“You don't have to be perfect, Liam. You just have to mean it. And make damn sure she sees it.”
He lets out a breath. “So what do I do? Buy her a ring? Beg her back?”
“No,” I say. “You don’t buy her anything.”
He looks confused.
“You show up. In a way only you can. You build something. You create something. You remind her why she fell in love with you in the first place and why she might still be willing to try again.”
His lips twitch like he wants to argue but can’t. Because deep down, he knows I’m right.
I take another sip. “You’ve already been given something most men don’t get, Liam.”
He looks up, eyes bloodshot, voice rough. “What’s that?”
“A second chance,” I say, setting my glass down with finality. “Don’t waste it.”
He exhales slowly, shoulders sagging like the words hit something buried deep. Then he sighs again and leans back on the couch, covering his face with one hand.
I push back my chair and stand.
“Come on,” I say, already reaching for my keys.
He frowns up at me. “Where are we going?”
“I’m taking your sorry ass home so you can sleep this off. And in the morning—” I pause, meeting his gaze, “—we start planning.”
His brows lift, skeptical. “Planning?”
“Something grand, remember?” I grin. “You’re gonna show her she’s the love of your life. Which means we’ve got work to do.”
He lets out a tired, disbelieving laugh. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious,” I say, already opening the office door. “Now get up before I call the sheriff after all and have him drag you home in handcuffs.”
He mutters something under his breath but stands and wobbles a little. I catch his arm and steer him toward the back exit, away from the remaining crowd. Bonnie, my barback, can close up. I’ve got bigger things to take care of.
As we step into the cool night air, Liam mutters, “She’s probably never going to forgive me.”
I glance at him. “Then it’s your job to make sure she never forgets how hard you tried.”
He’s quiet after that. But when I help him into the passenger seat and close the door, he doesn’t look drunk anymore. He looks ready. Or, at the very least, willing to try. And for Liam Stone? That’s a hell of a start.
Mornings at Liam’s barn are quiet, just the way I like them. Between his house and Sam’s, I practically grew up on Stonewater Ranch. I know every nook and cranny. All the best places to hide. But today, I’ve got a clipboard, a second coffee mug, and the stubborn hope that Liam Stone will actually show up.
The man’s been a damn ghost with fists lately. Angry, broken, and drunk more than he is sober. And yeah, I’ve kicked him out of my bar three times this week alone, but that doesn’t mean I’m not rooting for the guy.
I hear the familiar stomping of his boots, and sure enough, here he comes looking like hell warmed over. Hair a mess. Shirt half-tucked. But his eyes? They’re clearer than they’ve been in months.
He stalks over, hands stuffed in his pockets like he’s still debating whether this is worth it.
“You showed,” I say. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”
He rolls his eyes. “This is my barn. Let’s just get this over with.”
I ignore the attitude. He’s here. That’s what matters.
I tap the clipboard in my hand and hold out the second coffee. “This isn’t a lecture. It’s a battle plan.”
