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“Yeah.”
“Well, parents don’t know the difference.” He drops his backpack on the desk with a frustrated huff. “A biker swerved to avoid a group walking in his lane and barreled into me.”
My eyes travel from the cast to his face, where scabs are already forming on his cheek and forehead. “Why didn’t you text me? I would’ve taken you to the hospital.”
“You were with your parents. The guy on the bike got me an Uber.”
“Jesus, Liam. You’ve got a broken arm. I think that trumps parent’s weekend.” I run a frustrated hand through my hair, trying not to imagine him sitting all alone in the exam room.
“If I’d texted you, you would’ve showed up with your parents in tow.”
“So?”
“So, I didn’t want to ruin your day.” He hops on his bed and reclines against a stack of pillows.
I mirror him so we’re facing each other across the room. “What ruins my day is thinking of you dealing with this on your own. No one should be in the hospital by themself.”
Liam chuckles without any humor. “It’s not my first broken arm. Or the first time I took myself to the hospital.”
“What?” My shock makes my voice loud enough that Liam jumps.
“Last year. Right about this time, actually. This one isn’t as big a deal, just a hairline fracture.” He shrugs like that makes it okay. “Last time was a solid break.”
“You’d have been a minor then, right? How could you take yourself to the hospital? Don’t you need parental consent or something?”
“I’d just turned eighteen.” He fluffs his pillow, conveniently averting his gaze, suggesting that he doesn’t want to talk about it, but I can’t let it go this time.
“So, what? Age doesn’t mean shit when you’re hurt.”
“Actually, it does. Legally the doctors couldn’t talk to my parents without my consent.”
“You didn’t give it?”
“I did.” His expression is eerily vacant when his eyes finally meet mine.
“And?”
“It didn’t matter.”
“What do you mean it didn’t matter?” I’m trying really hard not to frown or raise my voice, but he’s being so cryptic, and it’s making me nervous.
“They have a thing about hospitals.”
“That’s even less of an answer than it didn’t matter. How’d you break your arm the first time? Did your parents do it? Is that why they don’t like hospitals? Are they a danger to you?”
I half expect Liam to flinch from my rapid-fire questions, but he just sits there stoically. “They’ve never beaten me if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Did they disown you because of…”
“What, being gay? No.” He swings his head to the left but pauses before it swivels back right. “I’m not sure they know I am.”
“I thought you were out?”
“I am.”
Jesus, this guy. “How can you be out and your parents not know?”
“Long story.” Liam closes his eyes and lets his head hit the wall with a heavy sigh. “Can we not play twenty questions right now? It’s been kind of a shit day, and this isn’t my favorite subject.”
