Liam.
I haven’t let myself remember him, let alone look at a photo of him, in years. No. Longer than that. Not since his funeral.
Liam.
Fuck. I can’t…I can’t look at him every day. I can’t remember.
Liam. Liam. Liam.
As if to prove me wrong, memory after memory comes crashing down, plowing into me with the force of a semi. My knees buckle, and this time, I let them, barely catching myself on the wall before I go down. No, not the wall. On Shiloh. She’s here, holding me up, her face a mask of pure horror.
I want to say something. Anything. But—
Liam.
“We’re so sorry to have to inform you, but your brother, Liam Huxley, was killed last night. He was caught in an air raid. He—”
I never did hear the rest of the officers’ words. Never heard the rest of what he’d been saying as he explained how my baby brother lost his life. Bits and pieces trickled through.
“Seven soldiers were wounded.”
Blank.
“Three died.”
Blank.
“Sending him home.”
Blank.
Blank.
Blank.
“Casket.”
Blank.
“Flag.”
“Honor.”
“We’re sorry.”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry.”
Blank.
Blank.
Blank.
Snap.
“Why?” I shout, my head spinning so hard I feel drunk. I feel so fucking drunk that I actually think I might be dying. I feel sick. So, so sick.