Page 11 of Begin Again, Part 1

Liam was happy for him, but he only wished his plans weren't at the expense of his dreams.

"This is happening. All the paperwork is complete. The board has agreed. Your first appointment is at 6:00 AM on Monday. Mrs Gibson will call you with the details." Clarke's words were final. Nothing Liam said would change his mind.

Defeated, he grabbed his car keys and wallet on the coffee table, vowing over his shoulder as he hurried out of the study, "I will never forgive you for this!"

Liam was so furious he would have hurt someone if he was around other people. So he jumped in his car and drove to the race track south of Rock Union, and spent a few hours on the track, burning fuel faster than his rage, lap after lap.

Chapter

Four

WITH LITTLE PREPARATION

The call came as Liam left the racetrack. When he saw the name flashing on the screen, he ignored it, sending his sister to voicemail. He wasn't in the mood to listen to Willow's rant about his irresponsible, selfish behaviour. They'd had so many such calls lately, beginning when the topic of succession was first brought up.

His phone pinged again. This time it was a text from Holly. She was the youngest, most spoilt, and self-entitled of the Anderson children. Liam figured being a renowned ballerina had a lot to do with her diva-like tendencies. Their parents could never refuse her anything. When she wanted her own private ballet studio, Clarke bought a warehouse and set it up for her. When she wanted a penthouse in Rock Castle's prime location, an army of real estate agents had to secure it for her. Never mind, the place would stay empty because she was hardly in the country. The most ridiculous of her demands was when she closed all the boutiques on 9th Street because she wanted to pick her fifty thousand pairs of shoes and handbags in peace. She couldn't handle all the commoners gawking at her.

The text was yet another demand, summoning him to get his ass to the Medi Clinic in Glen Eagles, pronto. Willow called again. Liam put her on the speaker, his heart ramming his chest at the sound of her desperate sobs filling the car.

It took him a few minutes to calm her down and get her to tell him what was wrong.

"It's Dad," she wailed. "You have to come to the hospital!"

Liam hung up and made a U-turn, ignoring the huge sign forbidding him from turning there. He skipped every red light and ignored the millions of hooters blasting at him. His eyes were on the road in front of him. But his mind was back in his father's study, replaying their row and his last words to him.

In the ten minutes it took him to get to the hospital, Liam prayed harder than he'd ever done. He made silent promises and bargained with everything he had. He'd give it all up— his dreams, racing, the tournaments— if it meant having one more hour with his father.

Holly and Willow met him at the emergency room entrance, throwing themselves in his arms. He hugged them tightly, promising them everything would be okay, even though he had no idea what was happening. Despite their four-year age gap, his sisters could pass for twins with their ink-black hair, large green eyes, porcelain skin, and slim frames. On most days, they were immaculate visions. But tonight, they were both dishevelled, their faces splotchy from tears and snot, and their eyes red and sunken from fear.

"What happened? Where are Mom and Dad?" he asked, releasing them from his embrace.

"Dad's very sick," Willow said tearfully as they headed to the elevators to take them to the VIP wing.

"That can't be." Liam shook his head, refusing to accept something was wrong with their father. The man had never missed a day of work due to an illness. "There has to be a mistake. I saw him today. He was fine!"

"That's what he wanted you to think," Holly said. "He's been sick for a while now."

Liam paused and narrowed his eyes at them. "How long is a while, and what's wrong with him?"

"About six months," Holly replied.

"Colon cancer," added Willow.

The air whooshed out of Liam's lungs. For a stunning moment, it felt like he was sinking in quicksand as he took in quick, shallow breaths, convinced his sister's announcement would suffocate him. The worst, though, was the silence. The terrible, never-ending silence. He couldn't hear anything except Willow's words, repeatedly echoing in his mind.

Colon cancer.

Wasn't that for older people?

His father wasn't old. At 58, he still had a lot of life in him. He was the healthiest person Liam knew. He exercised for at least an hour every day. Played golf on Saturdays and went bowling on Sundays. The most sinful thing he ever ate was a thin slice of cake for dessert, and only on special occasions.

What Willow said didn't make sense to him.

"No!" Liam's eyes were wide with denial as he forced air into his lungs. "You are wrong! Dad isn't sick. Dad would never get cancer!"

"Liam!" Holly held him tight to keep him from unravelling in the middle of the corridor. "Dad isn't okay."

"He would have told me if he was sick." Liam shook off her hand, and they began walking again.

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