Page 49 of Tide Over

His eyes widen and he shakes his head. “No. No, I wanted it.” He releases a breath and steps towards me, eyes roaming over my face. “Idowant it.”

Relief washes over me, but it’s fleeting. I swallow hard as I look into his eyes, because there’s something else deep inside him that seems to be causing him pain. There’s a dark cloud hanging over him, and I’m not sure where it came from.

“What’s going on?” I ask softly, hoping he’ll take the opportunity to share whatever it is that’s weighing so heavily on him.

His eyes flicker with uncertainty as they search mine, like he’s trying to find the right words. Then he exhales slowly. “How can happiness bring so much guilt?”

My heart sinks, because I know exactly what he means. I’ve been there too. Those feelings still creep up on me sometimes.

I nod in understanding. “Moving on without someone… it’s one of the hardest things you’ll ever have to do.”

Liam’s gaze drops, his jaw tight as he gives a small nod. It looks like he’s barely holding it together, and like he wants to let it all out, but doesn’t know how.

The rain beats steadily against the glass door overlooking the ocean, filling the silence between us as the dull morning light casts shadows over us.

“Feels like your own storm, doesn’t it?” I murmur, breaking the silence.

His eyes lift to meet mine, full of a storm all their own.

“It’s like riding a massive wave, at the mercy of angry winds,” I say quietly. “You don’t know how long you’ll stay high, feeling good and happy… until it all crashes down on the other side. And you’re drowning again, waiting for something… anything… to pull you back up.”

He holds my gaze for a moment until he gives a small nod, a silent acknowledgement that he’s been caught in that endless cycle.

I shift my gaze out the window, watching the waves crash against the shore. “Grief is hell,” I murmur. “But it passes. It always comes back, usually when you’re not ready for it. But each time, its weight feels a little less… because eventually you’re able to prepare for it.”

When I glance back at him, he’s staring out at the ocean too, his profile etched with sadness.

“I don’t deserve to pass this storm,” he says, so quietly that the sound of the rain almost swallows his words.

His words tear through me and a deep ache settles in my chest. Before I can even process how to respond to that, Liam turns abruptly and heads towards the kitchen.

I follow, reaching out to gently grab his elbow and force him to turn and face me. “What does that mean?” I ask, trying to add strength to my voice.

He shakes his head with a heavy sigh. He avoids my eyes as he stares past me with a distant look. Then he closes his eyes, rubbing his face with his hand like he’s trying to push away the emotions that are threatening to spill over.

“It’s ok,” I say, letting go of his arm and stepping back slightly to give him the space he seems to need. But I can’t shake the urgency building inside me, and the need to know what he meant by that.

He draws in a breath, eyes still glued to the window. “Nick died at work. There was an accident, and… I…” His voice falters, and he shakes his head.

“You were there?” I ask gently.

Liam nods, and the weight of his silence is a heavy one. “We grew up together,” he says finally, his voice thick with grief. “We were the same age, and our parents are best friends. He was my brother.” He swallows hard, each word a struggle. “We did everything together. We went to welding school, moved to Alberta…we even worked in a lot of the same camps up north.”

I watch him, my heart breaking with every word he forces out.

“I haven’t been home or talked to my family since his funeral three months ago,” he says quietly.

My brow furrows as I think on that for a moment. “Why not?”

Emotions flicker across his face, his eyes still not meeting mine as he shakes his head again. “I just can’t do it,” he says, his voice hollow like he’s trying to detach himself from it all.

I watch him for a moment as his hands fidget, his eyes still refusing to meet mine as the tension in his body grows.

“And now, I just…” He sighs, rubbing his forehead in frustration. “How am I supposed to feel happy, to feelanythinggood, when…” He exhales sharply, cutting himself off and seeming to struggle for words. “Last night… it’s the longest I’ve gone without thinking about him. About what should’ve happened if…” His jaw clenches, his unfinished thoughts seeming to shift to carry an apparent anger. “I shouldn’t be living my life when he’s supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be the one…” His voice cracks, and he trails off, overwhelmed by emotions he can’t quite put into words.

There seems to be more he wants to say but can’t. And I get it. Grief has a way of warping everything and twisting emotions until nothing makes sense. I know that feeling. How the intensity of it builds like an unstoppable wave, crashing over you until you’re desperate for any kind of release, even if it’s not the healthiest.

When I lost my dad, I bottled it all up and stuffed it down with everything else I didn’t want to face, letting it build until I couldn’t take it anymore. And the only way I was able to cope was to throw myself into work, burying the pain under endless tasks. I know it’s not the best solution… but it’s something. It’s a way to let the pressure out as I figure out how to carry the grief, pain, and confusion about how I can fit into this life I’m living.

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