To Have It All(58)

Shaking my head, I opened my mouth to say something about it to Helen, but snapped it shut.

Max wanted to kill himself.

“Holy shit,” I breathed.

“What?” Helen asked, taking the letter back from me.

“He was killing himself,” I sputtered.

“Or he was going to,” she shrugged.

“No, Helen,” I whispered loudly. “I think I know what happened.”

Helen didn’t ask, she only looked at me with inquisitive eyes, waiting for me to explain.

“I didn’t wake up as Max until five days after the accident.”

“Yeah,” she agreed.

“Why five days? Why not immediately?”

She snorted. “Good question. Throw that in with why are you Max at all?”

“We’ll probably never have a logical reason for how it happened, but why that time frame?” I questioned again. “I think I know.”

“So . . . why?”

“I think he tried to kill himself, Helen. I think that’s why we switched. I think he did. He actually killed himself.”

“But he didn’t finish the letter. Maybe he changed his mind,” she pointed out.

My theory made my blood pump hard. Finally having some idea about how I became Max Porter hyped me up. With Pim knocked out cold in my arms I had to keep calm because I didn’t want to wake her. “The day I woke up as Max I found an empty bottle of scotch and an empty bottle of painkillers in the nightstand and a notepad. I think he overdosed.”

Her face scrunched up revealing her uncertainty. “But . . .” she motioned a hand at me, “obviously he didn’t. If he did, his body would be gone, and you wouldn’t be here.”

Shrugging, I blinked rapidly as thought after thought ricocheted through my mind. Dr. Banahan had offered me quite a bit of enlightenment earlier that day. I hated to think of any man coming to the point where he’d take his own life, but knowing what I knew, it wasn’t so hard to believe. “The same way we switched bodies. I can’t explain it. But . . . it makes sense.”

Helen was quiet for a moment, her forehead wrinkled as she was thinking. “You saved his life, and he tried to kill himself afterward?”

“That’s what it looks like.”

She cut her hard gaze at me, her stare riddled with anger. “You risked your life to save him, and he attempted suicide?” Same question worded differently. My face fell as I absorbed her expression and emotion. She was angry. “You might die and he just . . .” she stopped, choking on her words. “He just tried to end it?”

“Hel,” I said her name calmly as I pulled her in. In one arm, I held a sleeping Pimberly, and in the other, I held my weeping sister. “Don’t do this to yourself,” I begged her, quietly. “At least we have an idea about why this all happened.”

I knew that didn’t change anything, really. It certainly didn’t make the situation any easier or less confusing, but it helped me. It helped me to know that just maybe there was a why to all of this.

Pulling away from me, she swiped a paper towel from the roll and dabbed at her face. “You know, Liam,” she sniffled. “I know we’ve both wondered why, but honestly, I don’t feel any better knowing. We have three days before we have to take your body off life support. We have no idea what will happen.”

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—to comfort her, but froze. What could I say? This situation was shit, plain and simple, but I had to try . . . for her . . . I had to try to give her a more optimistic point of view, if that was even fucking possible.

“I know if I end up dying, you may not see this as a silver lining, but . . . at least we get to say goodbye, Hel.” It was hard to spin that as a silver lining, but it was one. If you’re fortunate enough to get to say I love you and share a goodbye with someone you care about before they die, you’re a lucky fucking bastard, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Her jaw went slack as her body convulsed as a sob wracked her. The pain in her eyes almost took me down. Pinching my mouth together, I wanted to punch myself. I shouldn’t have said that to her. Even if it was true. Helen didn’t want the voice of reason, she wanted to cry and bitch and just be heard. Like my Grams always reminded me, God gave us a mouth that closes and ears that stay open. I’d only meant it to offer comfort; solace, but all I’d done was reiterate to her that we were only days away from saying goodbye to each other.

“I’m sorry,” I swung my arm around her and squeezed her to me. “Please don’t cry, Hel,” I pleaded, my throat tightening with emotion. “I know this has been hell for you and I’m sorry. I’m barely hanging on here myself, baby sister,” I confessed. “Please stay strong for me. Just a little longer, Hel. Please.”

Her body shook as she fisted my shirt and sniffled a few times. Then, with a sudden jerk, her head popped up, and she took a step back away from me. Nodding a few times, she inhaled a few deep breaths with her hands on her hips. She’d decided the time for crying was over. “Okay,” she repeated several times. “Okay, Liam. Okay.”

My mouth seeped into a sad smile as I gave her a curt bob of my head. She wanted to fall apart—I could tell—but she wouldn’t, even though she had every reason to: she was pregnant, exhausted from running between here and the hospital, raising a son, and coping with the emotional beating she felt wondering if her only brother would die. Yes, Hel deserved a good breakdown, but my baby sister was tough as nails. She was a Hell Cat—little, but fierce. In our lives together I’d taken a lot of pride in being the brother she could always rely on, especially after we lost our parents. I was her rock, but damn if the tide hadn’t changed. Because I know without a doubt if Helen hadn’t been there for me after I became Max Porter, I’d have been a fucking wreck. She was my backbone. She was my rock.