Over the course of my junior year, Liam and I fell even more in love, though we still had never said those words to each other. Still, I could hear it in his voice when we’d talk late at night, feel it in the way he’d hold my hand or brush my hair away from my face, or when he’d sit quietly in the audience at my dance shows.
But one day in mid-March, everything changed. I hadn’t heard from Liam all day, and there was a growing unease in the pit of my stomach that wouldn’t go away.
It was raining when I got to his place that night, and I found Liam sitting on the fire escape with his head between his knees.
I held the hallway door open and had to shout over the rain. “Liam.”
He looked up at me, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes rimmed red, and hung his head again.
He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong at first, but after gentle prodding, he opened up: his younger brother, Gabe, had gotten a concussion during lacrosse practice. The most important game of the season was the next day, and the coach had asked him if he was good to play. Being a sixteen-year-old kid, of course he’d said yes.
He’d gotten hit again, had a seizure, and died on his way to the hospital.
I froze, my heart breaking, and the knot in my throat twisted. He loved his brother, talked to him all the time. How could he be gone?
I could hardly stand to look at him. I could tell he was in so much pain.
Suddenly, Liam stood and pushed past me.
“Where are you going?”
“I just want to drive,” Liam said. His voice was hoarse, and I could tell from the distant look in his eyes he’d been drinking.
“Then I’m coming with you.” I followed him through the rain to the parking lot.
“Please don’t. I want to be alone.” He tried to get into the car and I stopped him.
“Look at me!” I yelled, blocking his path to the driver’s seat. “You can’t drive right now.”
“Move.”
“I’m serious. I’m not letting you do this.” It was raining harder now, raindrops beating on the metal roof. His Jeep was old. The tires probably hadn’t been changed in years. If he tried to drive in this rain, and as drunk as he was…
“Fuck.” Liam slammed the hood of the car, making me jump. “I saidmove.” He had the look of someone pushed to his edge. And it scared me.
Liam yanked the door open and crashed into the driver’s seat. Adrenaline spiking, I ran around the car and jumped into the passenger side. I don’t know what I was thinking. Iwasn’tthinking. All I knew was I couldn’t let him hurt himself. He’d said these things before…and I knew if he drove right now, he might try to kill himself.
But he wouldn’t do it with me in the car. At least, I hoped he wouldn’t.
My heart beat hard in my chest as he sped down the winding road. Rain and wind threw itself against the windows, rattling the car. The landscape was dark and unfamiliar. I didn’t know where Liam was going. I doubted he knew either.
“Liam, slow down.” My voice was pinched and thin. I swallowed hard and tried again, but he didn’t listen. His eyes were focused on the road, his knuckles white as he gripped the wheel harder, the pavement slippery beneath us. “Liam! I’m serious!”
“I told you not to come. Damn it!”
I heard a horn up ahead, and when I looked up, a semitruck was raging toward us: we were on the wrong side of the road’sdividingline. The rain was beating down so hard, the windshield wipers couldn’t keepup.
It happened so fast.
Liam braked hard, and my chest seized. My body collided with the center console as the car swerved to the right, tires peeling out with a terrifying screech as I held my breath for what felt like minutes until finally it skidded to a stop in the middle of the road.
Liam was breathing hard, ragged, animal breaths. My heart was pounding out of control. To my relief, the truck rumbled past.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. You?” My whole body was shaking, blood rushing in my ears. My throat hurt. I could barely think. Barely get out the words.
After a moment, I caught my breath, and the anger came. I screamed at him.What were you thinking? You could’ve gotten us both killed!I made him give me the keys and drove us back to campus in silence.
