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Harley grimaces. “Yeah, happy freaking birthday to me. Answer the damn question, Tom. How’s Dad?”
“He’s stable, and they’re taking good care of him. There isn’t much we can do for him until we hear back whetherConrad is a match for the kidney donation, so today we’re just going to focus on celebrating your twenty-first.”
“I don’t care about my damn birthday,” Harley snaps, swinging his legs off the couch. “Who wants to celebrate when Dad’s in hospital fighting for his life?”
“Herc–” I start to say, but he climbs to his feet and storms out of the living room. A door slams shut, and a couple of minutes later we hear the sound of the shower running. “Maybe we should think about cancelling tonight.”
Tom shakes his head. “We’re not cancelling. I’m going to get some sleep. I spoke to Jordan earlier, and the surprise has pulled through. Your job is to pick up the cake and coordinate everyone. You good with that?”
“On it.”
TWENTY-THREE
HARLEY
THERE’S A KNOCK on my door, and I groan. “Go away, Tom. I’m not in the mood.”
“It’s me, Lily.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push out the memory of me falling apart in her arms last night. I was an absolute mess when I got home from the hospital, but I never intended for her to see me like that.
“Can I come in?”
“If you want.” I stare down at the drawing I’ve been absentmindedly working on for the past hour after locking myself away in my bedroom. It’s dark and depressing–just like my mood.
Lily pushes open the door, hovering in the doorway as her eyes roam curiously over the space. In the month she’s been living here, she hasn’t been in here once. She takes in the different art pieces pinned to my wall, stoppingin front of them to really look. I find myself holding my breath, waiting for her opinion.
“These are really good,” she says, glancing over at me. “Like,reallygood.”
“Thanks.”
She eyes the sketchbook in my hands. “What are you working on?”
“Nothing much. Just playing around.”
She nods, picking up a framed portrait of Mum that I drew after her funeral. I’d been so afraid that I would forget the way her eyes crinkled in the corners every time she laughed, or the way the right side of her mouth would come up slightly higher than the left when she smiled. I’d spent months on that piece, hyper-fixated on perfecting every single detail, until I remembered Mum talking about how it was the imperfections that tell a story about the subject, making it truly unique and special.
“Can I ask you something?” Lily’s quiet voice pulls me from my thoughts. I drag my eyes up to her face, taking in the way she rolls her lips together. It reminds me of how close I came to kissing her last night. I’ve never wanted to taste someone as much as I’m dying to taste her.
I shift uncomfortably on my bed, using my sketchbook to hide the way my thoughts are affecting the rest of my body. “I can’t promise I’ll answer it,” I grunt out.
She considers my response for a moment before nodding. “I noticed there’s no photos of your dad around the house. I was just wondering why? I mean, I get that itmust be hard, learning about the affair and Conrad, but what did he do to get him erased from your lives completely?”
I look back down at the drawing I’ve been working on for the last hour and a half. The car wrapped around the tree, the carcass of a dead kangaroo underneath the back wheel. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I expect her to ask more questions, but instead she just says, "Okay." She puts the portrait of Mum back on my desk and goes to leave.
But instead of letting her go and leaving me to my dark and disturbed thoughts, I clear my throat and call out, “Wait.”
Lily turns to look at me, and for a moment, I think I see a spark of hope in her eyes before she masks it with a curious raise of her brow. I rub at the stubble on my chin. “About last night. When I got home from the hospital. I’m… uh, really sorry you had to see me like that.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why are you apologising? Your dad is in hospital, Herc, I would be more surprised if you weren’t upset.”
For the first time, her nickname really grates on me. “I’m not a hero, Lily,” I growl out, glaring down at the image above the car accident of a fanged, winged beast ascending into the sky, carrying the limp body of a young man whose face is contorted in fear. “Far from it.” I add flames to the pits of hell, scowling as I do so.
“It’s your birthday,” she says with a sigh. “I know it sucks that your dad is in hospital, but he wouldn’t want youto be miserable on your twenty-first birthday.”
“Is there a reason you came in here?” I ask bitterly, keeping my eyes firmly on my drawing. Clawed hands are rising from the ground, reaching for the beast.
