She hummed softly, the sound warm with care. “Wish I could feed you. You always forget to take care of yourself when you’re working hard.”
His throat closed. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” she asked. “You sound different.”
“I’m just…” He trailed off, the pause speaking louder than anything he could say. “I don’t know. Ignore me.”
She laughed then, gentle and bright, easing the weight for half a second. “Hormones must be going haywire. I cried at a commercial today.”
He tried to smile and found that it hurt. “What was it?”
“Diaper ad. There was a dad. He looked like you. I lost it.”
He shut his eyes. The guilt was sharp enough to feel in his ribs.
“I think she knows your voice,” Emma said softly. “She kicked when I played her a voicemail you left.”
He couldn’t breathe.
“She misses you. I miss you.”
The urge to throw the phone across the room rose hard and fast, but he forced it down. “I miss you too.”
It was the truth. God, was it true. He missed the ease of being loved without guilt knotting in his stomach. The comfort of her voice without the shadow of shame. He missed the version of himself who hadn’t yet fractured.
But none of it mattered. Not when his body was still strung tight for someone else, his skin still burning from Jacob’s hands. Not when some reckless part of him wanted to walk down the hall, knock on Jacob’s door, and beg for more.
***
The dining hall was full enough to feel alive, though not too loud. Voices carried in a low hum beneath the wash of warm light, broken by the clink of silverware and the occasional burst of tired laughter. It was the easy rhythm of people who hadn’t just had the ground ripped out from under them.
He sat alone near the back with a plate of pasta cooling in front of him, dragging his fork through the food without bringing much of it to his mouth. He tried to look like someone who still remembered how to eat, but his jaw worked without thought, every bite landing wrong and tasteless.
He wasn’t usually one to hide from people; normally he’d have chosen a spot in the middle of the noise. Tonight he couldn’t handle it. Even the thought of conversation made his nerves tighten.
He didn’t look up when Jacob entered. He didn’t need to. The air shifted the way it always did around him, subtle but unmistakable, as if the room itself remembered who it belonged to.
Jacob crossed the distance between them without hesitation, his tray balanced easily in one hand. He didn’t pause to acknowledge anyone as he passed. He simply sat across from Liam, his movements casual but certain, as though it had never once occurred to him he might not be welcome. Liam had no idea what to do with that kind of confidence.
For a while, neither of them spoke. They ate in silence, the scrape of forks on porcelain filling the space between them. Itwas a fragile calm, stretched thin enough that Liam didn’t dare meet his eyes. He didn’t trust himself—not his face, not his voice, not the phantom imprint of Jacob’s hands still burning against his skin.
“Still pretending?”
The words landed so abruptly they startled him. His hand froze midair. Jacob wasn’t even looking at him; the tone alone was challenging enough.
“I’m not pretending anything,” Liam muttered, keeping his gaze fixed on the pasta.
Jacob made an amused sound, something between a hum and a scoff, and returned to his meal.
Every bite Liam forced down turned his stomach.
When Jacob finished, he placed his fork on the empty plate and finally looked at Liam. “Room 203,” he said, voice pitched low, the kind of low that slid beneath the skin and lodged there. “Tonight.”
Liam stilled, the meaning settling heavily between them.
Jacob didn’t smile or blink. “We both know what happens if you show up.” His gaze locked on Liam’s and held him pinned. “You decide. But if you come to me tonight, it’s done. No pretending. No lies. You’re mine.”
The pause that followed was sharp, like a blade being drawn.
