Page 69 of My Best Friend Is Broken
“I do!” I protest. “For bringing me here. For supporting the job thing. For not making me feel like I needpermission to have my own life.”
“You don’t need to thank me for that. You should have your own life, your own goals, your own sense of purpose. I never wanted to be the only good thing in your world. That’s too much pressure for anyone.”
The honesty of it hits me square in the chest. Because he’s right, I had been making him responsible for my entire emotional well-being, making our relationship carry the weight of my recovery and my happiness and my reason for existing.
Working out at the gym and getting back into a fitness routine was a step in the right direction, but it was never going to be enough.
“I love you,” I tell him, the words coming easily now, without the desperate edge they used to carry. “But you’re right. You can’t be everything for me. That’s not fair to either of us.”
“I love you too,” he says, lifting our joined hands to press a kiss to my knuckles. “And I’m proud of you. For today, for how far you’ve come, for choosing to build something for yourself.”
We continue walking, hot chocolate warming us from the inside while the Christmas lights twinkle overhead. The city moves around us in all its chaotic festive glory, but I feel cocooned in this moment of perfect contentment.
For the longest time, I thought my life was over. Believed the best I could hope for on the outside was to exist quietly on the margins, trying not to cause too much trouble for the people kind enough to tolerate my presence.
Now I’m walking through London at Christmas with the man I love, planning a future that includes meaningful work and genuine purpose and the kind of happiness I’d forgotten was possible.
“Dr. Torrino wants me to start next week,” I say, still hardly able to believe it’s real.
“Perfect timing,” Nicky replies. “Give you something to focus on besides whether I’m coming home safely from work every day.”
I bump his shoulder with mine. “I’ll always worry about that.”
“Good,” he grins. “But now you’ll have your own dangerous situations to worry about too.”
The thought probably should concern me more than it does. Working as a medic for the mafia will certainly come with risks, late-night emergencies, dangerous patients, the constant need for discretion. But it also comes with purpose, with the chance to use skills I enjoy, with the opportunity to build something that’s entirely mine.
“Come on,” Nicky says, tugging me toward another row of stalls. “Let’s find you a proper Christmas present. Something to celebrate your new career.”
“You don’t need to buy me anything.”
“I want to. Besides, it’s Christmas. I’m allowed to spoil my boyfriend a little.”
Boyfriend. The word still sends a little thrill through me every time he says it. Like a gift I’m still getting used to unwrapping.
As we disappear into the crowd of Christmas shoppers, hot chocolate in our hands and the future stretching out ahead of us full of possibility, I think about how fundamentally my life has changed. Not just the external circumstances, the freedom, the safety, the love, but the internal landscape too.
For the first time in years, I’m not just surviving. I’m actually living.
And it feels absolutely magical.
Chapter twenty-three
Nicky
The shower feels like heaven. Hot water cascading from the rainfall head, steam rising around the white marble walls, the satisfying ache in my muscles from this morning’s workout starting to ease. I let the heat soak into my shoulders and think about how perfect everything feels right now.
Liam has a job. An actual career path that plays to his strengths and gives him purpose beyond just surviving each day. Dr. Torrino was genuinely impressed. I could see it in his eyes, the way he watched Liam work with quiet approval. It’s not just make-work or charity. It’s a real opportunity for someone with real skills.
And it’s perfect for him. This new Liam that I am getting to know. Medical work suits his gentle nature, his careful attention to detail, and his genuine desire to help people. It’s a way for him to be part of my world without having to engage with the violence and moral ambiguity that defines so much of what I do. He can save lives instead of taking them, heal instead of hurt.
It’s a perfect fit.
I loved the old Liam with all my heart and soul, but he could be a bit of an ass. Perhaps simply because he was eighteen. That side of him could have always been destined to fade.
Whatever the reason, I used to think Liam was destined to be something like a pop star. I never would have imagined him content in an unglamorous, nurturing role. But now, it is right in every single way. Stumbling upon it feels as if some unknown benign deity is finally smiling on us.
I grin along as I douse my body with shower gel. As I wash, a sudden thought strikes me. I could teach Liam Italian. It’s a wonderful idea, and I can’t believe I only just thought of it.
