“Why airplanes?” I ask, intrigued. Honestly, if I were to set up a business, that would be the last thing I would think of going into.
“Because I love to fly. There’s nothing more freeing than being in the air.”
“There’s nothing more likely to kill you than plummeting from thirty-thousand feet.” Well, except for a growing tumor in your brain.
He gives me a disapproving look. “Babe, you’re statistically more likely to die in a car crash on the way to the airport than you are in an airplane.”
“Still, I’ll take my chances in a car. At least I’d be on the ground.”
“Crushed and mangled in a car wreck.”
Laughter bursts from me. “Quite a picture you paint.”
He grins at me. It’s such a boyish grin, making him look years younger than the thirty-two I know him to be.
“Boston, I’ll have you loving flying before you head back home to Boston.”
“That was a lot of Bostons for one sentence. And, as for the flying, I highly doubt it, but thanks.” Smiling, I free a hand from under my cheek and run it through his thick hair.
“Is that your family?” He nods at something over my shoulder.
The smile on my face freezes because I know what he’s looking at.
I have a framed photo of my family on the nightstand. It’s all I have left of them, except for my memories.
I put the picture up last night when I got here after being at his place. It’s the only thing I unpacked.
When I put it up, I didn’t expect Liam to come over here and start asking questions. I should have taken it down before he arrived. I should have thought about it. But I was too worried about what to wear for his imminent arrival.
I wasn’t thinking.
That’s my problem though. I never think.
“Yes, it’s my family.” Turning from him, I get out of bed. I pick the picture up and put it facedown. Moving across the room, I get the hotel-supplied robe from the hook on the back of the door and pull it on.
When I turn back, Liam is sitting up in bed, his back resting against the headboard, sheet pooling around his waist.
“And your family doesn’t mind you jetting halfway across the world on your own?”
“They’re all dead.” The words are out before I can stop them.
I could have said anything. I could’ve lied. Although lying to Liam just doesn’t seem to be something I can do—well, apart from not telling him that I’m dying. That, I definitely won’t be telling him.
I watch as his expression freezes. Then, sympathy and pity fill his eyes.
I hate sympathy and pity. Almost as much as I hate myself.
“Jesus, Taylor, I’m so sorry.” His eyes go to the downturned picture and then come back to me. “How—”
“House fire. They all died in a fire at the house I grew up in. Any more questions?” I snap.
I didn’t mean to snap. It’s not like it’s his fault. It’s mine.
I just…I don’t talk about this. Them. Any of it.
All I want is to see my family again.
I want to bake with my mom. And play catch with my dad. And argue with Parker over the bathroom. I want to tickle Tess just so I can hear her laugh and see her beautiful smile.
But I can’t have that. Because they’re gone. They’re dead.
And all I’ve got is this goddamn list, which I’m going to complete. I’m going to see this city where my mom grew up, the place where she met my dad and they fell in love. I’m going to do all the stupid things that sixteen-year-old me wanted to do…and then I’m going to let this tumor kill me.
And I’ll finally be with them again—where I belong.
Why did I have to stay out that night? Why did I insist on sleeping over at my best friend’s house? Why did I have to ask my mother to wash my favorite hoodie so that I could wear it on the flight we were supposed to take the next day? The flight to bring us to England. Why did the dryer have to have a fault and catch fire? Why did I, a few weeks earlier, have my dad take the batteries out of the fire alarm because it kept going off all the time?
Why couldn’t I have just stayed home?
Why couldn’t I have died at home with them instead of having to die here alone?
Why did any of it have to happen?
The only saving grace I have is that this tumor in my head is soon going to kill me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” Liam’s gentle voice brings me back to the now.
My hand is clutching my stomach, and I can feel wetness on my cheeks.
Turning away from him, I brush the tears away. “I’m going to take a shower,” I say, walking toward the bathroom.
“Taylor?”
I turn back to him. The pity’s gone, and I’m relieved. “What?”
He’s staring at me like he wants to say something.
So, I beat him to it. “Look”—I sigh—“I don’t talk about my family—ever. And if we’re going to be spending time together, you need to know that. Okay?”
He nods. “Okay. But…if you ever change your mind…I’m here. I just want you to know that.”