He giggles harder, kicking his feet under the blankets.
I read him a quick bedtime story, which usually settles him.
“Sleep tight, my sunshine.” I place a kiss on his forehead.
He curls up with his stuffed lion tucked under his chin and demands the door be left cracked—“only a little, Mama, not too much”—so I fix it exactly how he likes.
I try not to think about the fact that he’s likely to wake up in a dead panic in about two hours. He’s had terrible nightmares since the night he was kidnapped.
I pad out to the living room and find Liam on the couch, feet up on the coffee table as he watches ESPN sports highlights.
“You look awfully comfortable,” I say, raising an eyebrow at his socked feet on my table. “Like you live here or something.”
Liam’s whole body jolts. His feet drop to the floor, and he straightens immediately, posture going stiff and uncertain.
“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I can go.”
He starts to get up, but I put a hand on his arm. “It’s fine. I think…I think I’m ready to talk.”
He hesitates, searching my face for any sign I might change my mind.
Then he slowly lowers himself back onto the couch.
I take a seat right next to him and hold out a hand.
He takes it without hesitation.
His thumb makes slow, instinctive circles against my skin, a simple, familiar motion that knocks something loose in my chest.
For the first time in weeks, it feels like we’re not tiptoeing around each other.
“In a couple of hours, he’s going to wake up screaming,” I say quietly, glancing toward the cracked door down the hall. “It’s happened every night since… everything.”
“I’m sorry,” Liam says, exhaling with guilt written on his face. “I’m so sorry, Emma. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shake my head. “I have them, too. It’s always the same, that feeling of coming home and finding them gone, you know? That was the scariest moment of my life, Liam. Scarier than running into that house. Scarier than the gunfire. Scarier than everything.”
“I can’t even imagine,” he says, and there is anger at himself. I know how much he blames himself for everything that happened, and I can’t absolve him from it.
“I’ve spent the past six months trying to talk myself out of blaming you for what happened,” I say. “And logically, I know it wasn’t your fault.”
“It was?—”
I hold up a hand. “It was your dad’s addiction. Your dad’s debt. And you paid a huge price trying to fix it. None of that is on you. You’re a good person who tried to help your parents. And the Brownings?” I shake my head. “They didn’t see you as a son trying to survive. They saw you as a paycheck. That isn’t your fault either.”
He takes a long, shaky breath. “Emma… I’m so sorry you, Talia, and Laddie got dragged into this. If I could go back in time, I would’ve done everything differently. I would’ve walked away the minute I saw you at the hospital. I would’ve been happy knowing you were okay, and I would’ve stayed away until all of this was over. And if it never ended…” His voice breaks. “Then I would’ve stayed away forever. That would’ve been better for you.”
I want to tell him he’s being dramatic, but I can’t. Not when I know he means every word. Not when I’ve seen how much he hates himself for all of this.
For now, I need him to look at me and understand that he doesn’t have to carry this alone anymore.
So I move onto his lap, cupping his face between my hands when he tries to glance away. His breath catches, his hands settling at my hips like he’s afraid to hold too tight.
“Liam,” I try steadying myself. “Look at me.”
His eyes finally meet mine.
“I love you,” I say. “I always have. I never stopped. Even when I tried to move on, even when I told myself it was over… There was always this ache from missing you.”
