Page 66 of My Best Friend Is Broken
The question catches me completely off guard. “You want to come to the doctor’s?”
“I want to learn how to take care of it properly. The dressing changes, what to watch for, how to help it heal.” He’s looking at me seriously now, no trace of the hesitation or fear that’s colored so many of our conversations. “I want to know how to take care of you.”
Something warm and overwhelming spreads through my chest. “Liam...”
“I know it’s your world, your people. And I know I’ve been... not great at handling that side of things. But thisisn’t about the business or violence or any of that. This is about you being hurt and me wanting to help.”
The simple clarity of it takes my breath away. Not because he’s offering to engage with the darker parts of my life, but because he’s choosing to be a partner. Someone who takes care of me the same way I take care of him.
“You sure?” I ask, because I need to be certain this is what he wants rather than what he thinks he should want.
“I’m sure. Besides,” he grins, and it’s that wonderful expression I fell in love with when we were teenagers, “someone needs to make sure you’re not being a terrible patient.”
I laugh, surprised by how natural it feels. “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent patient.”
“We’ll see about that.”
An hour later, we’re sitting at the kitchen table sharing scrambled eggs and toast, and the easy domesticity of it feels like a small miracle. Liam cooked most of it, insisted on it, actually. Claiming my injury gave him the right to take charge, and there’s something deeply satisfying about watching him move confidently around the kitchen.
He’s wearing one of my t-shirts and a pair of joggers, his hair still messy from sleep, and he looks more relaxed than I’ve seen him since he came home. Like he’s finally starting to believe that this is his space too, that he has the right to make breakfast and tease me about my tea-making skills and plan his day around taking care of me.
“Dr. Torrino is nice,” I tell him as I finish my eggs. “Bit gruff, very old-school, but he’s been patching up our family for decades. He won’t make you uncomfortable.”
“Good to know.” Liam sips his tea thoughtfully. “Will he think it’s weird that I want to learn the medical stuff?”
“He’ll probably be impressed. Most of the people he treats just want to be fixed and sent on their way. Having someone who actually cares about proper aftercare will make his day.”
It’s true. Dr. Torrino has complained more than once about patients who ignore his instructions, who treat their bodies like machines that can be repaired and forgotten about. The idea of someone wanting to understand the healing process, to be actively involved in recovery, is bound to appeal to his medical sensibilities.
“And after?” Liam asks. “We could maybe get lunch somewhere? Nothing fancy, just...” He shrugs, looking almost shy. “I’d like to have a normal day out with you. No therapy appointments or probation officers, or dramatic incidents. Just us, being together.”
The request is so simple, so beautifully ordinary, that it makes my throat tight with emotion. When was the last time we did something just because we wanted to? When was the last time we made plans that weren’t based on crisis management or careful therapeutic goals?
“I’d love that,” I tell him honestly. “There’s a little Italian place near Dr. Torrino’s office. Nothing fancy, but the food is incredible, and they know to mind their own business.”
“Perfect.”
He reaches across the table and covers my hand with his, and the gesture is so natural, so unthinking, that it takes amoment to register how significant it is. He’s not flinching from contact, not calculating whether touch is safe or welcome. He’s just reaching for me because he wants to, because it feels right.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“For what?”
“For wanting to take care of me. For choosing to be here. For making breakfast and planning normal days and just... for being you.”
His cheeks pink slightly, but he doesn’t look away. “Thank you for letting me. For not making me feel like I’m only someone who needs taking care of.”
We sit there for a moment, hands linked across the breakfast table, and I think about how far we’ve come from those first awful weeks when every interaction felt fraught with the possibility of damage. How we’ve moved from desperate need and careful distance to something that feels increasingly like partnership.
It’s not perfect. We still have work to do, conversations to have, healing that needs to happen. But sitting here in the morning light, planning a day that’s about nothing more complicated than medical appointments and lunch and being together because we want to be, it feels like we’re finally building something real.
Something that might actually last.
“Come on then,” Liam says, standing and starting to clear the breakfast dishes with ruthless efficiency. “Let’s go learn how to properly take care of you.”
The casual way he says it, like taking care of me is just another skill he wants to master, like loving me is something he can get better at with practice and attention, makes my heart do something complicated in my chest.
“Yeah,” I agree, watching him move around the kitchen with growing confidence and purpose. “Let’s do that.”
