Apparently Jacob had no trouble with the sudden turn; he just followed, steady in a way that made Liam feel a little less scattered. “What kind?” he simply asked.
“Whatever I could find. Noir, comedies, big old Hollywood dramas. Didn’t matter. I’d sit there in a blanket cocoon, whispering all the lines under my breath. I think my mom probably knew I was faking, but she never called me on it.”
Jacob was quiet for a beat. “You always wanted this?”
“Yeah.” Liam laughed sheepishly under his breath. “Didn’t think it would be so… overwhelming. But I love it. It’s stupid how much I love it. Always has been my dream.”
He glanced over. “And you? What did you dream about when you were a kid?”
Jacob picked up a twig from the dirt and turned it between his fingers, like he was debating if the question deserved an answer. “Dreams weren’t really a thing where I grew up. You just survived. Wanting more felt like asking to be disappointed.”
Liam stilled, waiting for Jacob to elaborate.
“When I started acting, it was just money. A paycheck. Something better than breaking my back for scraps.”
Liam swallowed. “And now?”
Jacob’s eyes stayed forward. “Now I want the work. I need it. I love it more than I ever wanted to admit. And I fight to hold onto everything I’ve built, every day.”
Silence fell again, heavy but not empty. The honesty sat between them like a third presence. Liam let out a breath, long and slow. They stayed there, not touching, not speaking, just sharing the same air.
For the first time, the silence felt like home.
***
The hostess led him through soft light and clinking glasses, past the hum of laughter and forks scraping plates, into the back corner of the restaurant. The booth looked like something out of a vampire movie—black walls, dark velvet cushions, blood-red pillows, and candles flickering in iron holders. Rich, moody, and a little theatrical. Exactly the kind of place Cassie would choose.
She was late.
Liam slid into the booth, ordered something strong without glancing at the menu, and let himself sink back like the cushions might hold him together. The buzz of voices pressed close, every laugh and clink too sharp against his skin. He felt strung out, vibrating, like he couldn’t keep his body from betraying the storm inside.
Twenty minutes later, Cassie appeared in a blaze of red leather and heels that demanded attention. She dropped into the booth opposite him like a queen taking her rightful throne, a wicked grin daring him to keep up. “You ordered without me.”
“You were late.”
“I brought chaos and high fashion—that buys me at least ten minutes.”
Liam gave her a look, but his mouth twitched despite himself.
She squinted at him. “Jesus, you look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”
“I missed you too,” he muttered, tracing a finger through the condensation dripping down his glass.
She didn’t poke right away, just watched him with the kind of focus only someone who’d known him since braces could manage.
He finally exhaled, words dragging out of him. “Everything feels… full. Like there’s no room left in my head, and if one more thing gets shoved in, I’m going to crack.”
Cassie tilted her head. “Emma and the baby? Something wrong?”
He shook his head.
“Work?”
A pause. “Not really.”
Her eyes narrowed, sharp as knives. “So it’ssomeoneat work.”
He didn’t speak, and that was enough.
