He sucked in a sharp, choking breath. “She was hiding in the pantry, and she saw—she saw?—”
“Shh.” I ran my hand through his hair, slow and soft, the way Mom did when I was sick or scared. “She’s safe now. You’re both safe.”
But he shook his head against me, sharp, frantic. “I couldn’t protect them.”
His voice broke entirely on that last word—them.
“I heard the door break,” he choked. “I heard it, and grabbed Sophia, and I hid her, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t get to them in time. I didn’t know what to do—I didn’t know?—”
“Liam—”
“I should’ve stopped him.” The words were a knife he plunged into his own chest. “I should’ve saved them. I should’ve—God, Steph, I should’ve?—”
“Liam.” I cupped the back of his head, pulling him tighter to me, trying to hold him together with nothing but my hands and my heart. “You saved Sophia. You did exactly what you had to do.”
He shook again—a violent tremor that made my own breath stutter.
“He always said—” Liam swallowed hard, like the words were lodged deep in his throat. “He said to take care of them. To take care of Mom. To take care of Sophia. And I—I promised—I?—”
“You kept that promise,” I whispered fiercely. “You kept Sophia safe. You did everything, Liam. Everything you could.”
But he wasn’t hearing it. Or maybe he was hearing it and rejecting every word.
Because he cried then—really cried—his face buried in my shoulder, his fingers twisted in my shirt like he needed something to anchor him in a world that had just ripped itself apart.
Silent sobs. Sobs that came from somewhere so deep it felt like the ground around us tilted with each one. Sobs no fifteen-year-old boy should ever have to make.
I held him through all of it. Rocking him gently. Whispering nonsense words into his hair. Trying to cover the fracture lines forming in him with whatever comfort I had left.
Knowing—somehow—that this was the moment that would carve itself into him forever. The moment he decided he had failed the people he loved. The moment he learned what helplessness tasted like.
The moment that would become the wound he’d spend the rest of his life trying to outrun.
When he finally managed to speak again, his voice came out small. Fragile. “Uncle Owen and Aunt Louisa will… they’ll take care of us.”
He swallowed hard. “Dad always said if anything ever happened, they’d come. They’ve got a ranch. A real one. Horses. Cowboys. Everything.”
“That sounds good,” I said softly, even though the thought of him leaving Austin—leaving me—made something sharp twist in my chest.
“It’s really far away. Five hours.” He stared past me, eyes glassy, unfocused. “Like… a whole different world away.”
“I know.”
His gaze flicked back to mine, sudden and desperate. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“Hey,” I whispered, pulling back enough to cup his face in my hands. His skin was blotchy and damp, still warm from tears. “You’re not leaving me. We’re best friends. That doesn’t change because now matter how far you go.”
His lower lip trembled. His big brown eyes—usually bright, full of trouble and jokes—looked absolutely shattered. “Promise?”
“Promise.” I brushed my thumb under his eye, catching the fresh tear before it fell. “We’ll text and call and email. I’ll visit you. You’ll visit me. And when we’re older… maybe…”
He blinked. “Maybe what?”
“Maybe we can be neighbors again.” The words were soft, shaky, a hope too big for the moment but true.
The smallest ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. “I’d like that.”
A soft whimper came from the pullout couch, and Liam immediately turned toward the sound—instinct snapping into place like a muscle memory. He climbed onto the mattress beside Sophia with careful, protective movements. Even in sleep, she curled into him, her tiny hands clutching his shirt like she was afraid he’d disappear.
