Page 20 of A Simple Reminder

I press my palms against the sink, letting the cold porcelain ground me. Can I fix what I broke? Is that even possible? We were young, and I let her down in ways I didn’t understand back then. Regret has haunted me for years, but regret doesn’t change the past. Still, maybe—just maybe—I can fix something, even if it’s just building a friendship again. For her. For us. For the people who have to put up with this tension.

I sigh, stepping away from the mirror—enough wallowing for today.

The hot water hits my back, easing the tension in my muscles as I try to sort through my thoughts. The steam fogs the air, but clarity doesn’t come with it. Why does this still feel so raw after all these years? Why does she still feel so close, even when she’s emotionally miles away?

By the time I’ve dried off and thrown on some clothes, my mind is no less cluttered, but my stomach has started to remind me I haven’t eaten. Breakfast, at least, is something I can control.

The kitchen was stocked before I arrived, and I’m endlessly grateful to my new assistant for making sure it was all set up. Lilly is a gem—organized, reliable, and always one step ahead, which is more than I can say about myself right now.

I take some yogurt from the fridge and scoop it onto a plate. Mixing in salt, fresh herbs, and a bit of chili. I drizzle olive oil and some za’atar over it, creating my own version of labneh.

Then, I scramble eggs with sucuk, a spicy sausage that adds just enough heat to make the dish feel alive. I cut up some fresh vegetables, though it all feels like a blur, like I’m just going through the motions. Finally, I sit down with a large coffee in hand—just like Ammo used to make it, or at least, sort of. It’s a poor substitute for what I really want. A little peace. A little clarity. And maybe—just maybe—a way forward. A way to stop feeling stuck in this cycle, to figure out what’s next, and to finally let go of what’s holding me back.

My stomach growls, but my phone rings just as I’m about to dip my pita in the yogurt. Who the fuck calls at six-thirty in the morning? My question is quickly answered when the caller ID reveals my brother’s name, and he’s FaceTiming too. What’s wrong with him?

“It’s very early, Lucas. Why are you calling me?”

“What the fuck happened to your face?” Lucas blurts out.

Fuck.For a second, I forgot about the cuts and bruises. I’m an idiot.

“I had a little...accident,” I say, trying to brush it off.

Lucas raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “An accident? You look like you went twelve rounds with a heavyweight champ.Whathappened?”

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my short hair. “It’s a long story, and I don’t have time to get into it right now. I’ve got a busy day ahead.”

Lucas’s expression softens slightly. “You better call me later and explain. You know I worry about you.”

“I know, I know, just don’t tell Leo-”

Before I can finish my plea, a female shriek cuts through my ear drum.

“LIAM, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?” My sister-in-law Leora appears over Lucas’ shoulder. Great, just great.

“Heeeey, Leora,” I drawl, attempting to sound nonchalant, though the tension in my voice betrays me.

Her gaze sharpens, laced with worry, cutting straight through my act.

“It’s nothing serious, I promise,” I add quickly, forcing a casual tone that feels anything but convincing.

She snatches the phone out of Lucas’ hand, and I hear him take a deep breath as she starts walking around—or rather, wobbling. She’s very pregnant, expecting their second child—my second niece or nephew. We don’t know the gender yet, but I’m so excited.

“Nothing serious? You look like you’ve been beaten up by a gorilla!” she exclaims, her voice laced with growing concern.

I roll my eyes. Obviously, she’s exaggerating—I’m notthatbeat up. She should see the other guy.

“Leora, honey, please calm down. Stress isn’t good for you or the baby,” Lucas says, his tone careful, but Leora turns and fixes him with a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

“Can you at least sit down?” he pleads, his voice edging on desperation.

“I’m pregnant, Lucas. I’m not a porcelain doll,” she snaps, her words carrying that no-nonsense tone we all know too well. But, to his credit—or maybe just to spare him—she eventually sighs and lowers herself into a chair.

“Now, back to Liam,” she says, unfortunately. ”This isn’t like you, why are you fighting? You’ve barely been in New York for half a week.”

“I know, I know... It was just a one-time thing, probably caused by jet lag,” I mutter, unsure if that’s even a valid excuse.

Leora's eyes narrow, clearly unconvinced. “Jet lag doesn't give you bruises and cuts. You need to take better care of yourself and that mouth of yours.”

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