“Yeah,” I continue. “I figured you’d want to know that before slamming the door in my face.”
He sighs and opens the door wider, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You’ve got five minutes. If you say anything that pisses me off, I’m slamming it anyway.”
“Fair.”
He steps aside, and I follow him in.
Liam turns, arms crossed. “So what do you want from me? A medal for regret?”
“I want your help.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
I swallow hard and meet his eyes. “I love her.”
The words fall out with none of the panic or posturing they used to carry. They’re just real now.
Liam blinks, stunned into silence.
“I know I don’t deserve her,” I go on. “I know I hurt her. And I know it’s probably too late. But I need to try. I need to tell her to her face that I love her and that I want to marry her for real.”
He narrows his eyes. “And this isn’t about PR? Or damage control? Or trying to avoid the headlines that’ll drop when everyone realizes your wedding imploded?”
“Honestly?” I exhale. “Let the headlines come. Let the sponsors walk. I don’t care. All that matters is her. I know it took me too long to get here—I’ve never been boyfriend or husband material. But that’s all I want now.”
Liam leans against the counter, still guarded, still watching me like I might spontaneously combust. He rubs the back of his neck, clearly torn. “She’s hurting,” he says flatly. “Which is what makes this hard.I want to believe you mean what you’re saying. But you’re good at putting on a show, man. That’s kind of your thing.”
“I know how it looks,” I say. “But I swear to you, I’m not trying towinher. I’m trying toshowher. That I love her. That I’m not walking away this time.”
Liam looks at me for a long time.
Then he says, “The wedding’s tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“And what? You want me to force her to take you back? What’s the plan here, exactly?”
“Just… tell her I left a voice message,” I say. “Please. It’s important.”
He exhales hard through his nose, mutters something that sounds likeJesus Christ,then finally gives a slow nod. “I’m not promising anything. I’ll reach out. That’s it.”
Relief hits so hard my knees almost buckle. “Thank you,” I say, meaning every word.
He walks me to the door, then stops, his hand on the knob. “You do this again—if you hurt her again—there’s no coming back. Not with her. Not with me.”
“I won’t,” I swear. “She’s it. She’s the one.”
He opens the door. “Good luck, man.”
And God, I know I’m going to need it.
33
OLIVE
Two Surprises
