He lets out a little chuckle and my heart flutters at the man, sitting on the edge of my bed, in my bedroom, his hand trailing down to my waist, his blue eyes infiltrating me, shirtless may I add, his tattoos covering arms and chest and…I hate my life.
“Are you alright?” he asks, kissing the side of my head.
I nod, slipping out of the bed as he gets up and heads for the door, he turns and looks over his shoulder. “I made breakfast. Come downstairs, we need to talk.”
My mouth turns dry. When someone tells you they need to talk…It never feels too reassuring.
“Okay…”
I realize he’s wearing my brother’s gray sweatpants, and my heart pinches.
“You found my brother’s clothes?” I ask, I can feel my eyes water, but I swallow the emotion as soon as it surfaces.
“I did. That’s okay?” His expression tenses with pain.
“Yes, if anything, I… I’m happy that you’re wearing them.” I say hesitantly. He nods and heads downstairs.
By the time I make it to the kitchen, he’s put on a shirt.
If there’s a deeper well of grief left in me, this is it—the cruel comfort of seeing him there, fully dressed.Cruel, cruel.
The sight feels too normal, like stepping into a life that I didn't know could exist, and also, surprised he’s capable of making eggs and coffee.
“You didn’t have to do this.” My voice sounds small, foreign, waving at the breakfast set on the dining table.
Liam shrugs, flipping a piece of toast onto a plate. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured food was safer than thinking. Your mom also mentioned you don’t know how to cook. I wanted to spare us both the torture.”
I manage a smile and sit. “Of course she said that. Thank you.” I bite my lip and hesitate. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”
He watches me for a moment, then says carefully, “I’ve been thinking this through.”
“About?” I ask tentatively. Nervous where this is going, taking a bite of my food, praying I don’t choke on disappointment, I don’t even know what I’m asking for.
“This is not working,” he blurts out, chewing on his food as his jaw tightens through each bite, and I can’t think or look anywhere at the sight of him.
“Okay?” And I instantly want to throw up. I shouldn’t even have this feeling of let down stewing in me, my gaze falls on my fidgeting hands, and I shove them under my thighs.
Of course, this isn’t working.
“You should come live with me. For the time being.”
My eyes snap up at that. I nearly choke on the next bite, coughing into my napkin. “What?”
He doesn’t flinch. “Your safety has become... a distraction. I check your house instead of watching for my own enemies. Inefficient. Dangerous, and Fiasco would be happy to have you around.”
I blink at him. “I don’t think you’d be happy to have me around.”
“Yes, Sara, I recognize the irony. Just a few months ago, I wouldn’t have crossed the street to prevent you from getting hit by a car.”
“Ouch, that’s a little excessive,” I say.
“Yeah, maybe a little.” He chuckles. “But now I'm losing sleep over your safety and your security measures suck. My house has all the security cameras we need.”
I can’t do anything but stare at him, searching for words that I don’t have.
“So, you’ve got two options: keep playing with your life or move in with me.” His tone is calm, but underneath it hums with the energy of a man who won’t take no for an answer.
“Because moving in with you isn’t playing with my life?” I let out a disbelieving laugh, “and what about my mom?”
