It’s rare that the three of us are together anymore. I know it’s only going to get worse once Beau returns to the studio, and I have to crawl back to the hole that is my apartment. No more waking up squished between them every morning, reminding me that weareindeed a throuple.
At least, that’s what I’ve seen itcalled online.
Beau stumbles out of the dark hallway, his hood pulled over his hair. It’s hard watching him fumble around like a lost soul, doomed to haunt the townhouse.
Ten minutes.
I know Beau’s losing faith that physical therapy will help him. It’s something I see too often with my patients when they’re only partially through our time together.
Honestly, I think a part of him expected to regain full function of his right hand after the tumor was removed.
I keep encouraging him. These things take time. He’s made good progress with PT.
But when his eyes glaze over and his responses turn into mumbles, I question my ability to support him.
Beau shuffles over to kiss my cheek before wandering into the dark dining room where Liam purchased and stowed a keyboard in hopes of luring Beau down from the second floor of the house.
Hearing Beau’s melancholic chords chips away at me. He struggles through a song, and from my position on the couch, I glimpse his shoulders caving inward with each fumbled note.
My phone buzzes with a message. Assuming it’s Liam letting me know he’s almost home, I grab it and immediately realize my mistake.
It’s my dad.
I would like to make this very clear, Anastasia. Your mother and I will NOT be attending your brother’s wedding. We are NOT in support of his marriage. Mark us off the list.
My hands shake as I read over the message again, like it might change his mind about the invitations I sent out last week. Like it will correct a lifetime of verbal insults from a man I used to want to impress.
I’ve spent too many years striving to win the title of the golden child. I was the one who didn’t suck up their precious resources. I required little time and money from them. And while I lost most of my scholarships due to major burnout in college, resulting in a lot of regrettable partying that further propelled the cycle of my self-disappointment, I never once asked them for help to pay a tuition bill.
As an adult, I’ve come to the sad conclusion that I’ll never win anything from them. Especially not with my current situation.
Doesn’t matter that I’m so fucking happy.
I think about Dave, and how accepting he was of us sharing space in Beau’s life. Why can’t parents just be happy for their children?
Are my parents even proud of Max?
I haven’t heard from my older brother in a while. Our relationship has always been shaky at best, but I’m a little concerned I’ve lost him in the war dividing our family. That he’s been poisoned to the dark side.
So then what do I have to lose telling them off?
I sink my chipped nails into my palms, my emotions further twisted by the broken song Beau’s fighting to play on the keyboard, occasionally hitting a sour note with his uncooperative fingers.
Cosmo pops his head up at the rumble of the garage door.
Thank god.
My worries ease at the jingle of keys and the heavy thud of boots. Liam appears, pausing at the end of the hall to listen to Beau. He gives nothing away in his body language.
When Liam finally glances at me, I must be wearing my emotions on my face because he strides over to scoop me up into his arms and carry me into the kitchen. He places me on the counter and moves between my legs.
“What do you need, angel?” he asks.
I run my fingers along the collar of his t-shirt, willing my voice to stay strong. “Beau to feel better.”
Liam smooths his big, inked hands over the sides of my face and into my hair. How he could ever believe he wasn’t cut out to love someone infuriates me. It makes me want to look up his dad’s plot and spit on his grave.
“He will. You’re doing so good taking care of him,” Liam replies in a soothing tone.
