The Ending I Want
Page 18

“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.”
A lump appears in my throat while tears burn my eyes. I nod in response, unable to speak. Averting my eyes, I tighten the robe around my waist.
When I look back up, he’s still watching me. Our eyes hold in silent understanding.
Then, a small smile appears on his lips.
“Well, hurry up and get your hot arse in the shower. And don’t take all day because we have plans.”
“We do?”
“I’m taking you out to start on your list, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember,” I say before heading into the bathroom, thankful for Liam’s ability to switch moods as easily as I can.
“A hair salon?” I look up at the sign on the shop where Liam’s driver, Paul, has just pulled up in front. “This is where you’re taking me?”
“Dye your hair pink. Or purple. Or some other cool color.”
He remembered it from my list. The list he read once, a day ago on the plane.
I feel oddly touched that he remembered.
“How did you remember that?” I ask, turning to him.
“I remember everything off that list. Especially the, Have lots of sex, and have sex outdoors.” He flashes me a salacious grin.
With my face flaming red, my eyes move to Paul sitting in the driver’s seat. “Jesus, Liam,” I hiss. “Paul is sitting right there. He can hear you.”
“Paul’s not embarrassed, are you?” Liam says, with that damn grin still on his face.
“No, sir.”
“Paul might not be, but I am!” I smack Liam on the arm.
He laughs at me, and then, he opens the car door and takes my hand, pulling me out with him.
“Wait here,” he tells Paul, leaning back in the car.
He shuts the door and leads me toward the hair salon.
“You know, I need an appointment to have my hair colored,” I tell him as he pushes the door to the salon open.
“You’ve got one. I made it for this morning.”
“You made the appointment?” I raise a brow. “Or your assistant did?”
He gives me an offended look. “I made the appointment. A friend of mine owns the salon.”
“Liam!”
I turn to see a stunning woman moving across the salon, quickly heading for us—well, Liam.
She has black hair with these cool purple streaks in them. She’s tall—a lot taller than me, but that isn’t hard. She’s wearing these skinny jeans that look like they were made especially for her and a really pretty fitted shirt.
She’s stunning, and I instantly hate her.
Okay, well, I don’t hate her. I’m just jealous of her natural gorgeousness.