Page 132 of Liam

She turns, mumbling, “Of course it is.” As soon as the phone’s in her hand, she freezes. “What’s the date?”

“What?”

“Thedate?”

I check my watch again. “Fifteenth. Why?”

She shows me her phone, and the name on the screen has me immediately shooting up. “It’s been three years?”

“To the day,” she breathes out, looking from the phone to me, over and over, clearly unsure of what to do.

“If you think you can handle it… emotionally, I mean. Then you should answer it.”

“Emotionally, I’m fine, but?—”

I get out of bed, making the decision for her. “Answer it.”

She stares up at me, her eyes wide, and I can’t tell if it’s with fear or pleading or something else entirely. But ever since she told me about the wholewait for mesituation, I’ve thought about this moment a lot. There are two distinct paths she couldgo down, and regardless of what I do or how I feel, the decision has to be hers.

Sure,Ilove her.

But she never said the words back, and just because I feel that way, it doesn’t meanshehas to.

I lean across the mattress, press my lips to her forehead. “Talk to him, Addie,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. Calm. “He’s waited three years to hear your voice. You should at least give him that.” I don’t wait for a response before exiting the room, and the second the door’s closed behind me, the phone stops ringing. “Pierson?” she says, and my eyes drift shut. I try to settle the hammering in my chest, the unsteady beat of my pulse. Blood rushes through my veins, and I force myself forward. One step. Two. I make it to the couch. Sit. Stand. My eyes catch the baseball fidget clicker on my desk, and I grab it, click it between my fingers. It doesn’t have the same effect it used to. I can’t breathe, and it’s so fucking ridiculous that I’m feeling this way, but I can’t take in enough air to push back out. I step outside. Fresh air fills my nostrils, ribbons through my airways until it fills my lungs.

I need something to do. Something to take my mind off what the fuck they’re saying to each other. I bet she tells him sheloveshim. Maybe not inthatway, but how could she not love someone who did what he did? Forher.

It’s too much.

Everything she’s going through, all at once. I shouldn’t have told her to answer, even though I could tell shewantedto. She just didn’t want to hurtmyfeelings. What if it makes things worse? What if this one phone call ruins all the progress she’s had in therapy? She literally just had a breakthrough two days ago.

What the fuck am I doing?

How the fuck am I this selfish?

I’m losing my mind.

Minutes ago, I was watching the literal girl of my dreams sleeping peacefully on my lap and now?—

Now I’minthe back of the minivan, the back seats laid flat so I canvacuum.

It’s been five minutes.

The hand-held vacuum cleaner we keep in the van only has enough battery to last ten, and then I’ll have to find something else to do.

Thankfully, on the seventh minute, the front door opens, shining a light into the front yard. Addie pops her head out, and I’m sure she says something, but I don’t know what because the vacuum is too loud. A second later, the porch light flicks on, and a second after that, she’s making her way toward me—barefoot and beautiful. She stops at the open trunk door, her hands on her hips, head tilted.

I lower my gaze, focus on the already clean carpet, run the stupid vacuum over the same spot, again and again.

The van rocks, and I glance up to see Addie pulling herself up and into the van, dragging dirt from her feet onto the floor. I vacuum the mess she made, then grab her ankle, tug it toward me so I can vacuum the sole of her foot.

She giggles, twisting out of my hold. “Stop it!” She takes the vacuum from me and immediately switches it off. “What are you doing?” she asks, but she says it in a way that hints she already knows the answer.

“Vacuuming,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Obviously.”

Her eyebrows rise. “Whyare you vacuuming?”

“I don’t know,” I breathe out. Now that the vacuum is out of my grasp, my hands become just as antsy as my mind. I pull out the fidget clicker and click away. “I tried to sit on the couch, but I could still hear your voice, and I didn’twantto hear what you were saying, so I came outside. I tried to sit on the porch,and that wasn’t much better than the couch, so I moved to the minivan, and then—well…” I wave a hand around me. “You saw what happened next.” I heave out a sigh, press my back against the side of the van, and keep my gaze lowered. I can’t let her see the insecurities living, breathing, multiplying inside me. “How’d it go?”