“I’ve loved you since I was fourteen,” I say as a tear skates down my nose, reaching my lips before I lick it up with my tongue.
“I’ve loved you forever,” his reply is immediate.
I walk away this time, wishing I could believe him. As much as it breaks my heart—along with every other part of me—I can’t be sure that anything Isaac has said since he came back into my life is true.
The bottom line is—I can’t trust his words, I can’t trust his love, I can’t trust him.
LIV
“She’s gone.”
The words I’ve been dreading fall from my father’s mouth. It’s been exactly sixteen days since I was chatting with her and Aunt Soph. I didn’t go back for a few days as Uncle Dane didn’t want to overwhelm her with visitors. She was getting so tired and worn out, even though Aunt Libby was seemingly enjoying the company. Then suddenly, she took a turn for the worse. Her health was so poor that she was quarantined, and only my uncle and cousins were permitted to see her. It’s been less than thirty-six hours since the ban was lifted and we were told to say our last goodbyes. I was visiting this afternoon. Now I’m too late.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
Snorting at my dad’s words, my stomach flips, and I retch. Wiping the imaginary vomit from my mouth, beads of sweat prickle against my brow. “I’ll be fine, Dad,” I lie.
“I can come over.”
“No,” I snap out and internally curse myself. “I mean, you need to be with Mum.” My recovery is stilted, my dad knows it, but he ignores my rebuff.
“Well, I’m here if you need me. And Livvy, I want you over for dinner tomorrow night.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he gets there first. “No arguments. Tomorrow,” he demands.
I sigh gently down the line. “All right, Dad. I’ll see you tomorrow. Go take care of Mum.”
“Always, baby girl. I love you.”
“Love you too, Dad, and tell Mum the same.”
Hanging up the phone makes me feel empty. I don’t normally feel that way, but loss burdens us all individually and without prejudice. I guess this has served to remind me that my parents aren’t getting any younger. Apart from Lawson, I’m the youngest cousin. I think of my parents as middle aged, but they’re not anymore. Having me so late in life means they’re both in their late sixties now and I have to face up to the fact they won’t always be around.
The need to dance is overwhelming, but ever since I realised Isaac was dancing at the studio, I haven’t set foot inside the building. I’m still slumped against the wall of my bedroom an hour later exactly where I was when my dad called me. My phone sits in my lap, my PJ bottoms have ridden up my calves and I know my hair is a mess. There’s a half empty can of Tango on my sideboard and a pile of clothes in the corner of my room waiting to be washed, but I have no pull to fix anything. Why would I? Nothing I do will make things right. It’s too late. A bitter, twisted truth seated somewhere in my lower stomach says it’s too late for Isaac to fix things now, too. The thing about truths is they always come out, and sometimes we don’t recover from the honesty. Not ever.
Throbbing restlessness engulfs my body, and I know, even though I’ve stayed away, I can’t anymore. I need a visit to the studio. I need to dance. Exorcising the pain rippling through me by dancing is all I know, and right now I need it. I need the safety that comes with familiarity.
Ninety minutes pass in a blur of movement and rock music. Three Days Grace, Papa Roach, and a fair amount of angry words later, the sweat drips from the ends of my hair. I don’t feel much better, but I am more reflective. Acceptance starts swallowing me. To release the feeling, I switch up the music and flip to Selena Gomez’s ‘Nobody.’ My movements hold no more thought than that of the previous dances, but they are slower, engaging the song, and the words have an altogether different meaning. The rage has deflated, and now all this song serves to do is make me take another look at my real feelings for Isaac. I’m forced to acknowledge that nobody will ever ignite me as he can, and nobody will ever measure up in my head to his level of extraordinary. As the song ends, I sink to the floor. Like the last remnants of snow as it melts under the spring sun, everything I am is fading away.
“Hi again.” My head whips up as my body starts from the unexpected voice. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
Trying to gather the fine strings of composure I’m barely clutching onto, I grab my towel and wipe down my sweaty face, watching the beautiful man who knocked me over the last time I was here. My eyes rake over his face. Yep, it wasn’t a mirage, those eyes are the most vibrant topaz I’ve ever seen, and that crooked smile is accompanied by a couple of dimples.
I shake my head in response, but I’m struck speechless. He’s gorgeous—tall and broad, with dirty blond, slightly shaggy hair. God, that face, with his strong jawline which has a couple of days’ worth of beard growth. It’s like he’s just stepped off the catwalk.
“I’m Noah.” He tries to engage me again, holding out his hand. I open and close my mouth before slipping my slick hand into his. I wince when I realise I barely wiped my hands, and he’s gripping onto my sweat.
“I’m Liv. Sorry. I’ve just finished nearly two hours in
