The second we arrive at the ER, I see it.
All the guilt on Liam's face.
He knows something.
He's known something.
For all this time, he's known something.
Is that why he asked me to participate in this ruse? He said it was about Preston moving to London. I didn't look closely at his claim. I was too busy contemplating the complications of playing Liam's fake fiancée.
I was too busy negotiating points on my business.
What does it matter if he has six percent or seven or ten if this is—
I can't say it. I can't even think it.
He didn't tell me.
How could he not tell me?
Simon is already here, with two rows of teal chairs reserved, ready to explain the situation in a calm, even tone.
Preston is dehydrated. Nothing serious, for a man without health problems, but with his medical condition, mixing alcohol with his meds—
It's in every word Simon utters. Even with his calm tone of voice, it's clear: Preston is dying.
The way their father died. A slow decline, one easy to miss, then boom—
Gone.
Simon stays still. Liam paces around the room. Opal hugs her shoulders, barely attempting to hold in her nerves. She's not close with Preston, but she lost her mom the same way.
I ask if she wants to take a walk. She accepts gladly. We circle the courtyard, making small talk about the last book she read, a dirty story of domination and submission.
"There's a scene like this, actually," she says. "The heroine is overwhelmed by what's happening with her family, and sex is the only way she can escape. So they sneak off and find some empty room and he uses his tie as a blindfold. And even though it's weird, it works, it helps her center herself."
"It sounds romantic."
"Yeah. But I… I forgot how horrible hospitals feel. The smell of them. It's not sexy. It's just…" She shakes her head as her voice fades.
I pull her into a tight hug, then I change the subject to her plans for her summer trip to Europe, and we continue our slow circles.
It's easier, focusing on Opal, on making sure she's okay. I've never lost a parent. I've never sat in a hospital room, waiting for test results or news from an operation, wondering if this is the last time I'm going to see someone I love.
Preston is fading.
I've seen the signs. I told myself they were something else, but some part of me knew. The talk about legacy and love and death—
Of course, he's thinking about his mortality.
We walk in circles for a long time. Until Simon interrupts us.
"I'll take you home." He offers his sister his hand.
She looks to me, her blue eyes wide with concern. "Are you going to be okay here?"
"We're staying at the house," Simon says. "I can bring you home now or come back later."
"You're not staying?" she asks.
"It's fine. I'll catch a ride," I say.
"Liam is inside." Concern drops into Simon's voice. "He… he'll appreciate your company."
"Yeah. Of course." I'm his fiancée. That's still our story. Is Simon still suspicious or is that just Simon? The guy isn't exactly the world's biggest believer in love. Not that I can talk.
I just—
I can't face Liam. I can't look him in the eyes and demand an explanation.
How could he lie to me?
Why am I so desperate to collapse in his arms? To catch him when he falls?
It's too dangerous.
I need to go somewhere else, somewhere safe.
"I'll walk you out, Opal," I say.
Simon shoots me an are you sure that's a good idea look, but he still nods and leads us to the parking lot.
I hug Opal and help her into the passenger seat.
He stands there, at the driver's side, all tall and broad and imposing. "He didn't tell me either."
Huh?
"Liam. He knew. You didn't?"
"No."
"Secrets are a burden," he says. "He's trying to protect you."
Maybe, but is that really love? Isn't love about sharing your burdens, sharing your secrets, letting someone help you?
How the fuck am I supposed to know?
"Good night, Simon," I say.
"Call me if you need anything." He slips into the driver's seat, turns the car on, pulls out of the parking lot.
I watch the luxury car turn onto the main road, then I return to the waiting room, find Liam sitting in one of the teal chairs, the same guilty look on his face.
He turns to me and his expression shifts.
Fear. Relief. Something I can't place.
I don't know what to say. I don't know how to say it.
"You didn't tell me." My voice is a whisper. "You knew, and you didn't tell me."
"Bri—"
"Did you know?"
Guilt fills his eyes. Then fear. The realization of what this means. What I'm here to do.
I can't look at him.
I can't watch his heart break.
He knew.
He knows I know.
And he knows what I'm about to do.
I just have to do it.