“Yeah, benched.” She moves toward me like a snake. “Doing so well on your own, weren’t you?”

“Of course, I was,” I grit out. “I’m me. Oh, the arrogance to believe this has anything to do with you.”

“Oh, I think something does.” She advances on me until I hit the wall, pressing her palms on either side of my head. “There’s a reason you hate me so much. Why? Let’s finally fucking have it out. Why have you always hated me?”

“Because you’re nasty!” I blurt out, smelling the shampoo in her hair. “It’s simple. The most basic human function is to reproduce, and you don’t do that with another girl. You’re fucked in the head. It’s not what we’re built for.”

“Wanna see what I was built for?”

And she moves in, but I push her back. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re miserable.” She slams her hand against the wall near my head again. “You’re a miserable human being, Clay.”

“At least I don’t fuck anything that comes along.” I glare into her eyes, two inches from her nose. “You really think you’re happy? Throwing yourself at anyone just to pass the time? You hate me, too. You know why? Because I don’t need anyone. I may be pissy and spoiled and mean, but I don’t need anyone!”

“You need this,” she retorts.

This? The fighting or…? “No, I don’t.”

“Oh, yes you do,” she whispers, but her tone is hard. “You need this so fucking bad you fell apart when I left school, didn’t you? Nothing to play with anymore, which is exactly why I did it!”

I shake my head. No, I…

“I didn’t let you win,” she tells me. “I simply removed myself from an environment that I hated. That didn’t deserve me. That offered me nothing.”

Tears well in my eyes, and I see her chin tremble.

“I got my credits,” she continues, holding back tears. “I got into Dartmouth, and I didn’t need any of that shit anymore. You weren’t worth the fight.” She grabs my collar. “You were worth nothing!”

I shove at her, but she keeps hold and so do I. “None of us are, right? Jaeger for herself, right? Go, then. Get the fuck out of here! Go!”

“I will!” she cries. “I’m leaving, Clay. And I’m not coming back!”

I gasp, nearly choking on my breath as my knees give out and I slide down the wall.

She follows. “I’m leaving.”

No. A sob lodges in my throat.

“I’m going,” she says.

I shake my head. No…

“And I’m never coming back!” Her shout rings in my ears, and in a moment, she’s going to rise, walk out the door, and she’ll never come back, because Liv doesn’t lie. She’s stubborn and strong and a survivor, and she never lies.

Knots twist so hard, they snap in my gut, vomit rises up my throat, and I squeeze my eyes shut, tears spilling down. I push her away and rush into the bathroom, dropping to my knees and heaving over the toilet. I cough, sputter, and choke, feeling it coming up, but the only thing that does is a cry too agonizing to hear.

Oh, God.

She can’t go. She can’t. I can’t…

Resting my elbows on the seat, I hold my head in my hands as lumps of something fill my throat and my stomach quivers.

And then… I feel something warm cover my back, arms wrap around my body, and hands tip my chin back and wipe the hair away from my face.

I tense, instinct telling me to push her, but all I want is her. She holds me to her, and I fall back, collapsing in her arms, crying. “You weren’t supposed to leave,” I murmur. “You weren’t supposed to give up on me.”

“Shhhh…” She smooths my hair back.

I keep my eyes closed, the tension easing from my face, my head swimming as the warmth and gentleness of her touch lulls me.

“You were the one who wasn’t supposed to leave.”

Everyone else gave up.

She holds me for a while, and I don’t know if it’s her or me, but the hold gets tighter. And tighter.

“What are you doing?” she whispers in my ear, and I feel the tears on her cheeks. “What are you doing to me, Clay?”

And I realize she’s not holding me. She’s holding onto me, because I’m not the only one alone.

“What do you need?” she asks. “Tell me what you need.”

“Just this,” I tell her. “Just don’t move, Liv. Please don’t leave.”

My parents give me whatever I want, because they don’t want the fight. My mother doesn’t have it in her to raise me anymore, and my father finds his time is better spent elsewhere. Liv was all I had left. I wanted to hurt her, so I could matter.

I live for her, an enemy I never wanted to defeat. A fight I never wanted to end.

But, God, her arms. The feel of her. Her voice.

More.

Opening my eyes, I look up at her, wiping my tears. “I changed my mind,” I tell her as she looks down at me. “I think I need carbs.”

I CHEW THE pizza, glancing up at her as she sits showered, hair wet, and dressed in sleep shorts with blue octopi on them and a white Henley on top. Despite the small, round table and two chairs behind me, we sit on the carpet, under the window of our sixth-floor hotel room, with the open pizza box between us.

Our eyes meet, but we haven’t said much since she broke down in the bathroom an hour ago.

For now, we enjoy an awkward silence, but it’s not fighting, and that’s something.

Maybe this is a play. A way to reel me in so she doesn’t lose her favorite chew toy.

But I think what happened in the bathroom was real. It’s just hard to trust anything genuine from her. As much I want to.

And whyyyyyy do I want to? I keep looking for the good in her. Why?

“I’m sorry about your dad,” she says in a quiet voice.

I look over, seeing her pick at her slice and put it in her mouth.

I shrug. “It was eight years ago.”

I take another bite, almost ready for my second. She ordered old world pepperoni. My favorite.

She nods. “I know. At least he went quickly, though.”

Her brother didn’t. The Collins’ could afford to put up a fight with leukemia, but it just prolonged his suffering. I guess they had to try, though.

“I’m sorry about Henry.” It comes out as a rasp, and I don’t know why. “I saw you with him sometimes. You were a good sister.”

My dad died long before Clay and I knew each other, but Henry was only a few years ago.

She still doesn’t look at me, just nods, and I watch the ball in her throat move up and down.

She picks off a piece of pepperoni. What’s going on in her head?

“Do you like it?” I ask her.

She pops her eyes up, still bloodshot from the crying. “Yeah, why?”

“You usually like all the fixings.” Olives, peppers, onions, sausage… She likes her pizza loaded. After years of playing lacrosse together, I know her pizza order by now.

She lifts the slice to her mouth. “It’s good.”

I smile to myself. I appreciate the sacrifice. Old world pep is my thing.