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It never went too far. Even at night—when I was alone in my hotel room and sleep was hard to come by. And when our kiss—and my hand wrapped around her throat—were the memories my brain seemed stuck on.

I wondered though… would those conversations—the texts, the pictures, the too-hot, never enough late-night calls—come as naturally as the rest of it?

But now I'm sitting in V's hospital room before surgery—after a series where we repeatedly got our asses handed to us—holding my phone tight and just begging it to buzz.

With anything.

Anything at all.

To hear from her. To check in. To distract me from the nervous energy I can't avoid with my mom pacing in front of me and V sitting beside me in silence.

And in perfect timing—

It does.

Liam Montgomery

Today's Vienna's surgery, right? Good luck to all of you. Tell her the girls have a banana bread with her name on it for her recovery.

The knot that's been slowly growing between my ribs pulls a little tighter.

I tell myself I shouldn't expect anything. I didn't tell Lenny off, but we didn't exactly decide we were jumping right back into things either. Just because I told her about the surgery doesn't mean she remembers. And just because I admitted I was on edge about it doesn't mean she needs to check in.

Still, that all-too-familiar feeling gnaws at me. The reminder that this is how it started last time.

Settle down, man. Don't be such a little bit—

My phone vibrates again, and my thumb moves faster than I knew it could.

I can feed myself whatever bullshit I want, but the disappointment this time is completely undeniable.

Liam Montgomery

Extra chocolate chips.

I suck in a slow, steady breath and blow it out through my lips louder than I mean to.

"What's the matter?" Mom spits out, her eyes wide, her fingers twisting around each other. "Is something wrong?"

I glance over to find my little sister's face mirroring hers.

Shoving my phone into my pocket, I shake my head—trying to calm them down and clear my mind simultaneously. "Nothing," I say, signing as I do.

Tom jumps in. "Everything's gonna be fine, Ang."

"Yes it is!" Dr. Parth walks in, his face bright, hands clasped in front of him.

"Who's ready for their whole life to change today?"

He says it while looking between each of us—maybe coincidence, maybe recognition that this procedure is going to affect all of us, not just Vienna.

In a matter of weeks, my sister will hear my voice for the first time in seven years. Her life will never be the same as it is right now.

And that means my life—our relationship—won't be either.

Mom signs for Vienna as Dr. Parth explains the whole procedure again, his previous words bouncing off the sterile white walls.

One in particular—