The Ending I Want(37)

And dying to me isn’t the thing I’m afraid of. Not since I lost my family anyway.

It’s living that scares me.

Living without them—that’s what terrifies me.

Dying and being with them—that will be a welcome relief.

I stare up at the roller coaster, which looks a hell of a lot bigger and higher than it did the first time I looked up at it. It must be at least a couple of hundred feet at its highest point.

“Do you think it looks safe to you?” I whisper to Liam as we’re in line to get on.

“It’s safe.” He squeezes my hand.

If I don’t care about dying, then why do I care if this ride looks safe enough?

Because I don’t want anything to happen to Liam.

And fear, like I said, is not rational.

But it is a state of mind.

I squeeze my eyes shut and force the stupid fear out of my thoughts.

Liam tugs on my hand, and I see the ride attendant waiting to let us on the ride.

“You sure you want to do this?” Liam leans his head close to mine, his voice just above a whisper.

I stare back at him and force a loose smile onto my lips. “I’m sure. Just…don’t let go of my hand, okay?”

His eyes move down to my hand that he’s holding, as if he’s just realizing he’s still holding it. Then, he looks back to my face. “I won’t let go, Boston. I promise.” Then, he leads me onto the ride.

What is it about someone holding your hand that makes you feel safe?

It’s not that they can save you or change things or make a difference by holding your hand.

But, somehow, someone just holding on to you in that small way can make the scariest things seem a little easier.

Because you know that, no matter what, they have you, and they’re not letting go.

And, right now, Liam has me, and he’s not letting go.

The ride attendant secures us in our seats with the harness, and then the metal barrier comes down over us.

Liam squeezes my hand that he’s still holding. “You doing okay there, Boston?”

I move my eyes to his and off the roller coaster that I’ve been examining to make sure it’s fixed together properly—like I would actually know.

“Mmhmm.”

“There’s nothing to be worried about.”

“Mmhmm.”

He chuckles. “Do something for me. Think about when we get to the top of the ride.”

“I really don’t want to think about that. That’s actually the last thing I want to think about.”

Thinking about being up there, in this rickety car on a set of tracks a couple of hundred feet off the ground, while it pauses to scare the crap out of me more before it drops back down those couple of hundred feet…um…no, thanks.

My heart starts pumping in my chest, and my hand tightens around Liam’s, a pulse starting in my head.

God, please don’t let me have a headache now. Not now.

And I swear, if I die on this roller coaster, if the tumor decides to take me out on here, I’ll be really pissed.

“Boston,” he softly says my nickname, “when we reach the top, we’ll be at one of the highest points in London, aside from the London Eye. From up there, you’ll be able to see all of London at sunset. And, trust me, the sight is so f*cking beautiful that you won’t care about how high you are or how afraid you feel. You’ll just care about the view and the way it makes you feel.”

I close my eyes and release a breath. “How did you get to be so brave?”

He chuckles low. I open my eyes.

“I’m not brave, babe. A lot of things scare me.” He’s staring into my eyes, and the look in them is making my heart beat faster. “I just refuse to let those fears control me.”

Our car jerks forward and starts moving. My hand tightens around Liam’s, my mouth drying.

“Just keep looking at me,” he says gently.

So, I do. I stare into his eyes that remind me of autumn, and I don’t look away.

“My grandpa used to be in the Royal Air Force when he was younger,” Liam tells me. “He loved to fly. He had his own airplane. Still does. When I was twelve, he told me that he thought it was time that I learned how to fly a plane.”

“You flew a plane when you were twelve?” I give him a shocked look.

“My grandpa’s not exactly on the conventional side.” The fondness on his face tells me that his grandpa means a great deal to him. “And when I say ‘fly’”—he air quotes—“it was him flying and me being copilot. But twelve-year-old me thought that he meant literally fly the plane. So, I was shitting myself.”

“I can imagine. I’d shit if someone said that to me now, and I’m twenty-two.”

Liam laughs. “I think you’d probably surprise yourself.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I’d surprise the person sitting with me—you know, after I shit myself.”

The laughter that comes from him this time is deeper and louder, and it brings a glow to my chest.

“So, did you fly this plane when you were twelve?” I ask him. I could totally see him doing something crazy like that.

“Well, I’d been flying with my grandpa since I started walking,” he says, not answering my question directly.