“She said—” He cuts himself off, dusts his nose over my shoulder. “She said I was trying to act likehimwhen I wasn’t him, when I couldn’t ever be him. And Kayla wasn’t saying it to be hurtful, like I didn’t measure up to our dad. She was saying it like… Like,I just wanted my baby brother, and he was trying to act like someone I was mourning.”
He shakes his head, eyes distant. “I took something that had always been a source of joy for our whole family and tried to commodify it. We’ve never had a lot of money, but we’ve also never hungered after it, and I guess when I started talking about baseball like that—as a saving grace instead of a paternal memory—it set everybody on edge.”
Wetness gathers in the corner of his eye. “I just wish I’d known that’s how she, or maybe all of them, felt. I wanted to be there for my family after he was gone and instead, I drove a wedge between us.”
“It wasnotall on you,” I say, voice firm.
“I know, I know,” Liam goes on, his mouth now on the collar ofmy—his—T-shirt, breath warm. “Kayla said that, too. There’s a lot we unpacked. Stuff about Mom—how she copes, and maybe how it’s not the healthiest. Kayla’s been going to therapy, figuring some stuff out. It was intended to be couples therapy, but she’s getting a divorce, actually.”
My spine stiffens. “Kayla’s pregnant,andshe’s getting a divorce?” Liam nods. “Is this the first you’d heard of it?”
“She decided two weeks ago, but yeah,” Liam says, tone weary. “I told her as soon as the tour finishes, I’d come home to help however I could.”
“How do you feel about it?” I ask.
“Worried for her, with little Charlotte and the future newborn, but—part of me is relieved. I never warmed up to that guy.”
“You mean the guy who harped on you for using their wedding funds for a vital medical treatment?Thatguy?”
“Down,” Liam jokes, but he’s fighting a smile. In fact, there’s a whole new levity to him. Like that phone call was a balm for his bruised, mourning soul.
“Things will still be tough with my family,” Liam says low, but it sounds like he’s reminding himself more than informing me. “Heather’s husband isn’t any warmer of a person, and they’re giving Kayla a hard time for initiating the divorce. Plus, Mom has apparently checked out of the whole situation like she did when Dad died. No help, no hindrance, just a passive participant in our family.”
“That’s got to be hard for everyone,” I whisper.
Liam nods slowly, his nose and lips grazing my collarbone. “It is,” he admits.
Passive. That’s the one thing Liam never wanted me to be. I might’ve even wound up that way if he hadn’t steered me so fiercely in a different direction.
That kind of love is a slow build, a yearslong investment. And it was a thankless act for so long, even a resented one, until I gainedenough perspective to see that what Liam did for me was the greatest expression of love he was capable of.
“But Kayla and I are on a team now,” he goes on. “She’s not alone with this, and neither am I. We’ll work together to be a better family. To be better siblings to each other. Better at expressing ourselves when things are bad. Better at asking for help.” There’s a clarity in his eyes now. Hope in his voice instead of dread.
“I’m on whatever team you’re on,” I say.
“You’re first-string,” Liam says, “on every team where I’m the captain.”
“We’re not doing a very good job of fighting,” I whisper.
Liam’s response is an openmouthed kiss to my throat that shoots sparks into my heels. “You asked me to connect the dots about what changed. From the time you left to get some air and right now.”
“Mm-hmm,” I say.
“You were right about the fact that I’m a people pleaser,” he admits. Liam turns me until my back is on the bed and he’s hovering over me, a mix of want and hesitation painted on his face. “It was never throwing a baseball that felt vital to me. It was the endorphins of giving other people what they want. I would stand at the center of a baseball diamond and work so hard to win games for the fans, for my family. But the team went on without me, and there were other, better ways I could’ve supported my family if I hadn’t been so focused on this one thing.
“I didn’tneedto be the architect of other people’s happiness. I’m far more effective making people happy by working from the sidelines. And that doesn’t make my life smaller than it might’ve been if I’d never gotten injured. It doesn’t make my contributions less significant. I—matter,” he gets out, swallowing. “I matter to people like this, the way I am now.”
Tears are tracking down my cheeks, listening to Liam self-realize in this way. “You matter so much,” I say, “to so many people.”
He leans his weight on one elbow while his other hand touchesmy chin softly. “So do you,” he whispers. “That’s it, Paige. That’s the final dot I had to connect. Neither of us needs to be seen to know we’ve helped other peoplefeelseen. We can be the support system. We can be the backbone. A singular, invisible cog on some greater wheel, and it wouldn’t be a small life if you’re in it. It would be everything. It already is.”
He leans closer. “And one more thing. I got this job, stayed in it all this time, hoping that someday it would lead me back to you. It did. I’ve enjoyed it. But I miss baseball, and I want to find a way to get back to myself now.”
Pride swallows me. He’s considering himself, at last. “You could do anything, and you will, but I happen to know from firsthand experience you’re an excellent peewee coach.”
Liam’s lips crash to mine. We’re enmeshed, our limbs tangled, our bodies inseparable.
We’re getting there. To this place that’s always been just out of reach but now floats toward us like a dandelion seed in the wind.
