Page 55 of Vegas with my Ex’s Best Friends

Liam will be easier to tell first. Less history.

Plus, it sounds like he's suspected for some time but didn't force it out of me. He’s been patient and exactly right. But he doesn't know about this morning. And I'm not sure how that changes things yet either.

I sit on the edge of the bed and press my palms against my knees.

I have to walk out of this room and deal with what comes next.

Outside my door, a cabinet opens and closes. Someone's already up.

My hand settles on the knob.

Chapter twenty

Chapter Twenty—Liam

There's a soft, measured knock at my door.

I open it.

She stands in the hallway in an inside-out sweater, the tag sticking up at the back of her neck like a flag she forgot to lower. Hair messy. Eyes that have clearly been awake for hours. She looks like someone who ran out of time and knocked anyway.

She actually came to me.

That lands somewhere deep in my chest before she even speaks.

“I don't know how to tell you this,” she says. “Or where to start.”

“You could start,” I say, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe, “by fixing your sweater.”

She blinks at me.

“What?”

“It's inside out.”

Her hand flies behind her neck, fingers brushing the tag. She swears under her breath.

“Oh my god.”

I shrug. “Bold fashion choice. Very avant-garde. Very… distressed emotional spiral chic.”

She lets out a small, strangled huff of laughter that sounds like it surprised her.

“You're an ass.”

“Not wrong,” I say. “Still cold out there?”

She hesitates.

Just stands in the hallway.

Like she's deciding whether stepping inside changes something she can't undo.

That hesitation hits harder than anything she's said.

“Relax,” I tell her more quietly this time. “Come in.”

I step back.