Page 55 of Because of Liam

Chapter Thirty-Six

I didn’t get much sleeplast night. Nightmares kept me awake—my attack and River’s mingled into the same dream. The images get fuzzier as the light of day pushes away the night. Every once in a while, a fragment pops into my mind and disappears just as fast.

It’s been an interesting few days. River and I meet every day. We hang out at Pat’s or either of our places. We talk and get to know each other better. She told me about her growing up on a farm with hippie parents, who gave her and Skye all the freedom they wanted but also the responsibility that went along with it.

Her childhood is so different from mine. She grew up loved and confident in that love. Confident in her place in the world, and in the knowledge that her family would always have her back. I, on the other hand, had to watch my back. Mine and Logan’s. We watched out for each other. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to have that. Shaking off the self-pity, I check the time.

My eyes land on the alarm clock: 8:43 a.m. I grab my phone and find River’s number.

Liam: Hey, what time do you have to be in class?

River: Not until eleven.

Her response is fast.

Liam: Do you want to grab breakfast at Pat’s before you go to school?

River: Yes, give me 20 minutes. I’ll meet you there.

I roll out of bed, brush my teeth, and take a quick shower before finding a pair of jeans and a soft gray Henley.

I wait until I see her walking to the café before I cross the street. She’s wearing skinny jeans and loose white Riggins University T-shirt.

She stops and waits for me when she sees me walking her way. I meet her out front. We hesitate, not quite sure where to go from here. The scent of apples and cinnamon envelops me in the light breeze. Her scent. It makes me hungry and not for food. Getting ahold of myself, I lean into her and kiss her forehead. My lips linger for a few seconds. Her eyes stay closed a moment longer when I pull back. I take her hand and open the door for her. Pat watches us and when we walk to the counter to order, she already has two cups of coffee lined up, two breakfast quiches, and a blueberry muffin, already cut in half and buttered.

“Pay me tomorrow,” Pat says and waves us away. It’s the same old Pat. I don’t know how she stays in business. I drop a twenty in the tip jar when she turns to help another customer. She narrows her eyes at me. Every so often she’ll do this. Tell someone to pay her tomorrow. I guess it’s her way of paying it forward or giving back.

We’re sitting in our favorite corner by the window now. Our favorite corner. When did I start thinking of this spot as ours? I don’t know. At some point, over the last two months, I started thinking of River and I as us, instead of two separate entities.

Between bites, she updates me on her talk to Skye, which went much the same as with me. Tears and questions of why she didn’t ask for help or talk to anyone about it.

“As difficult as it was talking about it, opening to Skye and you, I’m glad I did it. I’m glad you overheard that conversation and pushed me to talk. I feel lighter somehow.”

“I know what you mean. I feel the same way.” I do. And I don’t. I feel lighter, but also exposed. I’m not sure how to behave. I want to be sensitive to what happened to her, and I want to throw her against the wall and have my way with her. I’m an asshole. Fuck! I was an asshole three-days ago too. Kissing her and making her come. But she asked me to. Should I have said no? Should I have stopped and left? She said she needed new memories. I understand that. I want new memories too. I want them with River. I’m so confused. I don’t know what the proper procedure is. Do we keep talking about it? Do I try to make-believe the making out didn’t happen? No. Hell no. It happened and it will happen again. If she lets me. But now, knowing what I know, it doesn’t feel right pushing her into our stupid bet. My stupid bet, I correct myself.

“I need you to give me a ride to school.”

“Okay. You have a couple of hours before your test, right?”

“Yes, but I want you to come with me into admissions and talk with an advisor to see what you need to do to enroll in pre-med.”

“What?”

“I want you to talk to someone about enrolling. If we move fast, you can take a couple of summer classes.”

My ears heard the words, but my brain is not registering them. She wants me to go to Riggins with her and enroll?

“What are you talking about?”

“What’s keeping you from going to med school now? You said, you always wanted to go. Well, just so happens, Riggins has one of the best pre-med and medical programs in the country.”

“River, I’m too old. I’m years behind everyone else.”

“You’re not too old. You’re twenty-three. And I don’t care if you’re a hundred. You’re never too old to learn something new or follow your dreams.”

“I’m too old. I’m twenty-three now. I’d have four years of undergraduate school, followed by four years of medical school and then three-to-eight years of residency programs. And I always wanted to be a trauma surgeon—that puts me on the higher end of those residencies. I would be thirty-nine by then.”

“You will be thirty-nine regardless. The question is, do you want to be thirty-nine doing something you love or not?”

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