“Under different circumstances I’d say it was impressive, actually,” I admit behind a small smile.
“You can’t think straight when you’re in pain. Everything is triage—you’re just trying to make it to the next moment.”
I think of my dad and the months following his death. The years after in a new state, a new school, and I know what she means. Will was my first life raft as much as he was hers, all those years later.
“We’re not supposed to lose each other like that,” I start, locking eyes with her, realizing I’ve never told her how sorry I am about Lily. “I think that’s another level of trauma. Her life was just beginning. I’m sorry I didn’t make it any easier for you.”
She doesn’t cry; her mouth just tugs upward, curves into the softest smile.
“Thanks,” she says, her throat bobbing before her eyes start to sparkle conspiratorially. “Do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if she was still here?”
“Pure chaos. Like more than there already is.”
Liv eagerly nods her head, unclasping my hands to wipe away the tears still lingering beneath her eyes. “She was more of a shitstirrer than Ian.”
“But I think we would’ve all been friends. Like, I think itwasmeant to be.”
“You know,” she starts, picking up a cold fry. “If Will hadn’t texted me before the funeral, what are the odds we’d have become so…entangled? Any of us?”
“I think you’re forgetting that Ben claimed you like an ancient vampire the moment he saw you our freshman year.”
She rolls her eyes, her grin letting me know she’s already thought of this parallel, and the depth of it telling me she probably loves it.
“Sure…but he didn’t fall in love with that version of me. He got the grief-riddled, broken, toxic-relationship Olivia. Without that lie, without Will inserting himself in my life in some twisted act of survival, none of us would bepreciselyhere.”
“Not to burst your retrospective bubble, Professor Beckett, but you’re sitting awfully pretty right now. I think the rest of us could’ve done without Lily’s little lie.”
“You’ve hit a road bump! Don’t be so pathetic,” she quirks her head, her gaze turning solemn as she rests her chin on her intertwined fingers. “Have you talked to him?” It almost sounds like a reprimand, and I scoff, sitting back in the booth.
“Yes.” My molars press against each other as I fight the urge to cry in the middle of the busiest dinner spot near campus, shaking my head. “It’s done.” Verbalizing what I’ve been assuming since he called me on Thanksgiving has nausea roiling in my stomach.
“Oh,” she starts, finally dipping the fry into one of the many ketchups Sloane requested. “So he told you hedoesn’tlove you, that he never wants to see your face again—that he’sdonewith you?” she asks, so matter of factly it makes my cheeks burn.
“He never said heloved meto begin with,” I inform her, my stomach fluttering at just the idea of it.
“Gen,” she says with an exaggerated eye roll. “He loves you. I can clock a man in love…I saw it on Halloween. He was devastated, tortured, down so bad because the love of his life had just walked?—”
“Okay, okay,” I hush her, a smile fighting its way to thesurface, despite the helplessness swirling in my chest. “It doesn’t matter if he did. Or does.”
“It’s kind of all that matters, actually,” she says, literally flipping her hair.
“You’re insufferable in this honeymoon phase.”
“I thought you’d always found me insufferable,” she grins, raising her brows, begging me to refute her claim, but all I do is roll my eyes.
“He doesn’ttrustme. He said he…” I pause, remembering the way his words sent a dread down my spine still nestled there, “will never really know if it’s him I want. Because of Will. Because I fucked up beyond repair.”
“Well,” she starts, crossing her arms across her chest, “doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see he has abandonment issues.” I freeze for a moment, unsure of what she knows. “Sloane told me,” she adds, and I relax back into the booth.
“And I literally proved true whatever narrative he was already spinning,” I admit, startling myself with how easy it feels to confide in her like this.
“Except youdidn’tabandon him. You came back,” she reminds me, her defensiveness warming my heart. “He’s just hurting, Gen. But don’t tell yourself he doesn’t love you just so you won’t feel it, either. You’re a fool if you don’t see it.”
And she’s right. It was love I glimpsed in his gaze the night he ended things, but if I let myself feel it, I’m afraid I won’t ever be able to turn it off.
33
Grant
