Liam's thoughts are going to seem like a confused jumbled mess in parts of this chapter. That's because they are. Bear with me, everything will be explained eventually.

Time for another game of spot the reference/switch(es) neta

I was smiling when I drove home after another Saturday night spent at the lake with Jamie. I fell asleep feeling giddy.

     That giddiness carried over to the rest of the weekend, and into the next school week. I didn't ask myself why I was feeling it, because I was content enough to just be happy without reason.

Or maybe I didn't ask myself because I didn't want to think about answer.

     We got to the point where we were texting each other whenever the chance presented itself, sneaking out of our classes to find somewhere to run off to. Jamie talked to me more now — there was a funny, cheeky side to him that he worked hard to keep unseen, but either I was getting better at reading him or he was getting worse at hiding.

I left wherever we ended up with that same stupid smile every time.

It had been another stormy week, and when Friday's game rolled around, I was crossing my fingers that the rain would last.

     As I ran off of the field at half-time, pulling my helmet off of my head and shaking out my hair, I noticed a soft drizzle was bouncing off of my arms. Almost instinctively, I looked into the bleachers for Jamie. When I caught sight of his uninterested face, topped by white-blonde hair, my lips parted in a small, surprised laugh; it was the first time I'd actually spotted him during a game.

     Jamie met my eyes. I grinned at him and winked, and though it was hard to tell from such a distance, I could've sworn he was turning pink as he averted his gaze.

     I wasn't sure when he'd started doing cute shit like that, but he absolutely needed to stop right this instant.

     "Who ya winking at?" Bryan asked, slinging an arm around my shoulder and pursing his lips suggestively. He was still breathing heavily from the intense first half of the match.

    "Your girlfriend," I said slyly, and Bryan let out a loud laugh and punched me hard in the stomach in response.

Which hurt like a bitch.

    "She's not my girlfriend," Bryan said bashfully. "Not yet."

     When I stopped fucking wheezing in the after-effects of his jab, I managed to say, "Why don't you just grow a pair and ask her out already?"

      He shrugged shyly. "I don't know, I want it to be, you know, special," he admitted. I snorted.

     "You're such a romantic," I teased. "But hey, don't change. It's a good thing."

     Bryan smiled. "Thanks, man."

     "Word of advice," I said, grabbing my water bottle from the bench. "You're thinking too much. All you've gotta do is whip out that BBC and—"

     "Liam!" Bryan exclaimed.

     "What?" I said innocently, and after taking a long swig of water, added, "Girls love the British Broadcasting Corporation."

     It was still raining as the game ended, so I once again waited around after showering and changing until the area was empty. Then, as I did every time, I made my way toward the bleachers, but this time, I wasn't looking for somewhere to leave my bag.

     And this time, Jamie was already there when I arrived. He was reading a book as usual, though this one was a larger hardcover. I cleared my throat and Jamie looked up, shutting his book immediately when he saw that it was me.

It was a small change, but I got a jittery feeling as I remembered how long it used to take to get him to give me an ounce his attention on these nights.

     "Come with me," I said, and Jamie raised his eyebrows.

     "Where're we going?"

     "Where do you think?" I asked him, and watched the recognition flit across his expression. We were going back to the lake. I offered a hand to him, nearly forgetting to let go once he was on his feet. When I did, I got that familiar electric feeling again, and I wasn't sure whether or not I liked it.

No, I definitely didn't like it.

     The rain got a bit heavier as I drove, the only sound in the car coming from the radio, and as we walked together to the shore, there was a distant flash of lightning and clap of thunder. Maybe this should have stopped us from stripping to our underwear and getting into the lake, but we were reckless teenagers who didn't care enough to listen to reason. We were too focused on our bodies, held against each other in the water, lips on lips and hands on skin.

    "Turn around," I muttered against Jamie's lips. He did as I said without question, turning so that he was backed against me with no room between us.

   "Now close your eyes," I instructed, my voice coming out low. Again, Jamie obeyed. I raised my hands to hold him beneath his chin and lifted his face to the sky, just as I had once before in a different spot on a different Friday. That seemed like ages ago.

    "How do you feel?" I asked, lips brushing Jamie's neck with every word. I  heard a short, sharp breath when Jamie recognized what I was doing.

     "Horny."

     I threw my head back in a laugh. "Nice answer," I said, and I was about to kiss him—all sexy-like, you know—when something brushed against my thigh, scaring me so bad that I screeched, slipped, and crashed into the water.

Significantly less sexy.

     I was gasping as I resurfaced, pushing my hair from my face and looking around frantically. Jamie, on the other hand, was doubled over laughing.

    "What was that?" I demanded, eyes wide.

      "The . . . smallest . . . fish . . ." Jamie gasped between his bouts of laughter.

     I didn't even have time to be embarrassed, because I realized with a start that this was the first time I'd seen Jamie laugh; truly laugh, not the small chuckle he let out every now and then. He was holding his stomach, and his nose was all scrunched up, and for the first time since I had known him, he looked like he had genuinely lost--or better, relinquished--all control over himself.

     For a moment, I couldn't do much more than stare at him in awe, marveling at how wonderful his laugh was and feeling proud that I'd been the one to bring it about, even if it had been at my own expense. 

     "It's not funny," I tried to sound grumpy, but I knew I gave myself away. I wasn't helping my case when I joined in on the hysteria, but I couldn't help it, because Jamie's laugh was as contagious as it was cute.

     "Oh, it's definitely funny," he said, looking at me  with eyes that seemed so much younger all of a sudden. Brighter, too, and not just from the moonlight.

    "Fuck you," I scoffed, shoving him by the chest. He shoved me back, and then we were wrestling, pushing and pulling and grabbing until I tugged Jamie into my chest and held him there so that we were laughing in each other's arms.

     It wasn't until we'd both calmed down and were breathing heavily that I realized that this wasn't exactly normal for us.

     I wouldn't comment if he didn't.

     "You know," I sighed, running my hands slowly down his back, "you have a pretty laugh."

     Jamie leaned his head back to look at my face. I really liked this playful side of him. "Don't you go falling in love with me, big guy."

     I remembered how much I used to hate that nickname. When I'd seen it as condescending and hurtful. Now it was endearing.

     "You won't have to worry about that," I said, just as lightly. "Love and I don't mesh."

     Jamie raised his eyebrows doubtfully. "What, you think Mister Liam Bane is immune to love?"

     Immune wasn't the right word.

"I don't believe in love."

     The change was instant. Jamie's hands fell from my waist. His expression was disbelieving. "You can't be serious."

     I shrugged. "Can't I?"

     I didn't know why, but I'd been half expecting Jamie to agree with me. After all, he could be so dark and emotionless . . . it wouldn't be surprising if he thought love was a scam.

     Apparently, I had thought wrong.

     "No," Jamie shook his head, like it didn't make any sense to him that I could even begin to think like that. "No . . . what kind of life is that to live, if you don't believe in love?"

    "One without mindgames?" I said incredulously. "Where you don't fool yourself into believing something that's not there?"

     "But there's so much love in the world!" Jamie insisted, and I could hardly believe that he, of all people, was arguing this so passionately. "I mean, if people didn't believe in love, how the hell would we cope with all of the horrible things going on all the time?"

     I was starting to feel defensive now, and I knew that was bad, knew that I should stop, because Jamie had no idea what talking about this -- even thinking about this -- could do to me. But I didn't stop, because I never stopped once I'd started; I was nothing but a stubborn fool who didn't know how to carry his baggage without stumbling.

      "All people believe in," I retaliated heatedly, "is this fantasy they've created through stories of things that never actually happen. It's the same romantic tale told in a million different ways, but that's all it ever is--told. It doesn't happen!"

     "That's ridiculous!" Jamie objected. "There are so many stories of real people who've been together for forty, fifty, sixty years! Are you telling me they're not in love?"

     "I'm telling you that they think they are, but how can you call it love when we don't even know what love is? Love is an abstract concept that can't be proven--"

    "Or disproven!"

     "Those couples," I continued, "might care about each other, but that doesn't mean they love each other. And if we're being honest, they're really together out of necessity! Because of their families, or pride, or guilt, or money, or because they don't want to be alone!"

     Jamie was shaking his head. "You're wrong," was all he said.

     But I wasn't finished yet. Because now I was thinking about my parents.

    This was a topic I had a lot of feelings about, and now that Jamie had set me off, I  needed to say everything.

     Or at least something. I wouldn't be able to handle saying everything. Already, I was feeling the familiar tick at the back of my mind
--the rush of a heartbeat that wasn't mine behind my ears--and if I pushed myself too far, it would happen again, and I was sure I would scare Jamie away if it did.

    "People fill their minds with this imagined ideal of love, and when it shatters, so do they! They believe that love is caring about a person so much that it would leave a gaping hole in their hearts if that person ever left! So when they do leave, as they inevitably will, this make-believe hole destroys them! Love is nothing but a cruel invention that leaves people worse off every time!"

     Jamie stared at me, unfolding me with his eyes, looking both surprised and bothered. "That's a really sad outlook to have," he said eventually, frowning. "It's not that you don't believe in love. You're scared of it."

     At those words, I snapped. I didn't know why--I never knew why--but the ticking was louder now, and I was hyper-aware, and the bubble of frustration that I hadn't even noticed building inside my chest suddenly burst.

   "You are such a hypocrite!" I accused, watching Jamie's eyes widen at my outburst. "You get pissed at me for trying to tell you how to think, then you go and do the same exact thing! And how can you talk to me about sad outlooks, when you're the one wasting your goddamn life away? You, preaching to me about love, when you can't even find it in you to love yourself!"

     My mouth fell closed after that last word, and immediately, I wished it had never opened in the first place. The ticking was easing now, fading into a dull hum, but it was too little too late. That had been so harsh . . . but I'd been angry . . . I was still angry . . .

     And anxious. I felt so fucking anxious, and I didn't know why--I never knew why. I was angry about my parents and anxious about absolutely nothin --two things that didn't at all add up to a reason for lashing out at Jamie.

     The look on his face made me want to punch myself.

     "You . . . you say that like I don't know!" he said, shaking his head angrily. His voice wasn't loud, but it was intense enough to make me feel as though he was yelling. "Liam, no one knows how fucked up I am better than I do! I don't need you to remind me, okay? Do you think I'm an idiot? Do you think I don't wonder what it would be like to get be--"

     Jamie cut himself off, quickly averting his gaze, but it was too late. I could complete the sentence in my head.

    "You can," I said instantly, hearing my own guilt in my voice. Jamie didn't say anything but turned to leave; I stopped him by taking hold of his hand. "Jamie—"     

     "We should go," Jamie said quietly, tugging his hand from my grasp.

     "Jamie, I'm sorry," I said, and I meant it. "I shouldn't have said all of that, just forget--"

    "Take me home," Jamie said, his expression dark and distracted. Then, he added, "Please."

The drive back to the school for Jamie to get his car was quiet as usual, but this time, the silence was so heavy, it was almost unbearable. I was furious with myself. I wished I could go back in time and make myself think for two fucking seconds before I spoke.

    It wasn't that what I said was untrue, because it wasn't. But it was unnecessary, and the way I'd said it all made it so much meaner.

     When the car was parked next to Jamie's, I noticed him hesitate for just a moment too long, as if he wanted to say something. But he said nothing and reached for the door.

    "Jamie," I spoke up, surprising the both of us. "Whatever's on your mind, just say it," I said, figuring that he was about to lash out at me and believing I deserved it.

    Jamie took a deep breath, his fingers never leaving the door handle. "Don't waste your time worrying about my problems."

    I was taken aback. Jamie saw through me like I was nothing but a statue sculpted from ice.

    Maybe that was why my words had been so cold.

    "Jamie," I began, but I didn't know what else to say, so my voice trailed off.

     "I'm not worth it," he said, his voice strained.

     "What if I think you are?"

     Again I had spoken without thinking, but this time, I didn't regret it. I did think Jamie was worth it. I wasn't sure why, or how long I'd felt that way, but it was true.

    The two of us stared at each other, and just when I thought I was about to crack under the burden of the supercharged air around us, Jamie opened the door and left.

++++

"Is calling me at ridiculous hours on Friday nights when you're soaking wet becoming a bad habit of yours?"

     "Sorry," I said distractedly. Stevie pursed her lips.

    "I was only kidding, bub," she said, her voice laced with concern. "Okay, what's wrong?"

     I shut my eyes tight and opened them again, trying to get my thoughts together. "I don't even know, I'm just . . . I'm all over the place."

     I didn't know what to think. Jamie hadn't seemed angry by the time I dropped him off. So everything was fine, and I could move on and forget about it. Except it wasn't, and I couldn't.

     "Tell me what happened," she said, gentle and encouraging like only she could be.

      The words rushed uncontrollably from my lips. I'd only meant to tell her about tonight, but somehow I found myself going as far back as weeks ago, before Thanksgiving Break, to my bad argument with Jamie. I didn't say exactly what we'd argued about, or what had been said tonight, but I gave her enough information to understand what was going on.

   Then I was spilling my feelings, describing how weirdly happy I'd felt for the last few weeks, and how strange I'd felt when we were arguing in the lake, and how awful I was feeling right now, now that Jamie probably thought I was an insensitive asshole.

     "But you guys are just hooking up, right?" Stevie interjected. "Sow why do you care what he thinks of you, as long as you can keep doing it?"

     I didn't answer.

     "So what you're telling me," Stevie continued, and I could tell she was holding back a smile, "is that you like him."

     "What?" I asked, startled. "No! That's not at all what I'm saying! Stevie--what--have you even been listening?"

     "Really?" Stevie mused. "Because I think it's exactly what you're saying."

      "Can you be serious for one damn second, Stevie?" I snapped harshly, and my sister raised her hands defensively.

      "Hey, no need to be mean," she said. "But you've got to admit that it sounds a lot like you've got feelings for him."

      "Yeah, well I don't," I said coldly. I was being a jerk, and I felt shitty for it, but my walls were up and I didn't take them down.

Which was scary to think about, because it had been a long time since I'd raised my guards against my sister. And a long time since I'd felt so anxious, since I'd heard that ticking in my head . . .

Just then, I heard a soft meow, and, narrowing my eyes questioningly, I said, "Is there a cat in your room?"

    Stevie was smiling down at something I couldn't see. Then she reached out with both hands and took hold of it, lifting it into the frame so that I was staring at a tiny orange kitten.

     "Isn't he adorable?" Stevie cooed, leaning forward to kiss the kitten's head before setting him down in her lap. She scratched beneath his chin, causing him to stretch out his neck and purr louder than a cat that size should have been able to purr. "I found him a few days ago, all alone in the rain. His name is Nemo."

    Her story came as no surprise to me. Ever since she was a girl, Stevie had had a stubborn tendency to bring home random animals she found. Our  parents had long ago given up on telling her otherwise—she never listened—hence why our family had four dogs, four rabbits, three cats, two turtles, and several mice.

    "I wonder what it is," she spoke absentmindedly, her attention trained fondly on the cat, "that's holding you back. Are you scared of having feelings for someone? Or that you're going to ruin this little arrangement you have with Jamie? Or maybe you think he likes someone else? Or that--"

     "Even if I liked him, he wouldn't like me back," I said, so quietly that I'd thought Stevie wouldn't hear. But she looked up from Nemo, her eyes sympathetic.

    "I don't, though," I added, determined to believe it. "It's not like that."

    Stevie nodded, and I could tell she didn't believe me, but she didn't press it. "Just make sure you don't stress over it too much. You said . . . you said you heard the ticking again?" Her eyebrows knitted in concern. "Don't let yourself have another--"

     "I won't," I cut her off sharply. I didn't want the reminder.

     "Have you . . ." Stevie's voice was careful, "Has it happened again? Since the last time?"

     Teeth gritted, I said, "No."

    "That's good . . . that's really good. Maybe that was your last --"

    "Can you drop it?" I snapped, and she did.

Of course, I spent the rest of my weekend thinking about Jamie. This seemed to be a reoccurring theme in my life.

    Jacob and I got into a bad fight on Sunday evening when he kept calling me out over my  shifting mood as we set the table for dinner. It wasn't worse than anything he'd said before, but I got fed up quickly and snapped much harder than I should have. We ended up yelling at each other for fifteen minutes straight, and it got so bad that Jacob chucked one of the wine glasses he'd set for out parents near enough to my head to be scary, and I had just hurled a fork right past his ear when our parents came rushing into the room, and the two of us got into heaps of trouble.

    I was restless that night as I went to bed, anticipating what would happen when I saw Jamie the next day at school. It took me longer than usual to fall into sleep, and I felt like I'd only gotten a minute of rest when my alarm woke me up.

     I blinked my eyes open drowsily and glanced at the digital clock on my bedside table. 12:48 AM.

     That was when I realized that it hadn't been my alarm that had woken me up, but my pone ringing incessantly from my nightstand.

    I groggily answered and lifted it to my ear, letting out a sleepy and lightly annoyed "Hello?" My voice was hoarse with sleep.

    "I'm outside your house. Come here."

    I was instantly wide awake. That had been Jamie's voice. I glanced at my phone, just to make sure. Sure enough, the call was from The Cause of All My Problems.

    "Huh?" I said, confused. "Like, right now?"

     "Right now," Jamie affirmed. "Come on, I'm bored."

     Somehow, the first thing I thought was, "Aren't you not allowed to drive this late when you're sixteen? I swear there are licence rules that--"

     "Liam," Jamie said impatiently.

     "Right, sorry," I said quickly, already pushing myself out of bed. "I'll be there in five minutes."

     The call ended and I rushed into my bathroom to brush my teeth and fix my hair. The latter, however, adamantly refused to cooperate with me. Then I pulled on the first clothing items I found that wouldn't cause me to shiver in the late-autumn chill that had finally begun to settle in this past weekend; black sweats and a grey sweatshirt would have to do. Hopefully I didn't look too much like an oversized plastic bag.

I slipped my feet into a pair of sneakers and was halfway through my window when I remembered the tragedy on top of my head and climbed back through to grab my maroon baseball cap, the only hat I could find at the moment.

     Then I clambered out for the second time and made my way around the house, trying to tell my feet to stop moving so fast. There, at the edge of the driveway, was Jamie's car.

    I  felt weirdly nervous as I approached it. What was I supposed to say?

    As I  settled into the passenger side, the first words to leave my mouth were, "You realize it's one in the morning on a school night, right?"

     Jamie shrugged. "I don't care if you don't," he said, and before I could respond, we were driving away.

    I didn't know what to say to him, so I kept my mouth shut. Jamie's eyes never left the road. It was only when I began to recognize the direction we were headed as the way to Jamie's house that I tentatively asked, "Where are we going?"

     "Somewhere I haven't been in a long time."

     So we weren't going to his house, then. Which made me significantly more confused when Jamie pulled into the familiar driveway. But I didn't ask, unsure if the no questions rule still applied.

    When we got out of the car, Jamie began leading me around the house rather than into it. We walked in silence along its length, across the massive backyard garden, and through a gate so far back that the mansion looked like a dollhouse in the distance. Beyond it was a forest of wide-trunked trees that had kept their green leaves throughout the fall.

     The rest of the walk from that point on was short. Once Jamie stopped, I didn't have to ask what the destination was. All I had to do was look up. High up.

    A treehouse, wooden and square, situated in the branches of one of the tallest, thickest trees.

   Jamie was already ascending the rope ladder to get up there. I waited until he had disappeared inside to follow, the ladder swaying under my weight as I climbed.

    Inside had a cozy feel to it, the space taken up by a long, fluffy couch, two cushion-covered armchairs, a cabinet in one corner, and a circular wooden table at the center. A warm-colored, tribal-patterned rug took up the entire floor, and the walls were covered with crayon and marker doodles and taped-up pictures.

    The treehouse didn't look like a place that hadn't been visited recently. It was just as clean and neat as the house, though the markings on the walls and the way the space was cramped with furniture made it seem much more homely.

     "This is awesome," I said appreciatively, running my fingers over the surface of the small table. "But . . ." I turned to Jamie, who wasn't looking at me, "why did you bring me here?"

    He sat heavily on the couch, his eyes trained on his hands. "Our last, uh, outing, didn't go the way you wanted," he said. "I'm trying to make up for that."

    I couldn't help but feel slightly amazed. I knew this was Jamie's way of apologizing for asking to go home on Friday, but I didn't think he should be apologizing at all . . . I was the one who'd crossed the line, after all.

    So much had changed. Once upon a time, Jamie would have never driven over in the middle of the night to 'make something up' to me.

    In an attempt to ease the tension, I teasingly said, "How sweet."

I hadn't realized how much better I felt now that I knew Jamie wasn't upset with me until I heard the relief in my own voice.

    He rolled his eyes. "Don't make me regret this," he grumbled.

   I sat down next to him on the couch. "About Friday," I began, but Jamie cut me off.

   "Let's not talk about it."

    "But I want to talk about it," I protested. "I want to apologize, and I want to hel--"

     "You already apologized, and I already told you I'm not worth it," said Jamie.

     "And I already told you I don't agree."

     "Liam!" he said; his voice wasn't angry but desperate. "What happened to just--just hooking up carelessly, and not bothering with all of . . . all of this!"

    He got off of the couch and knelt down in front of me, staring up at me with pleading eyes. "Can't we just do that again? Please?"

     I swallowed; my mouth had suddenly gone dry. Jamie was right, after all. That was all we were meant to be doing. Hooking up, feeling all of the heat and lust without all of this.

     Yet I also heard something else in his voice, something he was trying to conceal that was rather less confident.

     We both knew exactly what had happened to hooking up carelessly without all of this. Both of us, however, were too scared to face it.

    "You think too much," Jamie sighed, leaning up to push his lips against mine, his hands sliding up my thighs, dipping under the hem of my pants.

    Again, I swore there was more going on in his mind than he was letting on. I forgot that soon enough, though.