Page 132 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

It remained the enemy. It was a stone, a hard, immovable lump lodged deep in my throat, blocking air, blocking voice, blocking everything. Its edges seemed to cut me every time I tried to force it out.

But I wasn’t giving up. Every morning, I faced the picture. Every morning, I breathed through the blockage. Every morning, I fought the stone in my throat.

One of these days, the stone would dissolve. The knot would loosen. That word would come out. And when it did, I would be a different man. The man who could finally say it.

I’d also realized my old method of showing love, through action, had been a spectacular failure. A language no one understood.

Meaning I was terrible at it.

Which meant I had to learn the literal language. I had to get the words out. I had to let people know—explicitly, verbally, without room for doubt—that they were important to me.

I started this practice with only Alessia in mind. But a colder, clearer truth followed: the damage of my silence wasn’t limited to her. There was someone else who had stood in my corner, year after silent year, who had never gotten the words either.

I looked across the table at Liam. My throat worked around the unfamiliar effort, the new muscles straining.

“Liam.”

He looked up, chewing slowly.

“I need to tell you something.” I took a steadying breath, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “You’re important to me. You’re the best friend anyone could ask for. You were—you are—always there. Even when I’m an insufferable, tunnel-visioned idiot. Even when our friendship was just an arrangement between our fathers… you stayed. You chose to stay. And I… I’m grateful. Thank you for that.”

Liam froze mid-chew, his eyes wide and unblinking, locked on me. Then horror washed over his face. He dropped his fork with a clatter.

“We will find a cure,” he declared, already pulling out his phone.

I frowned. “What?”

He looked up from his phone. “Whatever the doctor told you, it’s bullshit. We’ll get you to the best specialists. Does Alessia know about this?”

I scowled, completely lost. “Know about what?”

He let out an exasperated breath. “About you dying!”

I paused.

“Who said I was going to die?”

“You did!”

“When?”

He threw his hands up, the phone forgotten. “Just now! When you gave that speech.”

I raised my brows, stunned. “The speech about how I was glad to have you in my life?”

“Yes! Why else would you say those things if you weren’t dying?”

My head fell into my hands with a groan. “Are you serious right now?” I took a deep, steadying breath before looking up at him. “I can only say nice things to you if I’m on my deathbed?”

He scowled. “People do all kinds of weird stuff when they think they’re dying.”

I shook my head, a wave of regret washing over me. This was why I never said things to him.

“I am not dying. I just realized I’ve never actually told you how much I value having you in my life, so I did.”

He studied me, still suspicious.

“Are you sure you’re not dying?”