Page 119 of My Wife
“Phew. You’ll fit right in.”
“Are you saying Liam is like a vampire?” I ask.
“Depends on what kind of man glitter we’re talking about.”
Her icebreaker instantly puts me at ease and I laugh. “I’d peg him for a wolf shifter.”
She gives her head a shake. “He wasn’t always so quiet. Serious, yes, but not so?—”
“Gruff, grumpy, grouchy?”
“You know him so well. But how do you stand it?” She taps my knee. “You have a super sunny personality. It confirms the opposites attract theory.”
I have about a million questions and am not sure where to start or where the line is between being nosy and coming off like someone who might marry Liam—for convenience. True to form, we didn’t get into the details because the guy isn’t the most communicative, which apparently is a widely known fact.
Playing it safe, I say, “Which is it? The Beast, Mr. Darcy, Edward Cullen? Jacob?”
“My brother is not known as Mr. Personality, but Mr. Darcy? That’s a new one to me,” Ingrid says.
I’m thankful for the dim light on the porch because my cheeks turn pink as I tell her about #MrDarcysAbs.
She groans in a decidedly grossed-out way as only a sister could. “How about all the above?”
“Not that I look, much.”
“You, of all people, have viewing rights.” She exhales and then sinks back slightly. “Those titles are all lost on him. After everything that happened, he doesn’t let himself see anything other than hockey.”
“It’s his life.”
Ingrid frowns. “No, you and KJ are.” Her head jerks toward me. “Wait. He told you, right?”
I don’t have a chance to answer when Mrs. Ellis pops her head out the door. “We’re meeting everyone in town for pizza in about fifteen minutes. Tomorrow, we’ll have a big meal here.”
It’s safe to say there is a long list of things Liam has never told me.
When we were playing text truth or dare, he said he has secrets. Then again, there’s a lot he doesn’t know about me. But in a way, we’re even. Whereas, I know everything there is about his habits from the kind of toothpaste he uses, to his caloric requirements, to how he often loses one sock from the pair, he’s in the dark about all that when it comes to me. And his personal life is one big mystery. But if we’re going to pull off getting married, he ought to have the basics.
To her mom, Ingrid says, “I promised the kids breakfast at Grannie Bell’s in the morning.”
“The griddle on Peppertree Lane will be ready and waiting first thing.” The screen door closes behind Mrs. Ellis.
Ingrid exhales a sigh of relief. “Where was I?”
I blurt, “The thing that Liam?—”
She puffs her cheeks. “I shouldn’t be the one to tell you, but he won’t. Plus, as a sister, I know no boundaries.”
I should laugh, but I sense whatever she’s going to say isn’t going to be good.
“In high school, he and a couple of friends were at a party. I guess there was some drinking going on. Not Liam. He was too hopeful for hockey back then to fool around with that stuff. Anyway, his friend, Franklin George, who he went there with, assured him he hadn’t been drinking and was good to drive. Marci Valjean—Frank’s girlfriend—and another girl named Allison Mitchum got in the back of the car because it was getting late and they had curfews.”
Seeing where this is going, my pulse comes short.
“The roads here in the winter are no joke and temps can drop rapidly. If there is any water on the surface, it can freeze fast, leading to black ice. They hit a patch. Franklin was severely injured, forfeiting his future in skates. Allison had her seatbelt on and was relatively okay. Marci didn’t make it.”
“And Liam has never forgiven himself,” I finish.
Ingrid nods. “Understandably, he was different after that but then never snapped back. The official report and investigation confirmed that Franklin was telling the truth. He hadn’t been drinking. He just lost control of the vehicle.”
