chill out—I already know she’s a no-go—maybe I could get him to back off and relax. The last thing I want or need is for him to be pissed off when I leave for work.

“I have no intention of taking things anywhere. Do you honestly think I’d do that to you?”

He considers it and pulls his shoulders to his ears. “Guess it would be a first.”

“It’s not a first anything. I’m not gonna do anything with your doctor. I was being nice and didn’t think she should be out alone.”

He juggles the ball between his feet before booting it across the living room. We watch as it bounces off the floor-to-ceiling window beside the TV.

“Are you listening to me?”

“You’re so selfish.” He pulls out a stool at the counter and plops onto it, cupping his chin in his palm. He takes the chopsticks from the paper slip and pokes at his sushi. “You only think about yourself and what you want. You never think about anyone else or how your actions will affect them. Just because you want something doesn’t mean you can have it.”

“Insightful.”

“You mean honest.”

I throw my hands in the air. “I don’t want anything to do with her, Liam. Shit.” I rake my hands through my hair, annoyed by his train of thought. “Eat your fucking sushi and stop being a baby.”

He flings the chopsticks across the kitchen, knocking over the stool as he stands. I’m curious if he’s gonna step up to me, but he shoulders past me and stomps toward his room. He stops in the doorway and turns to face me, pointing his finger at me. “Fuck you, Dax. And fuck this,” he flails his hands around in the air. “All of it. I’m done. I don’t fucking care anymore.”

Bane takes off after him, making it into Liam’s room before he slams the door. Axel ignores the commotion and props his front paws on the stool Liam vacated, sniffing the tray. His movement draws my attention, and my eyes land on Liam’s phone on the counter’s edge. I grab it and see it’s open, figuring what he was looking at has something to do with his attitude.

I wish I hadn’t.

The survival rate for patients with metastatic Ewing Sarcoma is less than fifteen percent. But what does that mean for Liam? No wonder he’s on edge.

Liam needs me, and I need to respect his stance on things.

I slide his phone across the counter, not wanting to see what else he found. I’ve been there, done that. It’s not good. When he wants to talk about it, I’m here. And he knows that.

Axel follows me to the door, and I slip into the hall. After retrieving Liam’s soup, making amends before I head upstate is my number one priority.

I grab his soup from the landing where I left it. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I check to see who it is as I head back upstairs.

It’s Bree. I don’t have the energy to formulate a response to all the questions I’m sure she’s gonna ask.

I ignore it, letting it go to voicemail. I don’t want to talk right now.

I enter the apartment, and Axel bounds in front of me, leading me toward Liam’s room. He paws at the door but gets no response.

I knock and press my ear against the wood. “Liam?” There’s still nothing. “I got your soup.”

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