Liam
Liam was running as if something was chasing him.
The forest was still dark when he slipped out just past five. The lodge was quiet, the set abandoned, and the rest of the world asleep. The morning air was cold enough to sting his skin, but he needed that sting. He needed the bite of wind in his lungs, the burn in his thighs, and the pounding rhythm of his feet against the dirt. He needed to outrun what was happening inside him.
It wasn’t working.
His thoughts were louder than his breath and faster than his legs. No matter how far he pushed himself, he couldn’t outrun Jacob.
Somewhere between last night and this morning, something had clicked. Or maybe it hadn’t clicked at all—it had cracked down the middle and shattered into something he couldn’t put back together.
Sometime during the night, the truth had settled over him. This wasn’t just attraction or curiosity, not even the sharp pull of desire. Jacob had burrowed into him in ways he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge, but could no longer deny.
He had fallen in love with Jacob Wolfe.
He couldn’t even say when it had happened. There was no single moment, no neat line to point back to. It had crept in slowly; dangerous as erosion, and steady as the tide. After months of soft pressure, constant and quiet, suddenly the ground was gone beneath him. He wasn’t standing anymore—he had already fallen.
It wasn’t just the way Jacob kissed him, or the way he had touched him by the fire. It wasn’t the deep drawl of his voice when he let his guard down, or how ridiculously handsome he looked, all sharp lines and effortless confidence.
It was everything.
It was the way Jacob listened when Liam rambled about nothing. How he never tried to fix his spirals or rush in with answers—just stayed steady and patient. It was his dry humor that surfaced when no one else was looking. The fleeting softness in his eyes that felt like a secret, meant only for him.
Fuuuck. How could he have let this happen? How could he have been so reckless?
His foot caught on a root, sending him stumbling. He steadied himself against the rough bark of a tree, breath ripping free as his chest heaved. His heart was battering like it wanted out.
This wasn’t a simple crush. He had fallen for Jacob Wolfe. A man who hated people but somehow made Liam feel like an exception. What the hell was he supposed to do with that?
None of this was allowed or safe. They were both married. Emma was over seven months pregnant. Their lives were real and solid, built on foundations not meant to crack. Still, this thing between them existed, and Liam didn’t know how to breathe without it anymore.
He pressed the back of his head to the tree, eyes squeezed shut, forcing air into his lungs that refused to fill.
“Shit,” he whispered, dragging a hand through damp hair.
He wanted to scream, to laugh, to cry. All of it crashing through him at once.
Instead, he stood there in the cold with his chest aching and whispered, “I’m so fucked.”
***
By the time Liam made it back to the lodge, sunlight was catching on the tops of the trees. The crew trickled in slowly, half-awake and bundled in hoodies, clutching coffee like it was oxygen.
He should’ve gone inside, shut himself in his room, cleaned up, and pretended to be normal. Instead, he caught sight of Jacob on the back deck and—yeah, apparently his survival instincts had left the chat.
Jacob was leaning against the railing, coffee in one hand, phone in the other, head tipped as though he were listening to something only he could hear. He wore a gray shirt today, collar open just enough to make Liam’s stomach drop.
Apparently he was a goddamn idiot with zero self-preservation, because he walked over. He didn’t even remember deciding to. One second he was twenty feet away, the next he was there. Jacob’s gaze lifted and collided with his, and just like that, Liam’s entire body forgot how to function.
“Morning,” Jacob said, voice calm.
“Hi—I mean, hey. Morning. Yeah.”
Smooth.
He stopped awkwardly, not quite sure where to put his hands. He tried folding his arms, then dropped them. Tried a casual lean against the railing, missed it by an inch—his hand thudding against the wood.
Jacob watched the whole thing like he was cataloging it.
