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Major had given up on talking to Liv before he went into the hospital. Much as he wanted to talk to her, he couldn't impose his own craziness—literally—on her when she was still reeling from the loss of what Major guessed he had to describe as her boyfriend. He cared too much for her to burden her like that.
So he was surprised and relieved and disturbed, all at the same time, to get a call from some random bartender that Liv was in his bar, totally blitzed, and needed him to come get her. When had Liv ever gotten that drunk when Peyton wasn't involved? It wasn't like her to drink alone. Or maybe it was, now. So much of what she had done in the last year had been unlike her.
As he walked through the door of the bar, he felt almost normal. Like he was still Liv's guy, coming to get her when she needed him, and he had to be grateful for that, for this last glimpse of his old life before he went away to make sense of the new one.
He found her at the bar, looking lost and alone, and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Hey. You ready to go home?" God, he wished he was taking her home, to the home that had been supposed to be theirs—but going back to her place was almost better, since it didn't have any fake memories of attacks by weird red-eyed guys who turned out not to have been there.
"Yeah. No. I mean … thanks for coming to get me."
Major squeezed her shoulder. "Any time."
He helped her make sure she had her purse and her sweater and everything she had come with, assisted by the bartender, who seemed like a good guy. This whole scene could have been a lot worse. Putting his arm around Liv, he steadied her as she stumbled. "Come on, my car's right outside."
"I don't want to think," she announced.
"It's okay. You don't have to. Thinking's overrated." He smiled.
"You can say that again, buster."
He considered doing just that, going for the laugh, but she was balancing between maudlin and belligerent and nauseous in her level of drunkenness, and he really didn't want any of those to come out on top.
It was a fairly silent drive back to her place. Major wanted to talk—to tell her what was going on with him, to ask her about the guy and what had happened and help her talk through it, but he also didn't want to talk to her about any of those things, especially not in her current condition. And Liv mostly seemed to want to not throw up, which Major appreciated, since he didn't have time to clean his car in the morning before heading to Blooming Groves.
He led her to the door of her apartment, letting her lean against the wall while he found her keys in her purse and unlocked the door, and then he led her to her room, helping with her shoes before lifting the covers to let her slide into bed. She got in, curling up on her side, but she didn't seem tired. She seemed—anguished. And empty. He hadn't seen that blank look in her eyes in a long time, but now it was back, fighting for dominance with a raw pain that struck him in the gut. She had really cared for the other guy, then. This hadn't been a Corinne-like excuse to move on, this had been a real connection. Major was glad for her, and sad for her, and consumed with envy, all at once. And maybe somewhere underneath there was some anger, that she had set all this in motion, the rolling ball that had chased Major all this way before utterly flattening him … but it was hard to be mad at Liv at the worst of times, and would have been completely unfair in her current condition.
Gently, Major tucked the covers around her. "Good-night. I'm … so sorry."
"Don't," she said, her voice a monotone. With an effort, she continued, "Please. I'm trying so hard to stay afloat, and if you … say his name, or …"
"It's okay." Major understood. Or he thought he did. He turned to go, wanting to say good-bye, not knowing when he would see her again or what state he'd be in when he did, but not wanting to burden her, either.
Liv's voice stopped him. "Wait." When he turned to look at her, she asked, "Can you rub my back like you used to?"
God, yes. Being close to her was all he had wanted for such a long time. He lay down behind her, tugging the covers down just enough to be able to see her back, rubbing in small, soothing circles. So familiar. Hard to believe there was a time when he had done this to soothe her from the daily stresses of the life of a med student. That seemed so far away, so … utterly banal, now.
After a moment, Liv said softly, "Ravi told me about—that you're checking yourself into—"
"We can not talk about this, too."
"You're okay?" she asked.
"It's no big deal. My PR guy's telling the tabloid's it's exhaustion. I'll be doing The View when I get back."
She actually smiled at that, a little breath of a laugh, and god, that felt good. He had missed making her laugh.
"I'll be fine," he assured her. "It's not for long. … I'm just sorry that when you need me the most, I lose my mind."
"I screwed everything up," Liv murmured, her words slurring so he wasn't sure he'd heard her at first. "I want to explain, I want to tell you—"
"No. No, it's okay." It was, too. She had gone through something so traumatic at that boat party, her whole world had stopped. And now Major's was swirling around him like a carnival ride he couldn't seem to get off.
Liv shifted, burrowing a little further into the pillows. "My fault," she whispered. "My fault."
Him, or the other guy, or both? Major wondered, continuing to rub her back even as her breathing deepened, not wanting to pull himself away from her just yet. He hoped when she woke up in the morning she would know it wasn't her fault … or at least, not all of it.
He lay there with her, watching her sleep, dreaming about simpler times, long into the night.