Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Harrison must be reeling.
It's supposed to be his wedding day.
Once Preston is standing, he takes my hand and moves into the hallway. I lead him to the courtyard where Opal and I paced last night.
It's different in the morning light. Bright and beautiful. A place to live, breathe, bloom.
"It's sweet of you to visit me," he says.
"What do you mean?"
"Your ring." He motions to my left hand. "You're not wearing it."
Shit. That's obvious.
"Liam didn't tell me, but I could see it in his eyes. This sense of loss."
"How do you know it's me? And not… your condition?"
"I was looking him in the eyes when I told him this news. It was different."
"Oh."
"This is my fault, Briar. I asked him to keep this a secret. It was selfish. It wasn't fair to Liam."
Maybe, but Liam said yes. He kept this from me. He had a million chances to tell me, but he chose to keep it to himself every time.
"Is it over between you two?"
"It's complicated."
"I didn't want to burden my son. I told myself that and it's true. But it's more. I don't want people to look at me like I'm dying."
"Am I?"
"Yes." He pats the back of my hand. "But I understand. It's surprising news."
"I'm sorry. I just…" Fuck, I can't put this on him. It's my problem. He's not my actual father, however paternal he is. "It is surprising."
"Liam needs you."
"I know." I need him too, but not like this. Not if he's going to keep secrets, lock me out, keep his scars to himself.
"He loves you."
"You're the second person to say that today."
"Simon?"
I nod.
"Everyone can see it."
"How?"
"The way he looks at you. He adores you."
"Maybe."
"Absolutely. And you feel the same?"
"I do."
He's quiet for a moment. "You're afraid of ending up with your parents' marriage."
It's not a question, but I nod anyway.
"It's okay to be unsure, Briar. To be scared. I'm supposed to be brave in the face of death, but I'm not. I don't want to miss my son's wedding. I don't want to miss meeting my grandchildren. I don't want to miss seeing you and Liam work through your problems."
Fuck. "Do we really make your list?"
"Liam is like a son to me. My most difficult son."
"He's difficult."
"Does he need your certainty?"
"No. He didn't ask for anything. I just… I need more of him. I need all of him. His secrets too."
"I'm the one who asked him to lie. Be angry with me."
"I'm not angry." I wish I was. I know what to do with anger. I know how to handle it. This empty feeling in my chest? This desire for all of Liam next to this fear I'll have it? It's awful.
"Then be disappointed in me."
"I… I can't."
"The perk of dying."
My laugh is sad. "You didn't know me. Liam did." And I'm still lying to him, but maybe it doesn't matter. I'm not pretending. I do love Liam. Maybe I wouldn't agree to a marriage proposal, but Preston knows my feelings on the matter. "You've been kind to me. You've listened. The father I never had. I just…" A tear catches on my lashes. "Thank you for taking care of him."
"I can't accept that thank you."
I blink and my eyes are cloudy.
"Not if it means you're giving up on him."
"I don't know what I'm doing."
"That's the most honest thing I've heard all day." He smiles.
I try to smile back, but I only get halfway there. "I do… I do love him. I just… I need all of him. And I'm not sure he can give me that."
"Try. As a favor to me."
"Okay." How can I turn down a dying man's request? "I'll try." I'll try really fucking hard.
Chapter Forty-Two
Liam
The takeout cup is heavy in my hands. How can a sixteen ounce cup feel this fucking heavy?
Damn Simon. Is this his idea of being a wingman? I'm not exactly in prime condition in yesterday's suit on two hours of sleep.
The automatic doors slide open.
Briar steps outside. She's wearing casual clothes, jeans and a plain top, and she's nearly bare-faced, but she still looks like Bri.
The woman who's tormented me and accepted my torment for the last two years.
She can't leave like this.
I can't let her.
I try to think of some appropriate introduction. Fail miserably. "Hey."
"Hey." Her voice is soft. Hurt. "Are you okay?"
"No. You?"
She shakes her head. "I'm sorry you're losing him. He's a great guy. He… the world is going to miss him."
"He's not in the ground yet."
"I know, but…"
"Yeah." Fuck, this isn't charming. Where's my fucking charm? I offer her the takeout cup. "There's no lavender, but I watched them make it. Made sure they brewed the tea first, then added the milk."
"Annoyed them so much they spit in it?"
"Absolutely, but that's spit with a great London Fog attached."
She laughs and my heart sings. For a split second, the world is a big, beautiful place.