Turning my body so I’m completely facing him, I cross my arms over my chest and raise an eyebrow, ready to give him a piece of my mind, but he beats me to it. Again, without turning his attention from the TV, I hear him mumble something along the lines ofGod damn womanunder his breath before he starts saying, “You still say youdrink your coffee black, but I’ve spotted you putting sugar in it. You still can’t go to bed without taking a shower, no matter how late it is.”
Explain to me how people can sleep without showering before?
“In the twenty-four years I’ve known you, I’ve yet to see you wear matching socks,” he continues. “Grilled cheese is still your favorite meal.” Before I can interject on that one, he turns slightly to me, giving me a look that begs for me to tell him he’s wrong. “Before you say it isn’t, I’ve seen you eat six grilled cheeses, and I’ve only been here a week and a half. Shall I go on?” He finishes smugly.
Okay, so I haven’t changed that much in the last seven years. Maybe not outwardly, at least. Do I still have the same habits that I did as a kid? Yes, but inside, where it really matters, I am not the same little Liam-obsessed Sloane I was.
So, without saying a word, I turn my attention back to the movie, letting him think he knows me like he did seven years ago.
Chapter 12
Sloane hasn’t said a word to me, or even given me an eye roll or scathing look since we watched the movie last night. It’s now Sunday afternoon, almost forty-eight hours later and still, nothing. She had a paper to work on yesterday, but still, usually she doesn’t have a hard time finding five seconds to roll her eyes at me or send me a judgy look.
At this point, I feel like a dog without a bone. I’m embarrassed to say I’ve dropped spoons and forks on the floor too many times to count—by accident—so she will come help me. Not that she has. I even called her little fur baby a mutt—in her presence—to get a rise out of her. She just grabbed Gigi and went into her office. Now, this last one I’m not really proud of because she looked exhausted when she got home last night, but while she was at work I cancelled all of her scheduled grow lamps.
I’m not proud, and I can honestly say I’m a little ashamed of myself. It’s pathetic really. I might have a problem when it comes to Sloane Callahan. And if I’m being honest with myself, I’ve always had a problem with the youngest Callahan. Ever since I met her, she’s affected me more than anyone else in mylife.
When we were younger, and she was just a kid, my heart was in my throat every time she would try something new, or push any normal boundary, even more so than my own younger sister, Summer. I mean, Summer broke her arm the first time she tried riding a bike without training wheels. Did it suck? Yes. Did it keep me up at night? No. Did it make me puke or my stomach turn for days? No.
But when Sloane sprained her ankle playing tag with some friends when she was eight, I swear I was nauseous the entire time she was on crutches. I don’t know if Ronan knew or not, but he invited me to sleep over those three weekends she was recovering. And for those three weekends, I found every excuse in the book not to leave the house. The thought of something happening to her even back then—before she kissed me, before she grew into the gorgeous woman she is today—made me sick.
“Are you still with me, Liam?” my physiotherapist, Will, asks me, pulling me out of my thoughts of Sloane. I completely lost track of what I was doing. I was supposed to be concentrating on walking around the chest-deep pool, but once again my mind wandered to her. It’s been happening more and more lately. Since I moved in, not only do I smell her twenty-four seven, but she crosses my mind every five minutes.
“Liam? Are you in pain?” Will continues.
Shit, I never answered him.
“No, no pain. I actually feel great,” I tell him honestly.
I was a little skeptical of all the time this guy wanted me to spend in a pool, at first. He tries to start every session with some pool time, saying water is the best wayto strengthen my leg since the water helps carry the bulk of my weight.
“Good,” he says, walking beside me. “How would you feel about graduating to a cane this afternoon?” We’ve been talking about moving away from crutches for a few sessions now, but as much as I complain about them, I have a mental block at letting them go. I know it’s the next step to walking without any help, but something is stopping me.
Before I can tell my mouth to stay closed, I say, “But then I won’t need help.” Meaning I won’t have a good excuse to bug Sloane, not that I need one, but crutches gave me an actual excuse to talk to her, to have her in my space.
“Isn’t that the point?” Will asks with a raised brow and a smirk, knowing where I’m going with this. We’ve talked about my unconventional roommate before. He’s convinced I’m secretly in love with her, probably because his husband was and still is his twin sister’s best friend. “You know, you could just do something nice for her instead of annoying her,” he comments.
The thing is, I don’t know how to be nice to Sloane anymore. Ever since I fucked up and reacted like a total asshole when she was eighteen, I just don’t know how to be nice to her. It was never an issue before that—she was the one person that being nice to came naturally. Everyone else just annoys me.
“Nah, I doubt she’d like that either,” I tell him, thinking about how awkward Friday night was when her date blew her off. I didn’t have pizza coming, but I couldn’t cookor take her out myself, so it was the next best thing. I tried talking to her, but all she did was stare at me then go completely silent. “But, yes, I guess I could move to a cane,” I answer his second question, wanting nothing more than to change the topic.
“Good. I think you’ve been ready for a few days. Your inpatient team in Vancouver did a great job with your leg, but I think the water and almost-daily therapy is what’s helping you progress so well at this point in your recovery,” he says, guiding me to the ramp that will lead us out of the pool. “Keep the crutches close but use the cane from now on, okay?” He helps me all the way out of the pool and into the changing room, where he’ll help me dry off, get dressed, and get to my Uber. Not that I need any help. I live in sweat pants, which doesn’t provide much of a challenge when it comes to getting dressed, but apparently it’spolicy.
It’s five hours after my physiotherapy session, and I’m sitting in my bed after taking a long, hot shower. Today’s session took a lot out of me, both physically and mentally. It was my longest session yet, and even muscle relaxants and a hot shower didn’t help the soreness. I’m happy that I have an off day tomorrow because I know I’m going to be sorer than usual—mentally because I’m terrified of falling with a cane, and because I’m still thinking about what Will said.
Should I do something nice for her? Try to get some positive attention from her instead of her eye rolls and snarky comments?You live for those eye rolls, the little voice inside my head comments. And I do like them; they do something to me. She’s the only person not put off by myshit attitude or lack of a smile. She’s the person that has received the most smiles from me. Somehow, just spotting her across a room brings a smile to my face. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed her over the last seven years, but being in her space has made it clear that I can’t go seven years without her again. I knew I missed her; I thought about her often—daily, really. I just hadn’t realized that it was like part of my soul was missing without her in my space. With that realization, I decide to take Will’s advice.
I look around my room to see what I can do, but I don’t have many options with my injuries. My eyes finally land on my notebook, and an idea hits me. When Sloane was a kid, she was always throwing tantrums when I’d leave, or when Ronan would spend time at my house, so I started leaving notes and doodles in random spots for her to find. It used to make her so happy. I wonder if it would make her happy now?
But what would I write or doodle? I don’t know her like I used to. And as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t know her at all anymore. I can’t leave her little notes anymore . . .
I let my gaze take another sweep of my room . . . Finally, my eyes land on my iPad sitting on a shelf full of plants and I get another idea. In college, I took a few graphic design classes and liked it. For a little while, I was actually selling my art. I made logos and general business graphics. I haven’t dabbled in drawing in a long time—too busy with my accounting work—but I’m sure it wouldn’t take long to get back into it.
Chapter 13
I’ve avoided Liam for three whole days. Other than sleeping in his bed every night, I’ve tried not to interact with him since Friday. But I can’t keep avoiding him—not after I noticed the little signs that are now dotting my plants.
At first, I didn’t pay much attention to the little piece of paper taped to the side of my pot,but then I noticed another one, and another one, and another one.
