33. Take the Blame

33

Take the Blame

Dax

Monday, June 5 th

11:46 a.m.

"I was thinking . . ." Liam doesn't give me a chance to pull the keys from the lock before he starts talking. "You know what you were saying earlier?"

My muscles tighten with anticipation. I try to remember as much of our phone call on my drive back as possible, but he's being evasive and could be questioning any number of topics we discussed.

"Before you say anything, you need to hear me out." He faces the TV, the sound of clicking paddles from the controller in his hands getting faster and faster. He leans to the left and dodges to the right, coaxing the character to follow his movements. An explosion fills the screen, and he drops back on the cushion. "Dammit."

"Liam?"

His attention stays glued to the TV.

"Hey."

"What?" He groans in frustration, standing as he bobs and weaves.

Bane nudges my hand, and I ruffle his ears. "Who's a good boy?" I go into the kitchen before dropping my keys on the counter. "I asked you not to go out."

He pauses for a second. "It's not a big deal."

"I thought something happened to you."

"But it didn't." He turns at a snail's pace, analyzing my face.

We both know none of this would have happened if I hadn't gone upstate for work, but neither of us mentions it.

I wipe a hand down my face, tired of arguing with him. "What were you saying?"

His mouth widens with a smile. "If we take our annual trip to see . . ."

"No."

Liam glares at me, tossing the controller onto the cushion. "You didn't give me a chance to tell you my idea."

"No." I yank open the fridge and grab the OJ, taking a swig and replacing it.

"You don't get it, do you?"

"We're not risking it."

He's out of the living room and in the kitchen faster than I figured possible for his current state. As he comes to a stop, leaning against the counter, he absentmindedly rubs at his hip and holds up both hands as he says, "Hear me out."

"It's not worth it. If something happened, what would we do?" I mimic his posture, leaning against the counter diagonal from him and cross my arms over my chest as I examine him. He mentioned not feeling great after this chemo session on our call, but he looks normal-ish. Has he lost weight?

"We'd only be a couple hours north of here. I'm pretty sure I've been stuck in traffic for longer than that."

"I don't like it."

"And I don't care," he says, placing both hands on the countertop behind him, leaning forward.

"I'm not changing my mind," I say. There have been a handful of times he has challenged me in the past couple of years, and a part of me wants to relent. But if something did happen, and it was because I wasn't watching out for him, it would be my fault. It's not a risk I'm willing to take. I push off the counter, round the island, and head to the sofa.

"You don't know what this is like. You don't get to tell me what I should and shouldn't do, feel, or think. This could be it. My last summer," he says, his comment hitting me where I'm weak.

"Don't say that." I wince, rubbing a fist over the aching in my chest. The truth of what he's saying is like a sucker punch to the rational side of my brain. How did this happen? How did we get here?

"I'm afraid of not living with the time I have left. Is the truth too much for you to handle? I never know how you're going to react." His voice grows louder, but I refuse to turn and face him.

"It's not like that."

He stops beside me. I can see him out of the corner of my eye, but I can't bring myself to look at him. "Let me tell you what it is like. Uncertain. Unknown. Unlikely. Want me to keep adding to the list? I could go on and on."

I pivot to the right and catch him off guard, pulling him into a hug. There's a knot in my throat that won't let words pass. I clench my jaw, willing my blurry eyes to stop watering. His reference to how I freaked out and disappeared when things got to be too much after our parents died is something I wish I could wipe from my mind forever.

He keeps his arms pinned to his sides. I don't expect him to reciprocate. "I don't want to do this alone, but I won't be your burden," he says as he clears his throat, and his body starts to tremble as he drops his head on my shoulder.

"It was different then. I shouldn't have left you to deal with things alone. I've figured out better ways to cope. But you're right, I'm not going anywhere. This is going to be hard, but you're strong. We'll get through this. Together."

"I don't want to be the reason you fall apart." He shakes his head and shoves past me, shouldering me as he goes.

"This isn't about me."

"That's a first," he says through a chuckle as he wipes a hand across his cheek.

His words twist the knife in my side. " You pushed me away. You said to go. What was I supposed to do? Not listen? Not believe you when you said you want to do this on your own? You act like you're fine, like this is no big deal, and the next second, you throw it in my face like I haven't been there every step of the way. You didn't tell me everything."

"I didn't think you could handle the truth," he says, dismissing my frustration.

I stare at the ceiling, fisting my hands at my sides. "You didn't give me a chance."

He chokes back a snigger. "You're right. I didn't because I've seen how you are, how you react to things when they're not in your control. And guess what? This is out of our control."

I'm trying to hold back my temper. I don't have all the info from his appointment, and I don't know what in the fuck's gotten into him, but he's about to take this too far. "Are you done yet?"

He closes the distance between us.

And everything goes to hell.

The best advice I've received is simple: Life is about managing expectations—most of all, your own. But when his fist connects with my jaw, I realize expectations have little to do with reactions.

I stumble from the blow and flex my chin as I shake my head, wiping my thumb across my lower lip.

Liam's silent. His eyes are large. In shock, I'm sure.

"Here's a little tip . . . If you land a hit right here"—I point to my nose—"eyes will water, and your opponent won't be able to see you." I let that sink in and watch the fear in his eyes as I step toward him. I lower my voice and crack a smile. "Otherwise, I can still catch you."

He sprints around the sofa, grabbing the recliner to block me. He's much more agile than he should be with his hip. It must be something to do with his soccer.

"It was instinct." He holds his hands up in surrender. "Swear." Laughter spills out of him as he dodges out of my reach.

Axel and Bane join in the chaos and nip at us as we skirt in and out of the kitchen and back into the living room. I trip over Axel and grab the hem of Liam's shirt as I go down. He slips from my grasp and jumps over the back of the sofa, his landing graceful and just out of my reach. He swivels around in search of me. I crawl on my hands and knees, gripping the back of the sofa to hoist myself up.

"You'll only get one of those in your life."

His brow creases in confusion.

"A shot at me," I say, sarcasm mixed with a bit of annoyance. I never in my wildest dreams would have guessed Liam would blow up like that. I can't say I blame him, but it's not in his nature to lose control of himself. A grin spreads across my face as he relaxes.

"I can't promise it won't happen again." He crosses his arms over his chest, balancing his foot on the soccer ball that's rolled to the far side of the living room.

"Is that right?" I step around the sofa, and he moves in the opposite direction, juggling the ball from foot to foot.

"Don't piss me off," he says, wheels turning as his eyes bounce around the room, planning his escape.

"Is that what happened?"

"Would you have done it?"

I think about my answer for a minute. Would I? Would I have let my emotions get the better of me and acted out of instinct?

Absolutely.

"Truce?" I offer my hand.

He glances at it, considering. He narrows his eyes as he plots his escape, in case I don't keep up my end of the bargain. "Truce." He closes the space between us and shakes my hand, pulling me in for a hug. He shoves at me and grabs the ball cap off my head, racing to his room and slamming the door. "For now."

I chuckle under my breath. It's no wonder we never figure out our shit. We go from arguing to fighting to horsing around. I want to talk to him about what's happening, but things always play out this way.

"We're not going on the trip," I holler.

"We'll talk about it later."

"Discussion time's over."

Axel paws at Liam's door, but he doesn't open it for him.

"He's abandoning you too, huh, boy?"

"I'm not abandoning anyone," he shouts. "It's me, Liam. I don't do that sorta shit."

"Ha. Ha." Ouch, with the jab.

I stop next to the door, rubbing Axel's ears. "I'm going to grab Yogi's. Interested?"

There's a crash from the opposite side of the door, a thunk, and a possible cuss word that I can't make out. I'm pretty sure I scared the shit out of him.

"Is that a yes?"

The door creaks open a sliver, and Liam peeks out, guarding the entrance with his body. There's no point in trying. He knows I could get in there if I wanted to.

Liam flings the door open, and Axel barrels past him as he trudges out of his room, past me, and into the kitchen. "Can you get extra soup?"

I grab my keys off the coffee table, hating the idea of leaving him after all this. Maybe some time out of the apartment would do him good. The way to Liam's heart starts with food. This time, I'll make sure his soup is hot. "And the crispy things? Wanna come?"

A muffled "not interested" comes from out of view. I enter the kitchen and find Liam standing on the counter with his arm buried inside the pantry. He's on his tiptoes on the edge, inches from toppling over.

"What—and I can't stress this enough—the fuck are you doing?" I'm instantly at his side, wrapping an arm around his legs and pushing him back.

"Hey, knock it off. I'm trying to get something."

"What?"

He grunts and pushes against me, reaching further so his head and shoulders disappear. "This," he says, offering me a box as he pushes off the door frame and stands upright on the counter. He drops to his haunches and bounces onto the kitchen floor.

"Thanks." He grabs the box from me and goes to the other side of the island, plopping onto a stool.

I take a minute to process what's so important about the box and why he needs it now, but then it clicks.

It's Mom's—her box of phone numbers.

"Why do you need that?" I lean over the counter, stretching for the box, but Liam jerks it out of my reach.

"To call."

I need a minute.

Maybe several of them.

The mental image I get of her probable reaction to finding out about Liam and his cancer has my stomach in a bind. My body stiffens, and my hands ball into fists of their own volition. The knot in my throat constricts, and the tightness in my chest returns.

He searches through the note cards, pulling a green one free from the box and waving it in the air.

"Hell. No." I lunge for the card, and he leans back, keeping it out of my reach.

"You're gonna have to get used to following my lead with this, Dax. I need to ask her something." He pulls his phone from his pocket and turns on the stool, glancing at the note card.

It happens at a glacier's pace.

Liam stands and brings the phone to his ear.

He turns and gives me a toothy grin.

There's ringing.

I react without thinking, the split-second decision coming at me in high definition as I fly over the countertop and watch as Liam's face changes to disbelief.

With my hand outstretched and my overestimated momentum, I crumple onto the floor next to the stools, causing a domino effect as Liam darts out of my reach.

Liam lunges for them, dropping his phone.

Mission unintentionally accomplished.

We reach for his phone at the same time, but I grab it at the last second. And push end on the call.

"Award for the most annoying person in the room goes to . . . drum roll, please . . ." Liam trails off, yanking the phone from my hand. "I'm gonna talk to her eventually, whether or not you like it. You give way too many craps about everything."

"What they did was wrong."

He turns, lifting a brow. "A little bit wrong is mostly right. Don't you think?"

"Not when it comes to them."

Liam squints. "I hate to break it to you, but you're not the main character in everyone's story. Not everything revolves around you. I need to talk to Grams. And if you were at my appointment this morning, you would know why. But you weren't, so you don't have a say."

He makes his way to his room. I roll onto my back, the cold tile seeping through the thin fabric of my T-shirt, and stare at the ceiling. Maybe I am an asshole, but the last thing we need is to get the grandparents involved. I can appreciate his frustration. But we can handle this without them—like everything else we've had to deal with since our parents died.

"I'll wait to call until you're gone. There's no rush." He chuckles as he enters his room.

"I'm not going out."

"That changes things." He peeks from his doorway, letting Axel and Bane scurry past him. He pushes the door closed and yells from behind it. "You can't stay home forever. And I'm going on our summer trip with or without you."

"Can you at least wait until your chemo's done?"