35. Duty Is Calling

35

Duty Is Calling

Dax

Tuesday, June 6 th

12:06 a.m.

Desperate to escape thoughts about how I let Liam down, I take off on foot toward Central Park while he sleeps. I could use some time alone. No interruptions.

My side of the story doesn't matter anymore.

Life happened. It hurt. And I'm doing my best to be there for Liam and make amends for what I did.

The blast of cool air as I exit the apartment building brings me back to my senses. I shove my hands in my pockets and tuck my head, uninterested in making eye contact with anyone I pass as I head north.

The glow of the buzzing streetlights guides my feet as my mind wanders along a different path. How am I supposed to be what Liam needs when he won't tell me everything that's going on? Why does he feel the need to keep me in the dark?

It's like we're lost in separate worlds. He wants to sign up for classes in the fall and return to soccer. I need him to focus on getting better and living in the present.

I don't want to be insensitive, but I'm not na?ve. The likelihood of Liam's treatment succeeding and him returning to how things were doesn't look good. His chances to improve are slim, and the chemo and surgery might not work. There's no point in dwelling on something I can't change, but the thought of it sucks the air from my lungs like a vacuum cleaner.

I don't know why it's so damn hard for him to open up and let me be there for him. He doesn't have to shoulder the burden alone. He's worried about how I acted after our parents died, but this is different, and I don't know how to get him to understand. Liam has no qualms about reminding me I don't get to play victim to the circumstances I created. Now, if I could get him to see I've changed, we'd be in a whole new ballgame.

I'm struggling to convince him to leave the grandparents out of this. And he refuses to elaborate on why he wants to call. We can figure this out on our own like we have everything else. There's no need to involve them. If he gave me a plausible explanation about needing them to help with his treatment or being there because he wants his family around, I'd be more willing to relent. But he hasn't, and he won't. He's convinced I won't understand.

But why won't he listen?

After they disowned our parents because they disagreed with their marriage, it's hard for me to let them into our lives. They had no interest in being a part of it while they had the chance. They don't deserve to be a part of it now.

I follow the path through Central Park leading past The Lake, head toward Seventy-Ninth Street, and cross over toward The Reservoir and out of the park. I pass The Guggenheim Museum and rub my hands over my arms to fight off the chill, jogging onto the sidewalk as I meander in and out of the streetlight.

The clatter of some trash cans and subsequent barking pulls my attention from my wandering thoughts. I glance behind me, searching for the source of the sound, and see an alley a few hundred feet back. Shadows cast over the street, and the silvery glow of the moon hides behind a wisp of clouds drifting across the sky.

The lights of an oncoming vehicle blind me, and I cover my face with my forearm, ducking my head and hurrying along the sidewalk as it parks at the curb.

Where in the hell am I?

The sound of footsteps behind me draws my attention, a shadow of a thought lingering. My eyes land on a familiar five-foot-sixish female stopped at a set of stairs leading to an immaculate brownstone. I smile. Three stories of white stone, black windowpanes, and a ten-foot door. If Brighton were a man, I'd assume she was trying to compensate for something.

When fate offers this type of opportunity, I have an obligation to take it. I stop next to her and stuff my hands in my pockets. What are the chances?

"We've gotta stop running into each other like this," I say with a smile.

"I agree."

I am going crazy.

And I'm lost.

Why is Brighton here? Wherever the hell this is.

"With what?" I ask, taking in her messy topknot, navy scrubs, and fleece jacket.

"Running into each other like this."

I grin. "Is that right?"

"Are you stalking me?" A whip of lightning highlights her face and the smile she's fighting to keep off her lips.

"I would never." If she only knew the half of it. I know what that's like, and I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.

"You appeared on my doorstep out of the blue? No stalking intended?"

"Yep."

A crack of thunder echoes through the air, and she jumps, glancing down the street. "Do you live around here?" She narrows her eyes, suspicion etched across her brow.

I shake my head. "I went for a walk to clear my mind, and now I'm lost."

"It could be worse." She turns away from me, yanking a set of keys from her jacket pocket. She pushes the fob, and the lights on the truck at the curb blink twice, accompanied by a beep.

"It's colder than I thought it was." I rub my hands on my arms, wishing I didn't run out of the house in a tee and jeans, but I agree it could be worse.

The corner of Brighton's mouth twitches, and I can't decide if she's trying to fight a smile or brush me off. She takes a deep breath, readjusts the bag on her shoulder, and climbs the first couple of steps toward the door.

I lean against the rail, and a shiver races through my body.

She turns to face me, placing a fist on her jutted hip, a smorgasbord of emotions swirling across her features. "I don't know what's going on between you two, but I swear, if you can't be there for Liam in the capacity he deserves—I'll kill you."

"What?" When did we change subjects?

"I don't want Liam to be alone."

"What makes you think something would happen?" Did Liam mention Dani? Why would she be worried about something happening to me?

"Stop thinking about yourself. He's scared you won't show up for him when he needs you. Did he tell you he doesn't want to do treatment? Or how he thinks he has to take care of you because you're too fragile? Did he mention he doesn't want to ask you to be there because if he does, there's a chance he'll have to be supportive of you ?" By the end of her spiel, she balls her fists at her sides, and her neck and cheeks are red—not the hue I've come to enjoy.

I hold up my hands. "Whoa. Where the hell did that come from?"

"You should have been there." There's a crack in her voice.

"You don't think I know that? I already feel shitty about it. You don't have to rub it in."

"Are you taking this seriously? Liam's sick. Really sick."

I run a hand through my hair and pinch my eyes closed before glancing at her. "I don't need reminding."

She shoves off the steps, stomping toward me. "Yes, you do, or you would have been there for his appointment." She jabs a finger into my chest and stares into my eyes. The anger and frustration brewing below the surface spilling over the edges of her well-kept fa?ade. "Sorry. I didn't mean . . . I shouldn't have said that. I don't think you understand how . . ." She leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid, turns on her heel, and returns to the steps, grabbing her bag from where she left it. "It's been a long day."

"You're not the only one."

She scoffs. "I don't think it's fair to compare."

"I wasn't trying to. I mean, I was, you know—sympathizing."

"I mean what I said. I will kill you if Liam has to put your needs above his own. Do you understand?"

"Did he tell you he didn't want me there? Or did he make me out to be the bad guy?"

She narrows her gaze. "He didn't get the chance to elaborate."

"I know I should've been there, but he's the one keeping me in the dark. It's not the other way around."

"Maybe that's because he doesn't think you can handle it."

"He'd be correct. I can't, but that doesn't mean I won't. You have no idea what this is like."

She drops her gaze to her feet and mutters, "Actually, I do."

"What?" I instantly feel like an ass.

"I. Do." She enunciates the words, and they slowly click together in my brain. "My brother had ES."

She said had . Does that mean he's better? Or he's—gone? I bite away my question. A part of me doesn't want to know, but I'm dying to ask. I swallow the lump in my throat, and she saves me from war with myself.

"Grady was seventeen, and we caught it too late. He's the reason I do what I do."

"Torture yourself?"

She chuckles and closes her eyes. "I don't see it like that."

I could say I forgot how beautiful she is, but I would be lying. I just forced myself to stop thinking of her. There's no reason to torment myself since she's off-limits.

I try my luck with the last couple of stairs and stop beside her, leaning on the cement railing as a slight drizzle falls from the sky.

"Goodbye, Dax." She turns and clears the landing, pushing her key into the lock. "I expect to see you with Liam at his appointments. All of them."

"You're a beam of sunshine tonight, aren't you?"

"It's morning."

I glance at my watch. "Barely."

"Don't make me regret asking this." She drops her bag inside the doorway but stays outside a moment longer, tugging on her unruly knot of hair before she fiddles with her pinkie ring. She closes her eyes and settles her fists on her hips.

"I have a feeling you already do."

"Not yet. But that could change."

"Try me." The last thing I want to do is let someone else down. And missing Liam's appointment is an obvious disappointment.

"You need to see something."

"In your house?" I fail to keep the shock from my voice.

"Yes."

"With you?"

"Yes."

"Right now?"

She rolls her eyes and throws her hands in the air. "Never mind. Be at Liam's appointment tomorrow."

"That was my intention."

"Goodbye, again." She steps into her foyer as I clear the distance between us. She goes to close the door, but I grab the handle and jam my foot inside.

My hand brushes against hers, and her eyes drop to the invisible current spreading from the point of contact that radiates outward.

But she doesn't move it.

The hairs on my arm stand up, and my heart stutters over its next beat when we make eye contact, and I say, "Point."