“Liam, I’m not going skiing and leaving you in this state to fend for yourself,” I tell him, annoyed that he thinks I’d even consider that.
“Hmph” is all he says before sliding back down into his pillow and falling asleep again.
Li isn’tready to face the world until noon. After a shower and averyaggressive brushing of his teeth, he moseys into the living room to get settled.
To my dismay, he chooses the recliner, and I know he’s doing it to avoid me. I’ll let him have his pity party for a little bit longer, but then we’re going to hash our shit out.
Being in limbo like this is the worst kind of hell.
He was right; this isn’t us.
I know I fucked up by not telling him what I learned when I learned it—stupid me for thinking Patrick would make the right choice this time—but Liam and I always talk through things, and this shit with his dad will be no different.
It can’t be, because I’m not going to letPatrick’sfuckup take my best friend from me.
When Liam falls into the recliner, I notice he’s found a new pair of sweatpants and put his hoodie on as well. I’d left him in nothing but his boxers when I tucked him in, knowing he’d end up sweating all night, but I guess we’ve hit the fever-stage of his hangover.
I get up, handing him the remote to the TV before making my way into the kitchen, where I grab a sleeve of saltines and a Coke.
“Thanks,” he mutters, taking the offering as I come back into the living room.
I resume my spot on the couch, where I steal glances at him every few minutes. The way he’s changing his position frequently is an indicator of how miserable he is. Li’s too big for the small recliner, and by the time he starts making whimpering sounds and pinching the bridge of his nose, I know his headache is pretty severe as well.
If this were a regular day, Li would already be stretched out on the couch with his legs draped across me like before, or his head in my lap so I could rub his scalp.
Sighing, I pat the couch next to me.
“I hate this. Get over here.”
The man actually pushes his lips into a pout. “I’m still mad.”
“Fine, just be mad over here.”
With movements that are caught somewhere between reluctance and relief, Liam stands and shuffles to the couch. He has a blanket wrapped around him and falls onto the furthest couch cushion, keeping his knees bent to avoid touching me.
Unable to stand it anymore, I grab his ankles and pull his legs across my lap, massaging his feet, shins, and calves.
He groans. “God, that feels good, but I’m kinda pissed that it does.”
I chuckle because I get it.
“Can we talk now?” I ask, feeling a lot better about hashing this out while part of him is in my lap. It’s probably a little dirty, asking for this conversation while he feels like shit, but at least I know he won’t run from me. He can’t stay standing for more than two minutes without needing to lie down.
Sensing my master plan, he cuts his eyes at me. “I don’t really feel like I have much say in the matter since I’m sort of a captive audience here.”
“I don’t want toforceyou, Li. I just want the truth out there so we can move on, because this level of hell we’re in right now fucking sucks.”
“Yeah, okay,” he reluctantly agrees before diving right in. “So, you’ve just forgiven him, huh?”
I need to choose my words carefully here because a lot is on the line. Hell,everythingis on the line.
“Well, I didn’t just wake up and decide to forgive him if that’s what you’re asking. As it turns out, my brother thought…” I pause, acutely aware this isn’t my story to tell, but I’m tired of being stuck in the middle.
“Your brother thought what?” Liam presses.
“He thought your dad was in love with him.”
Liam’s eyes widen. “Why the fuck would he thinkthat?”
