"Jane, that's amazing." Libby pulled her sister into a hug, genuinely happy for her.
Jane held on tight, then pulled back with a slightly sheepish expression. "Is it stupid to be thinking about nothing but a guy when my whole world could still fall apart?"
"Not just any guy," Libby said.
Jane smiled, real and warm. "No. Not just any guy."
Libby felt the happiness for her sister war with something else—a tightness in her chest she couldn't quite name.
If Chase was back from Montreal, Liam probably was too. He'd already shown up at her door once, but was she an idiot for expecting a text or a phone call now that he was back in town? If the Steel won Game 5 on Tuesday night, they'd take the series and move on to the Cup. The team was undoubtedly working non-stop to prepare, and yet, Chase had found the time to seek out Jane.
But Chase and Jane were together now. She and Liam were what? Fake daters who were now wrapped up in a legal scandal?
"Have you heard from Liam?" Jane asked, clearly reading something in Libby's expression.
"Not since last night after the game."
"He's probably dealing with team stuff," Jane said carefully. "Or coordinating with Mark and the lawyers about Lydia."
But noon came and went with no word. Libby tried to distract herself with work—answering emails from colleagues, drafting follow-up pieces on the Wickham investigation. Reid called to tell her the Herald was running her ESPN interview as a major story, front page of the sports section.
"You did good, kid," Reid said. "Real journalism. I'm proud of you."
It should have felt like a victory. Instead, she just felt hollow.
That afternoon, Georgia called with an update: Lydia would be released by early evening. She'd be officially designated as a cooperating witness. No charges filed.
"Where's Liam?" Libby asked before she could stop herself.
Georgia was quiet for a moment. "Handling something. He'll explain."
"Handling what?"
"I can't—he should tell you himself."
After Georgia hung up, Libby stared at her phone. Handling something. What could he be handling that kept him from sending a single text?
The answer, her traitorous brain supplied, was obvious: he was done. Everything was handled. His people had taken care of it. Lydia would be released, Jane's job was secure, the scandal was turning in their favor. His duty was fulfilled.
And now he was pulling back. Putting distance between them. Going back to his carefully controlled life where messy working-class reporters with disastrous families didn't fit.
Anne was probably back in town for Game 5. Beautiful, poised, scandal-free Anne Davenport who'd never bring federal investigations and gambling rings into the D'Arcy family orbit.
Libby grabbed her laptop and opened a new document, typing out a professional, detached thank-you:
Liam—
Thank you for coordinating your legal team and security resources to help my family. Georgia and your lawyers have been exceptional. We're grateful for everything the D'Arcy organization has done.
She stared at it. Too formal. Too distant. Too much like what it was—a goodbye.
She deleted it.
Later that afternoon, there was a knock at the door.
Libby opened it to find a delivery driver holding a large box.
"Elizabeth Bennet-Cross?" he confirmed, consulting his tablet.
