I have nothing. He’s right.
“You’re not skating until BU clears it.”
“I know.”
“You’re not contacting her.”
“I know.”
“You’re not explaining it away. Or making yourself the victim.”
“I won’t.”
“And you’re not hiding behind me.”
“I didn’t come here to?—”
“You came because you finally understand what you lost,” he says. “Good. Sit in it.” He exhales. “I love you. That doesn’t mean I protect you from consequences.”
“I don’t want you to.”
He studies me. Then nods once.
“Mom knows.”
My head jerks up. “She does?”
“She got a call. She was crying.”
Shame hits hard and fast.
“You’re going to Brooklyn,” Liam says. “You tell her everything. Yourself.”
“Okay.”
“And then you’re coming with us to Erin’s concert.” His gaze sharpens. “You behave. You make yourself small in the right ways.”
A broken laugh slips out of me.
“You’re not a monster,” he says quietly. “But you did something monstrous.”
“I know.”
“You’re going to feel like you’re dying,” he continues. “That’s your ego bleeding out. Let it.” Then, softer, “And if you’re thinking of grand gestures—don’t.”
I look down.
“You don’t get to perform remorse. You don’t get to turn her pain into your redemption arc.” That lands dead center. “You want to deserve her?” he asks. “Then do the thing that doesn’t make you feel better.”
“What’s that?”
“Leave her alone. Tell the truth when it costs you. Take consequences without applause.”
My throat closes. I nod.
“You hungry?”
The normalcy almost breaks me.
