“I hate you too, Milani. I hate that you have to leave before we can finish this. But I love you more.”
“I love…” I bit my lips and scowled. “Take that back. I can’t handle it.”
His expression collapsed, but he pressed on my heart. “But you know it here, right? Even if I take it back, never say it again, you have to know it here.”
He pressed harder as he kissed me. I was dangerously close to falling into hysterical pieces, but abruptly he was gone, headed back to his car.
“Langer?”
He paused. “Yeah, Milani?”
I pointed at him as tears pooled in my eyes. “This isn’t done. We’ll talk next time.”
His lips quirked. “I should hope so.”
Every time I replayed that conversation in my head, I noticed another unfinished idea that hung between us. He couldn’t possibly understand my train of thought based on what was said, and I still had no clear understanding of why he was so sure about Tom.
But, Fuck it, I love you, made effervescent bubbles explode in my heart. Yes, there was the Tom mess, and yes my fears about our future were too real, but—fuck it, I love you.
With that in my head, I was unprepared for his phone call just before bed the next night.
“Hey there,” I said quietly as I shut my bedroom door.
“Hey.”
Three letters carried that many tons of tension. My chest tightened when he skipped all pleasantries and got straight to the point. “I leave for Chicago Sunday night for a month.”
I dropped to my vanity bench. “A month?”
“I know.”
“Do you still want to go to Ben and Celeste’s party on Saturday?”
“I can.”
Something’s off. “Not if it’s an inconvenience.”
He didn’t reply.
“Will? What aren’t you saying?”
“We have to tell Tom before I go.”
My stomach rolled like a boat on the ocean, but I swallowed hard. “I agree. We can’t wait for another month. How about Friday? We could go for a beer or something.”
“I was thinking Sunday morning. There’s a gala Friday night that I need to attend.”
“Gala?” I mentally flipped through my wardrobe. A house party was one thing, but a gala? Maybe Megs can help me find something.
“Mm-hm. A lot of schmoozing and small talk. Boring music for boring dancing.”
I laughed. “You’re selling it well.”
“Yes, well, it’s not the sort of thing I enjoy. I hadn’t planned to go, but Stacy called me today. It’s her firm’s event, and she gave me a guilt trip about networking and appearances.”
Someone pressed my pause button.
“You’re… you’re going with Stacy?”
“No,” he exclaimed. “No, I’m going alone. She just called to remind me.”
“You’re going alone. To Stacy’s party.”
“To her firm’s party. I wouldn’t put you through that, Liv. You’d be bored as hell. Believe me, it’s the opposite of fun.”
But I’d be with you. Don’t you get that?
I stared at myself in my mirror, at the thin line of my lips and the pink and brown hair fluffed out around my shoulders. “Will you wear a tuxedo?”
“Yes, it’s that kind of function. Why?”
My vision blurred. “Send me a picture, please. I’m sure that’s a sight to see.”
“Liv? Are you okay?”
A blink and my cheeks were wet. Two streaks turned into a mini-stream before I bit my tongue and wavered, “’Course I’m okay, William.”
“Don’t do that.” His sharp tone made me flinch. “I told you, I’m going alone.”
“I heard you.”
“Then don’t put on a jealous act.”
“There’s no acting needed,” I snarled through the tears, then took a deep breath. “Fine, whatever. Please tell me there’s no more to add.”
“I’m crazy about you? Can I add that?”
“Sure, Will. Thanks.”
I disconnected the call without a goodbye and flopped down on my bed. Ugh, and we didn’t even make a plan for telling Tom. Great. This week can’t get better.
Foolish, foolish girl.
30
Will
Eight years ago, after a night of talking and a kiss that rocked my world, Liv left the next day without telling me goodbye. For that, I admired her more. How could we look at each other in the daylight after spending the entire night baring our souls to each other? Besides, we had to be logical about this. Figure out how to proceed.
In the fall, I reasoned, she’d be in college here in Knoxville. I’d be in grad school. Perfect setup. I let it lie for a while, played it cool—I thought—and waited until the summer was nearly over. Tom was moving home since our lease was up. I would help him move his stuff and go for a visit with the Milanis.
“Got any plans while we’re in Nashville next weekend?” I asked one day while we watched TV.
Tom grunted. “Just hanging out.”
I kept my eyes on the screen and said, “When does Liv leave for college?”
“I think it’s the weekend after,” he muttered, mouth full of chips. “What’s with you? You bring her up a lot lately.”
“Bullshit.”
“No, it’s not. What’s the deal?”
I took a long pull of soda. “Nothing. It’s just that the last time she was here we talked about maybe hanging out or something.”
His eyes darkened. “You and Liv? Just the two of you? Like, a date?”
His spin on the word told me what he thought of that. I shrugged and looked away. “Whatever.”
“No, it’s fucking not whatever.” Tom jumped to his feet, arms crossed.
“Sit down, Thomas. You’re getting all pissed over nothing.”
“Do you like her? Look at me.”
I sighed and met his stare. “She’s cool. She’s coming up to Knoxville in the fall, and I thought we could hang out. What’s your problem?”
“My problem is this. She’s eighteen, she’s my sister, and I look out for her. It’s one thing for geeky high school boys to drool over her. Liv can handle them without batting an eye. But you. Don’t take this wrong, but I know you, dude. I know your background. It made you intense as fuck. She can’t handle all your baggage. Not to mention how I don’t want to even think that you’ve got the hots for my baby sis. Got it?”
“I don’t have the hots for your baby sis.” I arched a brow. “Got it?”
He sat down. “Damn straight,” he muttered.
My logical, over-analytical approach to navigating a world I’d been introduced to only four years ago was too much for Tom’s precious sister. The brilliant Liv Milani was too good for a boy with dubious heritage and plans to be a self-made success.
End of story.
One week later, we walked into the Milani’s house. Liv stood by the sofa wearing a pretty dress and even prettier smile.
One week later, she put those eyes on me and murmured, “Hi,” softer and shier than I’d ever heard her be.
One week later, I clenched my jaw, remembered that the Milanis were the only family I had, and ripped my gaze and my thoughts off Liv Milani the only way I could.
“Hello, Olivia.”
31
Liv
“Good morning, Miss Olivia!”
I greeted Mrs. Walker with a smile while her son Jackson toddled into the classroom Thursday morning. Attempting to get through the week in one piece, I’d been MIA at CrossFit last night with only a brief text to Megan. Will had called after, but I’d let it go to voicemail. Thank goodness for work to keep me focused.
“How is everything?” I asked, taking Jackson’s coat.
Mrs. Walker smiled, but her brow was creased. “We’re okay. Jackson’s not feeling great, but he doesn’t have a fever. He didn’t have much appetite and was sleepy this morning, so I gave him some baby aspirin. Hopefully that’ll sort him out. I le
t the front desk know he could have another dose after noon if he needs it.”
“Another dose after noon, got it. Have a great day, Mrs. Walker.”
It was a normal morning of playing, counting, and alphabet. Lunch and recess were outside because the day was mild. On the playground, I watched Jackson. He didn’t run, but he played with his friends as usual. We trooped back in for story and naptime. My assistant, Emma, and I sat in our chairs as peaceful breathing took over the room.
Everything was fine until the moment it wasn’t. Monday was fine until the moment I saw Erin. Tuesday was fine until the moment Will called. Today, that moment began with the telltale sound of a child vomiting.
It was a gross and sad sound all at once, as I’d learned over the past few months. There was the retch and dry heave before the inevitable wet splat, immediately followed by sobs.
I leapt to my feet at the first hack and scanned the room. One of my girls sat up on her little mat. She squealed and pointed even as I moved down the row. “Jackson’s sick!”
He was still on his back, which was weird. Kids usually sat up when they were about to puke. A trail of liquid began to seep from his lips, and my strides halted. Except for his jerky stomach, his body was still. Arms lay limp at his sides, face blotched white and red, eyes closed.
This is wrong.
An invisible cold hand clutched my heart as his eyes flickered open. More vomit trickled down. He blinked rapidly, stomach heaving faster.
The seizure started in his hands.
Time lurched into slow-mo. Jackson began to convulse, and I threw myself to the floor beside him. I tugged his collar from his neck with shaking fingers, then tried to keep a grip on his shoulders. He’ll choke on the vomit.
Somehow, I rolled him to his side. His lips fell open. Puke streamed onto the mat even though he kept thrashing. I held him and looked up at Emma who stood over me, stunned.
“Call 911.” I couldn’t hear my voice, but I must’ve said it coherently because she pivoted and ran for the door, phone in hand.
His tremors subsided, but I held on firmly. Two minutes or an eternity passed before a swarm of people descended. I stared down at him, hearing nothing but my heart in my ears as my arms jerked with his intermittent residual spasms. He began to cough and spew more bile from his lips, face a ghastly gray.
Firm hands closed around my shoulders and pulled me back. I resisted but was hauled to my feet. An EMT took my place to check Jackson’s vitals. Another EMT still held me, somewhere between a reassuring hug and a restraint. Jackson was moved to a stretcher and wheeled out. I started to follow, but Mrs. Harris, the head of the daycare, blocked my path.
“Olivia. Olivia.”
Her voice was the first sound I registered. I blinked hard.
“Olivia, listen to me. They’ve got him. His parents are on their way. You need to stay here.”
“No, I—”
A chorus of wailing stopped me.
“Your children need you. They’re scared. Focus where you’re needed, okay?”
I nodded. She squeezed my arm and stepped back to follow the stretcher.
I looked around at a swarm of stricken faces, all looking to me for support. With a deep breath and no time to think, I pasted on a brave smile. “Hey everybody, it’s okay. Jax got sick, but the doctors will make him all better.”
Fourteen four-year-old voices blasted me with questions and sobs. I glanced at Emma, who looked as lost as I felt. “Let’s have story time,” I announced. “Everyone to the rug!”
We herded them to the corner and passed out juice and cookies. Little bodies snuggled all around while I read. One picture book took most of the afternoon to get through with all the worried questions popping up after every page.
I was at work over an hour late to answer questions as parents came in. I had no details, but I advised them that their children would be concerned tonight. Gentle support and reassurance to assuage fears was my expert recommendation.
Maddie, I learned, had been collected by Mom. Rachel had heard the commotion from her classroom down the hall and called my parents to help out. I gave my colleague a grateful hug before floating to my car and essentially auto-piloting home.
The moment I parked in the driveway, bottled-up adrenaline broke free in my system. Before I completely crumbled, I fished my phone from my bag. I was shivering by the time he answered.
“H-hey, sorry, but… I…”
“What’s wrong?” Will asked.
I couldn’t speak. I curled over and put my head on the steering wheel.
“Liv? Are you hurt?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The line went dead.
I opened the car door and swung my feet to the pavement to lean between my knees and breathe. Images of Jackson’s little body wouldn’t quit my mind. I shivered under the horrible helplessness, the dread of not knowing his status, and the guilt that I didn’t do more.
Will’s Audi rolled up. I didn’t move as his strong footsteps approached. “What happened?”
I glanced up at the sound of his voice. Will’s shoulders were squared and even more imposing than usual. His jaw set hard as his gaze swept the scene, clearly ready to spring into action.
“Will.”
I reached out my hand. One look at my face made him rush to me. He knelt on the pavement in his pristine suit and gripped my hands, his expression melting into nothing but worry.
“What happened, baby?”
“Will… this little boy…”
I lost it and bawled just like my students. He grasped my elbows to pull me into his arms and walk us inside. In the living room, I broke away and paced while I babbled the story in broken, hiccupping sobs.
“And then he disappeared on the stretcher. I have no idea if he’s okay. I should’ve known he was sick. If I’d…” I covered my face against a fresh bout of weeping.
Will folded me into his arms again, his suit coat cool and crisp against my blazing hot face. “Shh, Liv, breathe. Just breathe. It sounds like you did everything you could. It sounds like you were amazing.”
“N-no, I should’ve known he was sick.”
“How could you? You said he was playing. You monitored him, and you cared for him when it got bad.”
Nothing helped. I shook my head.
My phone began to sing while Will stroked my hair. He released me, went to my purse which he’d dropped by the door, and looked at the screen. “It’s a local number. Should I answer?” I nodded. “Olivia Milani’s phone. One moment.”
I took it and hummed a hello. “Olivia? This is Susan Harris. I’m at the hospital with the Walkers. Jackson is stable. The seizure was from a fever spike brought on by infection, but the fever broke just a few minutes ago. He’s stabilized.”
“Oh, my God, Mrs. Harris, thank you for calling. I was so worried.”
“I know, dear. Get some rest. You and I will talk tomorrow.”
We said goodbye, and I looked back to Will. “He’s stable, thank God.”
Will exhaled. “Thank God,” he echoed.
We sank on the couch side-by-side. I leaned into his shoulder, and he leaned right back.
“I’m sorry I interrupted you at work,” I said after a long silence. “You didn’t have to take off.”
“Of course I did. You needed me.”
“I did.” I pressed my face into his sleeve. He was the first—the only—person I’d thought to call, dammit.
I got to my feet and pushed my hands into my hair. A harsh laugh burst from me. “Damn you, Langer.”
Will cocked his jaw. “Excuse me?”
“I said, damn you. Do you have any idea how much I hate that I needed you today?”
“I’m good with you needing me.”
“Well, I’m not, especially with the bullshit you’re—oh, I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to play hurt.”
“You’re mad ab
out the party,” he mumbled. “Liv—”
A messy sludge pumped through my system as I sneered. “I know, how silly. Flighty, temperamental Liv isn’t over the fact that you’re going on a date with another woman? Gah, girl, let it go, right?”
Will jumped up. “It’s not a date! I told you—”
But I sliced my hand across my throat. “Please don’t insult me. You’re going to a party with a woman you used to fuck regularly. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
“It’s business, Liv.”
“Business, sure. Question: was she the blonde at the bar with Erin?”
The realization popped into my head as I spoke. Will inhaled slowly and gave a single nod, which was all I needed to understand the whole thing.
“Of course she was. Business, tuh. Here’s the business. You’re letting that woman make a fool of me, and it says a lot about our relationship. When you accepted her invitation, you told her everything she needed to know about how easily she could come between us if she wants. And based on the timing, I’d say she wants.”
“I’m not a sleaze who can’t keep his dick in his pants. I’m not even going with her!”
“Sure, sure, and nothing will happen tomorrow. But this opens a door for lunch, drinks, maybe a quick stop by your office one evening… Please, Will. I know how women like that work.”
“You’re wrong, Liv,” he muttered, but the line appeared between his brows.
“Am I? Think about all the women you know, all the professional women you work with. Would any of them ever let their man go solo to a party like this? What if you were married? Would you dream of going to Stacy’s gala and telling your wife, ‘you stay home, sweetheart, while I suit up in a tux and go out for the night’?”
He didn’t answer, but his jaw was set and his eyes were wide. I knew I’d made my point.
I answered for him. “No woman who a man took seriously would have to deal with that. I get it, though—a pink-haired daycare worker isn’t taken seriously. I completely get it.”
Determined not to cry again, I forced a laugh. “This is why I didn’t want to tell Tom. This is why we can’t work out.”
Nemesis Page 21
