That stopped me. “You know?”
“Of course I know.” She rolled her eyes, but her voice cracked on the edges. “You’re a terrible liar, Liam. You always have been. I knew you were lying when you said it. I just couldn’t figure out why you’d say it anyway.”
“Because I’m an idiot.”
“You mentioned that.”
“It bears repeating.” I took a breath. “I saw my dad. Before I ended things. He got in my head, told me for the millionth time that I was just like him, that I’d inevitably hurt you the way he hurt my mom. And I believed him. I thought leaving you was the noble thing to do.”
“Noble.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You broke my heart to be noble?”
“I broke your heart because I was a coward.”
She didn’t argue. Instead, she stood there, waiting, her arms still crossed but her shoulders slightly less rigid than before.
I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the folded piece of paper I’d been holding on to since last night.My hands were shaking, which was ridiculous. I’d taken hits on the ice that would’ve sent most people to the hospital. But standing here, holding this crumpled list, I’d never been more terrified in my life.
“You had a list,” I said.
Her brow furrowed. “What?”
“The bucket list. The one you made after Chris.” I held up the paper. “You made a list of things you wanted to experience. Things you’d been too scared to ask for.”
“I know what my list was.” Her eyes narrowed. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I made one too.” I swallowed hard. “For the rest of our life.”
She stared at me, then she uncrossed her arms, curiosity winning out over anger. It was enough to encourage me to keep going, so I unfolded the paper with hands that wouldn’t stop trembling.
“Number one. Check your tire pressure and oil every month so I never have to worry about you being stranded on the side of the road.”
Her lips parted and her eyes widened slightly. “That’s not romantic,” she said, but her voice had lost the edge it carried earlier. “That’s just practical.”
“I know.” I looked down and read the next one. “Number two. Be the guy waiting at the curb every single week to pick you up after your dance classes.”
She bit her lip. I kept going.
“Number three. Memorize your specific grocery list—including the exact brand of oat milk you like—so I can restock the fridge without you asking.”
“You know I prefer oat milk?”
“Oatly, to be specific. You think it froths better.”
She blinked, caught off guard. Good.
“Number four. Be the one who runs to the store for Gatorade and soup when you have the flu.”
“That’s just basic human decency.”
“That’s me wanting to take care of you. There’s a difference.”
She swiped at her eyes, but she didn’t tell me to stop.
“Number five. Attend every awkward work function or distant cousin’s wedding as your permanent date, just so I can hold your hand under the table.”
“You hate weddings.”
“I hate being anywhere you’re not more.”
