“And you,” Liam says softly, while probably thinking the exact same thing, “need to admit to yourself what you are.”
Chapter 31
July, Four Years Ago
We come crashing down thirty minutes after Liam gets back to Knoxville.
Later, I’ll replay those thirty good minutes and wish we’d managed forty-five.
I’ll compare them to the last half hour we spent together in his hospital room in Nashville. Hand massages, ordering takeout options for his mom (who had gone off to pester the doctors), recounting for Liam his funniest lines from the day before to lighten his mood.
Before I left him to make the drive home for my next shift, Liam had looked at me lucidly and said, “I’m sorry about theI love youthing.”
I smirked, but my heart was thrumming. “You remember that, huh?”
It was only thirty-six hours past his confession, but still.
He scratched lazily at his chest, grinning. “Every word.”
“Hall pass.” I shrugged casually, though my emotions were the polar opposite of casual.
Liam arched an amused brow. He lifted my hand to his mouth, and his words came out slowly. “I don’t need an I-love-you hall pass, Paige. I’m only sorry for how unromantic it must’ve been for you. And I promise to do better next time.”
I froze then, catching his gaze. “Next…?”
“And I promise to be sober next time.”
That’s what I replay in my head on a cruel loop after we’re over. The all-encompassing look in his eye that saidI love you, and soon you’ll hear it and believe it at the same time.
Our final day, Liam gets off the Greyhound from Savannah, where he’d flown with his mom from Nashville and spent the last week resting up. I meet him at the bus stop, my heart raw on his behalf. I fuss over his sling and ask how he’s feeling and when he laughs and looks at me with a shine in his eyes and says, “Fuck, Bristol, I missed you,” I hold his free hand and walk him to my car and drive us straight to an ice-cream shop because that’s what feels right.
Our texts and calls over the week apart have been heavily dominated by medical updates, but now that he’s here and on the mend, I want to show Liam that not everything has changed. We’re still us, I still want him, and if he says he loves me, this time I’ll say it back, and we’ll figure the rest out together. He’ll finish his senior year of college, and I’ll stay here in a one-bedroom apartment until he decides what’s next.
I’m here for you, my heart whispers, though sometimes, even in my own mind, it sounds more likeI exist for you.
“I’ve got something to tell you,” Liam says, his hand squeezing mine as we walk across the verdant grass in World’s Fair Park. He aims me a wide, happy grin.
It’s that you love me,I think, but I say, “I’m listening.”
Liam stops us, turning to face me, still smiling. “I did something, Paige.”
I laugh softly. “You did something?”
“Yeah.”
I tilt my head, looking up at him with amusement. “What did you do?”
Liam kisses me through smiling lips, tasting like chocolate andpeanut butter and also my whole fucking world. We get lost in it for a moment, but then he pulls back, eyes shining, and pulls his phone out of his pocket.
“Dear Miss Lancaster,” he starts to read, every word tinged with his smile. “I’m delighted to offer you a spot in Belmont’s songwriting major this fall. Your tracks were impressive for a novice, and I have to say, I’d love the opportunity to teach you. The scholarship information is attached. Thanks again for the application. See you in class.”
It doesn’t even compute at first. I’m not certain he spoke in English. I’m almost positive I’ve never heard the wordssongwritingorscholarshipormajorin my life.
“What,” I say dumbly.
Liam holds my shoulder with his unstrapped hand. “You got into asongwriting program, Paige. At Belmont, no less.”
My brain is hurting. “But I didn’t apply for that.”
