Page 113 of Where Roads Lead

My parents were very much a fend for yourself and only let us know if you’re bleeding or dying type of family. Suffice to say, family dinners weren’t a typical occurrence in the Cameron household.

“Was Ava there?” I asked, wondering if that had been a source of the tension.

He snorted. “Always.”

“Wait,” I said, realizing the date, “don’t you usually go on Friday nights?”

“Aw,” he said, a pathetic attempt at a half-smile. “Keeping track of my schedule? I’m honored.”

“Shut up.” I rolled my eyes. “Why were you there tonight?”

He paused, exhaled through his nose, and then said, “It’s the anniversary of Matthew’s death. I guess they figured it might be easier to handle it if we were all together. Clearly, that wasn’t the case.”

I stared at him, noticing the tense set of his shoulders and the face that still seemed to be so young, despite the weight of everything he carried.

“I don’t know why I’m taking this too hard. It’s been a few years now, but it hasn’t seemed to make a difference.”

“He was important to you,” I said, sitting close enough to him that our knees touched.

“He was my best friend.”

“You’re lucky you had that,” I said. “But I’m sure that makes it that much harder. I don’t know what it’s like to love someone that much. Never mind losing them.”

“I guess that’s a blessing.”

I frowned. “How do you figure that?”

“If you never love anyone, then you don’t ever have to deal with losing them.”

“That’s an awful way to think about life, Will,” I scolded, thinking about the way he seemed to shut himself off from the world. “Don’t you dare even try to keep that up for the rest of your life. I won’t let you.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded like, tell me about it, but I couldn’t be sure.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “And anyway, I didn’t say I was doing that. I just said it was easier.”

“Is Matthew the reason why you try to take care of everyone else all the time?”

Why you try to take care of me?

He stared at me, a mixture of shock and vulnerability that told me I was right on the money.

“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling suddenly like I was overstepping. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

He paused, stared at me for a long moment, and then looked away.

“It was my fault.”

“What?” My breath caught.

“The day Matthew died. It was my fault.”

How had Matthew died? A car accident, Ava had said. Hadn’t she?

For a horrible second, I worried Will had been the one driving that day. It wouldn’t necessarily make him at fault, but being there to witness it up close, it would be too heavy a burden for anyone to carry.

“Were you there?” I asked carefully. “When it happened?”