42. Liam
42
LIAM
I didn’t think the suburbs of Philadelphia would be my solace from a broken heart.
Yet here I am, doing what I do best: running away.
I considered returning to Darius and Jackson’s house and asking Mr. Cooper to let me stay with them for a while, but I thought better of it. I don’t want them to feel beholden to me, as if they have to let me crash on their couch just because I’m setting Jackson up with this scholarship.
Instead, I dragged my suitcase to Penn Station and bought a ticket for the next Amtrak to Philly. I called my dad on the way, keeping the conversation brief and avoiding any details. If he was surprised by my abrupt visit, he didn’t let on. He just encouraged me to come on by and told me that he’d make up the spare bedroom for me.
On the ride over, I called the Columbia Admissions office. The best way to distract myself from my shattered heart is to focus on what I can control. If Jackson can follow his dreams, so can I. Maybe there’s a chance, somehow, that I can still finish my degree. That I can find my way back to the idea of having a career. A job that I actually get excited about when I wake up in the morning.
When I finally got connected to someone with my transcripts on hand, the words poured out of me. I told her about my time at Columbia, about Luke and how I dropped out after he died. How I’ve been getting my life back on track and realizing that finishing my degree is what I really want. Once I finished explaining, she said the last thing I expected to hear. “Hmm, that’s strange. We actually don’t have any record of an official withdrawal.”
“What do you mean? I stopped showing up. I moved out of the dorms.”
“Right,” she said. “According to your transcripts, you do have four incompletes from that semester. However, you are technically still enrolled at the school. You’d have to connect with your department head, but it’s my understanding that if you want to complete your degree, that is still possible.”
“Wow,” I replied, reeling. “I don’t know what to say.”
I guess it’s true that I never officially submitted any paperwork withdrawing, but I assumed that the whole me-not-showing-up thing was enough for them to get the picture. My professors emailed me over and over, and I ignored all of it. I was so shut down, I didn’t care what happened. But if there’s even the tiniest possibility that I could finish my degree, I’m taking it.
I stomped toward the house with that determination in my bones, but as I stepped through the threshold of my dad’s front door, all zeal in me evaporated. Since, my dad has been alternating between glee at having me here and vague concern for my surly mood. I think he can sense that this isn’t your typical father-son bonding time. If my expression is any indication of how I’m feeling, I probably look downright murderous.
“So,” Andy says from his spot on the couch, interrupting my train of thought. “You plan on staying a while?”
I try and fail to suppress a sigh. I should have known he’d start asking questions as soon as I arrived. At least he gave me a solid ten minutes to settle in before starting the interrogation.
“Don’t know,” I reply, a hint of warning in my voice.
He frowns, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. “Did something happen with Whitney?”
Again, her name sends a stab of pain through me, my gut churning with a mixture of longing and anxiety. I can’t think about her. Can’t think about that dotted line.
“Yeah,” I mutter, not wanting to lie to my dad. I’m sure he’ll manage to pry the truth out of me somehow, especially if I end up staying here for a few days. I glance around the room. “Where’s Stacy?”
“She’s on a work trip. It’s just us boys.” He grins and wags his eyebrows. “What shall we get into?”
I shake my head. “I think I’ll just go to bed. I’m pretty beat from the journey over.”
He scoffs. “Journey? It’s an hour on the Amtrak,” he points out.
“Fine,” I say through my teeth. “Let’s just get it out of the way. Whitney and I… we’re separating.”
“Oh, Liam,” Andy says, his tone sympathetic.
“There’s nothing else to say. She doesn’t want me anymore, and that’s it. It’s over.”
Her message was crystal clear. It doesn’t get more clear than divorce papers.
“What happened?”
My hand closes into an involuntary fist. If I let myself think about the events of the past few days, I’m going to lose it completely. Besides, the last thing I want to do is burden my dad with my tales of woe. It feels like I’ve had enough of those to last a lifetime.
“It doesn’t matter,” I answer, my voice hard.
My dad gives me a look that I’m quite familiar with by now. It’s a stop bullshitting me look. I falter under his gaze and shake my head with a sigh, trying to figure out how to explain everything in a way that makes sense when my head is still reeling.
“She wants a divorce,” is what I manage to get out.
Despite my hope that he’ll let it go and accept my halfhearted response, he presses on. “She told you that?”
I grimace. “She left me divorce papers. I guess she didn’t think it warranted a conversation.”
My dad frowns, his brow furrowing in confusion. His expression is a mirror of mine when I stared down at those damned papers. While my brain tried to compute the words and story unfolding in front of me. The gut-wrenching truth that my marriage was over. Before I can stop myself, my shoulders sag, and I let go.
“It was fake. All of it,” I blurt out.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“I mean our marriage was a sham. We only got married because she needed to get her inheritance. We barely knew each other when we flew to Vegas and got the marriage certificate. It was all a lie.”
My dad leans back, sinking into the couch thoughtfully. “You can’t fake what I saw,” is his response.
I shrug. “Well, we did. We got pretty good at it, I guess. So good that I had myself convinced that she felt the same way I did. But I was wrong. I told her how I felt, and she threw it back in my face like none of it meant anything to her. I guess it didn’t.”
“I can’t believe it. You two really looked like you were in love. I would have sworn on it.”
“Please, don’t remind me,” I murmur. I close my eyes, trying to ward off the memories that break through. Whitney’s fingers threaded through mine. Her soft smile. The feel of her skin against mine.
“I’m so sorry, Li,” my dad says, then hesitates before speaking again. “I bet it’s not too late to talk to her. Maybe?—”
“I know you want to make me feel better and fix things, but some things are too broken to fix. This is one of them.”
It’s the truth. Maybe if she hadn’t done it so callously, so cruelly, I could have found it in my heart to forgive her and give us another chance. But to break things off like that? The idea that she cared so little about me burns through me, setting my heart on fire.
How could I have been so stupid? Was I deluding myself, thinking the love in her eyes was real?
“Okay,” my dad says, sounding far away. “I won’t mention it again.”
I nod sharply, my stomach churning. I should feel relieved, but instead it feels like the final nail in the coffin. Without my dad’s nagging voice in my head encouraging me to talk to her, all I’m left with is a crushing sense of defeat. Shaking my head, I rub my chest, trying to ease some of the pain building there, but it’s no use. There’s nothing I can do. Nothing except face the reality that Whitney is no longer mine, and maybe… maybe she never was.
“I just need a place to chill out for a bit while I figure shit out. I’m thinking of going back to school, so that’s my focus now,” I say, pivoting the conversation.
His face lights up, and fuck if that hopeful expression on his face doesn’t make me feel like shit.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I talked to someone in the admissions office, and it turns out I wasn’t officially withdrawn, so there’s a chance I can start back up.”
His smile grows. “That’s amazing, Li.”
I rub the back of my neck, faltering under his praise. I never would have found the conviction to go back to school and give it another shot if it weren’t for Whitney. She’s the one who inspired me to help Jackson and gave me the confidence to go after the future I really want.
A future that I always envisioned with her by my side.
The dull ache in my chest intensifies with the realization that the future I’ve been imagining isn’t happening. Not with her. Maybe I’ll finally finish my degree, but I’ll be standing up on that graduation stage alone.
No Luke. No Whitney.
Just me.
When I wake up the next morning, it takes me a few minutes to get my bearings. Waking up in an unfamiliar room sends a flash of panic through me, but then I remember the last twenty-four hours. I remember that I’m not in New York. I remember that my marriage is over.
Rolling over in bed, I reach for my phone, and my heart sinks when I see what’s on the screen.
A voicemail from Whitney. Missed calls from Whitney.
My chest tightens, and suddenly the corners of my vision blur, a sensation of panic taking over. I feel myself trying to inhale, gasping for breath, but it doesn’t seem to do anything.
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
She needed you. She needed you to pick up, and you didn’t. She needed you to answer her, and you weren’t there. You left her.
Just like you left Luke.
My hands shaking, I press to listen to the voicemail immediately. What if she was in an accident? What if she’s in the hospital? Oh God. She wouldn’t… she wouldn’t hurt herself. No, she wouldn’t do that. Right?
You didn’t think Luke would, either.
I need to hear her voice. Need to make sure that she’s okay. That she’s safe. My stomach lurches, and for a second, I’m sure that I’m going to throw up. Forcing myself to take another steady breath, I press the phone to my ear, and listen to the voicemail, fear overtaking me. My whole body shakes, my jaw clenched so tight I rub my hand against it, trying to ease some of the tension. But when I finally hear her voice, when I compute the words she’s saying, the fear in my body dissipates, the vice grip around my heart loosening.
Only to be replaced with a single, clear thought, a rush of guilt and mortification accompanying it:
I’ve made a huge mistake.