Page 40 of Secret Triplets for Christmas

“I hate that. He didn’t need to prove anything to me.”

“I know.” She wrapped her arms around my arm and leaned on my shoulder again.

“I was so harsh with him then, so pissed off that he got you involved in his nefarious activities. He probably didn’t tell me because I was such an asshole then.”

“We can’t know what was going on, Oliver,” she said gently. “And beating yourself up about it won’t help.”

"This whole situation just feels… unbearable."

She was quiet for a moment. “Remember the night we played that guessing game and he made his hand like a phone and held it up to his ear and said it was a fruit and we both guessed banana?”

I laughed. “Why did he think a phone motion would make us think of fruit?”

She shrugged. “I suppose it looks like one of the old-fashioned landline receivers.”

I smiled, enjoying having a happy thought about Liam. “Remember when he tried to replicate your dad’s spaghetti recipe?”

She snorted. “Oh, my God. He had no clue that he needed to boil the pasta first.”

“I guess I should have taught him to cook.”

“He’s lucky you knew how. The guy would have starved.”

Our laughter filled the room, temporarily pushing away the darkness of the moment. When the laughter subsided, the tone turned bittersweet. We sat quietly, lost in memories of a time when life seemed simpler, more fun. When our biggest concerns were keeping Liam’s grades up and remembering whose turn was it to buy the beer.

"Those days seem so far away now," I said, not hiding the sadness from my voice. "But I'm grateful for those times.” I looked down at her. “I’m grateful for you, Lindsay. You made him so happy.” And me too, but I wasn’t sure I should say that.

She tilted her head up toward me again. “Me too.”

I stared at her, marveling at her beauty. Her strength. My gaze drifted to her lips, and I wanted to kiss her so fucking badly I ached with it.

I jumped up, worried I wouldn’t be able to fight the impulse. “I need a drink. You want something?”

She seemed surprised by my sudden movement. I was afraid she’d take it as a cue to leave.

“Wine, maybe?” Please, don’t go.

She hesitated for a moment but then nodded. “Okay. One glass.”

Thank fuck. I poured her a glass, giving it to her, and mixed myself a bourbon and water.

When I sat back down, I made sure I wasn’t too close.

“Cheers to beers.” She held her wine up to me.

I laughed. “Jesus, he used to say that, didn’t he?” I clicked my glass against hers.

“I couldn’t ever get him to drink wine,” she said.

“He did like his beer.”

“What do you think he’d say if he knew we were here now?”

I looked over at her, wondering where her question came from. The question felt deep, but I didn’t have a deep answer. “He’d wonder why I don’t have any beer.”

Her lips twitched upward, but there was still a sadness in her eyes. Who knew where they’d be if Liam had lived. Maybe they’d be married and have kids.

“I think he’d be glad that we’re still friends and sad he isn’t here with us. Especially you.”

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