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I pray that Liam lives.
I let the silent prayer out and follow Gemma out of the bathroom. I feel a bit better without his blood all over me, but in a weird, sadistic way, a feeling of loss hits me when I stare at my clean, soap-scrubbed hands. We walk toward the waiting room and I hear Liam’s name spoken; it’s a small voice, and when I look up, I meet his eyes—except they’re on the face of a tall brunette.
“Layla,” Gemma calls out, walking toward her. She pats her shoulder awkwardly in a way that only Gemma could make comforting and leads her to some seats by the wall.
I don’t move from the spot her eyes froze me to. Layla is here because Liam is her only sibling, and now he’s hurt, maybe hurt too badly to make it out alive, and it’s all my fault. This entire thing is my fault.
If I’d been quicker, reacted faster, I would have been able to get there in time to give Liam backup.
I don’t belong here.
Layla doesn’t know who I am or what I’ve been through with her brother, and seeing me will only add to her confusion. Shit, Liam doesn’t even know how much he means to me.
A tear threatens to escape, and after a quick glance at the two of them, I make my way toward the door, needing an exit, a place to get out of my head where they won’t see me lose my shit and break down.
“Margaret,” a voice says to my back, halting my movements. I turn and see Layla standing behind me, her eyes full of worry, but also determination.
I don’t know what to say that will get through to her, that will make her understand what he means to me and how heartbroken I am to have possibly caused any pain for her. So, I settle for something generic. It’s not much, but it’s all I have. “I’m sorry.” My voice is cracked, timid.
She stares at me and I want to look away, but I don’t. My eyes fill with tears I don’t want to spill over, but I’m not sure I have the willpower to keep them back. Layla’s fill too, and suddenly she’s pulling me into her arms and sobbing. I don’t embrace her back at first, shock restraining my movements, but then I think of a woman who has maybe lost her only brother and my arms grip her tightly.
We stand like that for a long time, both crying, her loud breaths erratic as she tries to hold in her sobs, and mine silent, mourning a man I never got to have a real life with.
Pulling back, she wipes at her face and looks at me. She gives me an embarrassed smile, and I take her hand, leading her to the chairs she and Gemma occupied before, her presence now missing as I let Layla lean on me for support.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispers, her tears still tracking down her face, her expression riddled with grief. I don’t say anything. I don’t have any words to give her that could possibly make this situation better. “He told me about you.”
My head whips toward hers and a soft gasp escapes me.
“He told me about his ‘Mo’.” She grins, and an ache in my chest beats harder when I see Liam’s smile on her face. They look so much alike; it’s scary and painful, but beautiful. “A while ago, he came home and visited.” She smiles through her tears, no doubt thinking of the last time she saw Liam. “He told me a lot of what he’d done, which was unusual. He doesn’t normally share that information with me, to keep me safe, but he did this time, and I couldn’t figure out why…until he brought you up.” She sighs and stares at our clasped hands. “He told me about Mo, the girl who’d changed everything for him. Liam said you were stubborn and bullheaded, the strongest woman he’d ever met, and he couldn’t wait to get to you, to love you and finally be with you in a real way.”
A sob escapes my chest and I use my other hand to cover my embarrassing cry. I should have told him. I should have told him I love him. I knew better than to wait, knew better than to think I could actually have a normal chance to do it right.
Doing it right isn’t always what we think it should be. It’s not about the perfect timing or the perfect setting; it’s about letting your heart lead your words and actions. I shouldn’t have held back. In that safe house, when he told me he loved me, I should have said it back.
Why didn’t I say it back?
Another heart-wrenching sob leaves my chest, and I just allow myself to cry. Layla says nothing, doesn’t move, just holds my hand in both of hers, giving me support simply by being there.
It’s hours later when we get word from a doctor. Layla stands and tugs me up with her, and I don’t struggle even though I want to. I want to stop her, want to stop myself from moving across the floor. I don’t want to hear what the doctor has to say. I don’t want to hear anything that could alter the rest of my life.
I just want him to be okay.
I need him to be okay.
We stare at the doctor’s sullen expression and wait for the bad news to come.
