things are perfect. Of course they’re not. We have our fights. But neither of us wants to run away from the other, so I figure that’s a pretty good sign that we’ll stick through our arguments in the future. You just have to know that you would rather fight with someone than be without them. And then keep fighting with them, for them, until you figure out that you’re fighting for the same thing.”
He raised his bottle, gesturing for another drink. “The best thing I ever did was choose not to walk away from Nicole when she wanted me to. When she was up to her eyeballs in schoolwork and things just felt like too much for her all at once, she pushed me away, told me to leave. She couldn’t do both, she said. It would’ve been easier to listen to her, but you have to choose the hard parts too. It’s not all sunshine and fucking rainbows, let me tell you.”
“So what’d you do?”
Seth grinned. “I parked my ass outside of our bedroom and stayed there until she was hungry. Then I brought her food and parked my ass again. Eventually, when all the external bullshit wasn’t an issue anymore, she came out and cried and apologized and we made up.”
If I knew which room Tori was in, I would park my ass outside of it. But since I didn’t, I needed to figure out another way to prove to her that I was in this for the long-term, no matter what. I hated that she had gone to her own hotel room. After days of sharing one with her, the thing I wanted most was to bring her back to my house, to lay her out among the pillows. To not take her for granted.
“He was wrong, you know.”
I turned to Seth. “What?”
“Vince. That shit he was saying. He was wrong.”
I shrugged. “Some of it, he wasn’t wrong. I should have been there with Will.”
“It wouldn’t have changed the outcome.” When I opened my mouth to argue, Seth shook his head to silence me. “No, listen. Ultimately, Will died doing what he loved. That’s how Deb and Bob reconcile his death. Think it’s easy for them, losing a son still in his twenties? Fuck no. But he died doing something he loved. That’s how Will would have wanted it. He would have kept chasing his next high to the ends of the earth until it claimed his life. It could have happened in the Andes—when he went by himself—or New Zealand, or Austria. It’s shitty that it happened, but it was inevitable. He wasn’t invincible. He was as human as you and me.”
“He was more human. More adventurous.”
“Liam, hear what I’m saying.” He dropped his hand onto my shoulder and pulled me closer. “You had a shitty dad. You witnessed abuse. You saw what it did to your mom. Your mom died before you finished college. It’s not surprising that these events sobered you to the perils of being human; it’s not surprising that you didn’t want to take the same risks that Will did. Will had the privileges of having an unbroken family, of having unwavering support—you didn’t. So, stop comparing yourself to him. Stop asking yourself what you could have changed because—as fucking miserable as it is—you can’t change the fact that we’re going to bury our best friend tomorrow.” He dropped his hand and signaled for the check. “You can change your path going forward, though. If you want Tori, tell her. Even if it scares her. Even if it scares you.”
25
There had not been a question in my mind about going to Will’s funeral. Liam and I hadn’t spoken since our walk to the hotel, but that didn’t matter.
I squared my shoulders in the mirror, tugging on the black dress I had picked up that morning. There was a darkness around my eyes that wasn’t there a week before, a souvenir I supposed after my night of not sleeping. I had tossed and turned the whole time, debating with myself about texting him. I typed out the message at least a dozen times before deleting it each and every single time, too chicken shit to send anything. This would be a hard day for him, and the last thing I needed to do was to pull his attention away from his best friend.
I arrived at the cemetery before everyone else. I knew that Deb and Bob were having a private—family only—viewing at the