“I didn’t know I could be him,” he admits. “Until losing you showed me who I didn’t want to be anymore.”
I look away, the ache in my chest sharp and full.
“What if I get hurt again?” I whisper. “What if I trust you and you break it all over again?”
He steps closer, slow, like I’m something fragile and sacred.
“I’m not asking for forever tonight,” he says. “I’m asking for now. For another chance to earn it.”
The porch light flickers. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbles low and deep.
I nod, swallowing hard. “I’m scared, Liam.”
“I know.”
“And I’m tired.”
“I’ll carry some of it,” he says without hesitation. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
A tear slips down my cheek, and he catches it with the back of his hand.
I should go inside.
But instead, I whisper, “I missed your arms.”
That’s all it takes.
He steps in, slowly, carefully, and pulls me against him.
I don’t resist.
I fold into his chest like I never left, like his arms were built to hold this weight, and maybe they were. He’s warm and solid and familiar in all the best ways. His cheek rests against the crown of my head.
“I missed everything about you,” he says into my hair. “But mostly? I missed this. The way you fit.”
I close my eyes and let myself feel it. Just for tonight.
Tomorrow, there’ll still be questions.
But right now?
There’s this.
And it’s real.
28
I wake to light streaming through the gauzy curtains of my room at the bed and breakfast, warm and golden. For a moment, I just lie there, blinking against the stillness, half convinced I dreamt the whole night. But that hug, God, that hug was real. So was the way Liam held me like he didn’t know how to let go.
I sit up slowly, brushing my hair off my face. There’s a knock at the door, and before I can say anything, I hear my mom’s voice through the wood.
“Something’s in the hallway for you.”
I frown. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” she sings. “But it smells delicious.”
By the time I swing my feet to the floor and shuffle to the door, she’s gone.
