by B. N. Toler
“I’m thinking I wish every day could be just like this one,” I admitted, the thought making me frown slightly.
“I feel the same way.” Dropping his head, he rested his forehead on my shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, unable to turn and see his face. I mentally scolded myself for asking—I knew exactly what was wrong. What I should have asked was the question he had asked me—what are you thinking?
“I might die tomorrow,” he responded bluntly. “Or I may live, as Max, for the rest of my days. Neither feels like a great outcome.”
My body seemed to tighten and uncoil all at once with his words as anxiety lassoed me. The unknown was by far the worst in this situation. There were several possible outcomes, and all of them came toting a huge con list. There was one possibility; one fleeting ray of hope—that Liam would wake up in his own body. Somehow, despite the phenomenon of the situation, it felt as if Liam waking up as Liam was the least likely. I wasn’t sure if that was because it was what we wanted most, and in life, we seldom ever get what we wanted, or if it was because the odds were so stacked against him. He was brain dead and going into organ failure. Laying my hand on his where it sat on the railing, I did my best to comfort him with what limited options I had, given the position we were standing in.
Lifting his head, he wrapped his arms around me. “I’m just wondering what the point in all of this was.”
“What do you mean?”
Moving beside me, he leaned on the railing and stared out at the water, clasping his hands in front of him. “I mean,” he sighed. “Why did this happen; the switch? I have to believe there’s a reason . . . a moral to the story. What could it be?”
I moved my gaze to the water, wishing I knew what to say, but I didn’t. I had no words, no wisdom to offer. There were a million ways I could paint this situation in happy hues of yellow and pink, but to what point? I could’ve offered happy endings and silver linings all day long, but what good would they do him?
“I slept here a few nights,” he mumbled, his gaze casting down to his hands, shame capturing his features.
“On the pier?”
“Yeah,” he answered, twisting his neck and jutting his chin toward a bench a few hundred feet away. An older woman sat on the bench staring out at the water, petting what looked like a stuffed cat in her lap. Her mouth was moving as if she were speaking, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying from where we stood. “Right there on that bench,” he continued.
I pressed my lips together as I imagined Liam, his true physical self, curled up on a bench trying to sleep. How lost and lonely he must have felt.
“I had nothing,” he continued. “I was nothing.”
Wrapping my arm around his, I lay my head on his shoulder. “That’s not true.”
“That’s how I felt,” he argued. “When anyone looked at me, if they even bothered to look at me, all they saw was a worthless, dirty, bum. But not Pearl,” he finished.
“Pearl?” I questioned. Who was Pearl?
“That’s Pearl,” he cast a quick glance toward the woman petting the cat.
“You know her?” I questioned, confused.
“Met her on the street.” His gaze cast down at his hands again. “A couple of punks were messing with her, trying to take her bag. I intervened.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I was hungry, and she was so grateful. She shared her food with me that day, and every week after.”
I observed the woman, my frown deepening. “Does she still live on the streets?”
He nodded. “I brought you here for a reason,” he explained as he twisted toward me, leaning his hip against the railing, keeping his back to Pearl. “I need you to help her. If something . . .” he paused, his mouth tightening as he worked on forming the words. “If I die,” he finally finished, “I need you to help her. She has some,” he motioned his hand around his head, “issues. She’s the sweetest woman you’d ever meet and harmless. She’s just a little . . . out of it. With you being in social work I thought maybe you could get her the help she needs.”
As he looked over his shoulder back at her, I watched him, how his features seemed to droop. My chest tightened as I absorbed how genuinely concerned for this woman he appeared to be. Here he was, his life possibly about to end in less than twenty-four hours, and he spent part of his last day trying to make sure Pearl would be taken care of.
“Do you want to speak with her?”
He shook his head adamantly as he faced me again. “No. I tried, and she lost her mind on me. She saw Max leave me for dead—she hates . . . him.” He pointed at his face.
Taking his hand in mine, I squeezed it. “I’ll make sure she gets help,” I promised him. I knew it wouldn’t be as simple as me just picking Pearl up and getting her into a psych ward; it would take some time, but I would do it, come hell or high water—for him.
“Thank you.” Pulling my hand to his face, he kissed it. “How did a worthless bum like me get so lucky?”
“Liam,” I began. “Maybe you felt that way, but you were never worthless. You just hit a hard spot. A really hard spot,” I added. “We’ve all hit hard spots.” I knew this better than anything. I may not have ended up on the streets, homeless, but I knew what it was to hit rock bottom and wonder if I’d ever rise.
Again, I struggled for words. It was the classic tale of the nice guy finishing last. The usual explanations came to mind; God doesn’t give us more than we can handle, sometimes we have to hit rock-bottom to work our way back up. No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t bring myself to speak them.
I’d started falling for this man in the most inexplicable of ways; he was trapped in my ex’s body. That certainly hadn’t made it easy. But did that not speak volumes about him . . . about his character? In the last week, I’d come to know a kind man, with real passion and a heart big enough to love a little girl that wasn’t his. I’d heard tales of a brother that had always gone above and beyond and had been the lifelong confidant of a doting sister. It wasn’t fair. I was an awful person for not coming up with something to say to him, but the truth was . . . I needed a why as well. Why did the man I’d fallen for have to be in Max’s body? Was I being punished? Or was he?
“Liam?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
He chuckled. “No,” he jested. “No questions allowed.”
I rolled my eyes. “What happens if you stay in Max’s body?”
Turning his head, he kissed the top of mine and rested his mouth there for a moment before he spoke. “I don’t know,” he answered. “From the outside, it probably seems like it would be a win-win in some ways.”
“Is that how you feel?”
He was quiet for a moment as if he were thinking. “If I stayed as Max, I’d be healthy. I’d have a home and money.”
“And,” I added reluctantly, “you’d have me.”
When he fell silent for a moment, I wondered if I’d upset him with my words. “It would be hard to have you, or any of it for that matter,” he finally managed.
My brows furrowed in confusion as I looked up at him. Hard to have me? What the hell did that mean? “Why?”
“Maybe it’s my pride . . . I don’t know. His money isn’t my money. Just assuming his identity feels wrong, and on some level, I would know you loved me, Liam, but then the other part of me would know every time I touched you, every time you looked at me . . . all you would feel and see is Max.”
“You know there’s more to it than that,” I argued, pulling away from him, my frustration acting as a wedge between us. What was he saying? That if he remained in Max’s body he couldn’t be with me? My face flamed with anger. “So if you stay as Max, we’re over? Is that it?”
Grabbing me, he turned me to face him, the muscles in his jaw ticking. “Stop that,” he demanded.
“Stop what?” I snapped as I struggled out of his stronghold, but it was to no avail. He held me in place firmly.
“Sto
p running away with conclusions. It isn’t always the worst assumption you can come to Waverly. It’s like you said, it’s more complicated than that.”
“So if you remain as Max, you can’t be with me because I’d see his face and think of him?” I rambled on, ignoring his last statement.
With a light jerk, an attempt to jerk me to my senses, he gritted, “Am I wrong, Waverly?” Can you honestly say you wouldn’t look at me as Max Porter every day and not feel some resentment?”
I knew what he was saying—he was scared that, subconsciously, I’d hold Max’s sins against him. If I was being honest, loving Liam but seeing Max, would take some getting used to. Max had hurt me in a way that would forever be a part of me, the pain was engraved in my bones. There was no doubt it would be a challenge to look at Liam as Max and only see Liam, but in the world of impossibilities, if two men could switch bodies, I dared say I could love Liam and learn not to feel resentment when all I saw was Max’s face.
Taking his hand, I placed it on my chest, over my heart, and closed my eyes. “You told me to look in my heart,” I reminded him. “You said if I looked there, I would see you. You were right; that’s what I see. A beautiful man with brown eyes and a grin that would make any woman’s insides dance.” Just the thought of the man from the photos made me smile. “A beautiful man with a ruggedness to him; a down-to-earth feel.”
My mind skated over the colorful tattoos that covered his body, wondering what it would feel like to trace my finger over each one. “I see you, Liam,” I murmured as I pressed his hand harder against my chest. “Right here. More than that . . . I feel you.”
I didn’t open my eyes when I felt him brush his lips against mine before wrapping his arms around me, embracing me, holding me like his life depended on it. I hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed to hear it; hear he had my heart no matter what. The kiss sealed that promise; my promise to him that I would love him whether he lived on as Max or in his own body. When he broke the kiss, he pressed his mouth to my forehead and took a deep breath.
It had been a beautiful moment; deep and meaningful.
Even with my reassurances, though, there was still one daunting and unimaginable thought.
What if they did switch back when they took Liam’s body off life support?
What if Liam died?
Our walk ended much how it had begun: quiet. There were doubts; there were worries, but amidst the unknown, there was also comfort. No matter the outcome . . . we were a team. Good or bad we would take it on together. It was a bittersweet kind of peace. Liam had finally been able to be himself with me, and I was finally able to not feel like I was crazy trying to understand why Max wasn’t acting like Max.
Why couldn’t that have been the only hurdle?
We held hands as we walked back to the bike, Liam grazing the back of my hand with his thumb. He looked lost, and all I wanted at that moment was to ease him—to take his mind off everything.
The parking lot was practically empty except for a few cars parked in spaces sporadically here and there. As he busied himself putting on his helmet, I put my hands on my hips and smirked.
He smirked back. “That look has trouble written all over it.”
“Teach me.”
He lifted his brows. “Teach you what?”
“To drive the bike.”
He looked down as the corners of his mouth curved up. For a moment, I thought he was going to say no; give me one of those sexist and insulting reasons like women can’t drive bikes. I was already preparing the verbal assault I was going to give him before he nodded once and said, “As you wish.”
I tilted my head and grinned. “Was that a Princess Bride quote?”
He chuckled, embarrassed. “Noooo,” he answered, avoiding eye contact with me.
Laughing, I teased, “What? The big bad biker guy is embarrassed he quoted the Princess Bride?”
One side of his mouth quirked up as he turned his head, still avoiding eye contact with me. “I do have a reputation to uphold here,” he jested.
Shaking my head, I sighed. The man had just quoted one of the most romantic lines from one of the best movies ever. When he finally flicked his gaze to mine again, he twisted his mouth when he saw me smiling like a crazy person. “What?”
“Where have you been my whole life?”
Pressing his lips together, he raised his hand and flicked his fingers a few times indicating he wanted me to come to him.
When I approached him, he ran the back of his knuckles over my cheek as he peered deeply into my eyes, making me feel like the most precious thing he’d ever seen. Then, his voice deep, he answered, “Waiting for you.”
My heart fluttered with his words. With a soft peck, he gave me a wolfish grin. “You ready for this, woman?”
He made me watch him kick start the bike a few times and explained how the suicide shifter worked. When he was done, he slid back and held the bike steady for me as I climbed on in front of him. I giggled like an idiot when I managed to get it started on the first try, but once Liam handed over the reins, I realized driving the damn thing would be hard as hell. Because of the type of shifter, it only allowed a driver to use one hand on the handlebars. Trying to operate the bike and keep it balanced was damn hard. If Liam hadn’t been there to catch us, we’d have toppled over the countless times we stalled because I couldn’t shift and the bike weighed a ton.
“Son of a bitch,” I seethed at one point after the bike had jerked to a halt. “I can’t drive this damn thing.”
Liam laughed, resting his hands on my shoulders, massaging gently to calm me. “You’re overthinking it.”
“There’s too much to remember. Too many steps.”
He was quiet for a moment before he asked, “Do you like dancing?”
I let my shoulders sag in frustration. “I guess I do,” I admitted, grimly. “It’s been a long time.” God, I couldn’t even remember the last time I went dancing. Then a thought hit me, perking me right up. “Do you dance?” I asked, a hint of excitement in my tone.
He ignored my question. “As I was saying . . .”
“You do dance,” I squealed, the shock evident in my tone. “A man that dances and has good taste in movies? I think I’ve struck gold here.”
“I gotta stop talking,” he murmured. “I’m losing all my street cred,” he joked.
“Your secret is safe with me,” I assured him, fighting the urge to laugh. I enjoyed giving him a hard time. Even more, I loved that he took it so well because he was able to laugh at himself. “Okay . . .” I shimmied back on the seat, causing him to growl in lust, earning me the exact reaction I’d hoped it would. “Teach me.”
Scooting up, his body was gloved to mine, his mouth to my ear as he reached around me and pulled my left hand, placing it over the shifter, then he took my right hand and settled it over the throttle. “Think of this like a dance,” he instructed me, his voice husky. “Dance involves steps, coordination, knowing your partner. This isn’t much different.”
“Says you,” I griped. “This is hardly a dance partner. This is a death trap that could kill us.”
He chuckled, the sound low and deep, making my core clench. “You’re sitting on over five-hundred pounds of machinery here. Think about how much time and effort went into building this; the way someone had to know this bike so intricately to put it all together and make it move.”
“Just because they knew it doesn’t mean I do.” I appreciated the intricacy of the bike, but appreciating and driving it were very different things.
“I just mean there’s power here. You can make these 500 pounds of metal move if you want it to, if you trust yourself enough.”
He left my hands and softly ran his fingers up my arms to my shoulders. “It lives and moves so long as you let it, so long as you lead it, just like a good dance partner. Don’t think about the moves you need to make . . . feel them. Let the bike tell you when it’s time to shift.”
His fingers glided down my si
des until they took a firm hold of my waist causing my breath to hitch as my back arched slightly. “It’s give and release, Waverly,” he went on, his voice deep and gravely. “You have to feel when it’s time to give and when it’s time to let go.”
Darting my tongue out, I wet my dry lips. How did he make shifting gears sound so hot? How in the heck was I supposed to manage this machine with Liam murmuring sexual innuendo in my ear? I wished I could somehow turn around and take him on the bike.
“You know, this would be an epic opening to a porn flick,” I announced causing him to burst into laughter.
“I hadn’t thought of that.” His body shook as he continued to laugh.
“I guess your mind isn’t as dirty as mine.” I shrugged.
“I guess not. What would the film title be?” he queried.
I twisted my mouth in thought. In my sexiest voice, I twisted my neck so he could see me as I pouted my mouth, “Shifting the Panhead. When good girls learn to ride.”
He choked he was laughing so hard. When he could form words again, he coughed out, “That does sound pretty dirty when you say it like that.”
“Anything can sound dirty when you say it the right way,” I quipped. “Sky,” I moaned. “Concrete,” I continued.
“Okay, okay,” he begged before clearing his throat. “Stop stalling your lesson with your dirty mind and your defiling of perfectly unperverted words.”
I wiggled my ass again. “You love how I defiled the word concrete. Admit it.”
“You keep shimmying your ass like that, this lesson is going to have to end while I go jump in the water.”
“My apologies,” I giggled.
“You ready for this?” he asked, his laughter ebbing.
“As I’ll ever be.”
By the time we got back to the apartment, dusk had just begun its eclipse of the bright afternoon, the sun beginning its descent behind the soaring downtown skyline. It had been one of the best days of my life and considering it was quite possibly my last, it offered an odd kind of contentment. I didn’t have any control of what would happen tomorrow, but I did have a choice. I could choose to be thankful for the opportunity to have one last day, or I could sulk about it. I chose to be thankful.
