Page 76 of Landing Liam

“You okay?” Liam’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. He’s paused just ahead of me, watching me with that quiet intensity that always seems to undo me.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding softly. “Just tired.”

“You’ll be in here,” he says, pushing open a door with one hand while the other rests gently on the small of my back. His touch is steady, grounding, and I lean into it without thinking.

The room is cozy, frozen in time with pastel walls, faded posters, and a bookshelf overflowing with paperbacks. It feels warm, nostalgic. I run my fingers along the edge of a dresser, wondering what it must’ve been like growing up in a house filled with so much history, so much love. It’s simple and safe. Nothing like the bedroom I used to share with my mom in our apartment while growing up. There was no safe space for me.

“I know it’s not fancy,” Liam says, scratching the back of his neck, “but it’s quiet, and the bed’s comfortable.”

“It’s perfect,” I assure him, offering a small smile.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispers as I take a deep breath. What I would have given for a family like this one growing up. What I would have given to have parents who loved each other and a big family that showed up when things looked like they might be falling apart. The differences between Liam’s world and mine are as wide as the Grand Canyon. He grew up with a warm, cozy home and people who loved him. I feel out of my league here. I’ve been on my own since high school. Since Mom died. What if Liam finds out that I struggle to let people in? What if that’s too much of a challenge for him? What if this falls apart because we’re too different?

Liam reappears in the doorway and hands me a soft, worn t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants from the bundle of clothes he’s holding. “These should fit. I hope.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, taking the clothes from him. I feel my cheeks heat as our fingers brush, a spark of electricity that leaves me both comforted and uneasy.

I should go back to the hotel, I remind myself. But the thought of leaving feels scarier than it should. Despite the whirlwind of the past few days, despite the chaos swirling around him, there’s something about Liam that makes me feel safe. And right now, I’m not ready to let go of that.

“I’ll be just down the hall,” Liam says softly as he motions toward his bedroom. “If you need anything…”

There’s a pause, an unspoken question lingering between us. His brown eyes hold mine for a beat too long, and my chest tightens. I don’t know if he realizes I leave tomorrow. I don’t even know if I should remind him. But after everything that’s happened—after his honesty, his trust in me to tell his story—the decision presses against my shoulders harder than ever.

“Good night, Liam,” I manage to say, though what I really want to blurt out is something else entirely. Can I stay with you? Can I curl up next to you and pretend that none of this—the story, the uncertainty—exists? Can I just belong here for one more night?

His lips quirk into that familiar lopsided grin, the one that makes my pulse quicken. “Mom keeps extra toothbrushes under the sink,” he teases, his tone lighter than I feel. “I know how you feel about morning breath.”

A soft laugh escapes me despite the ache in my chest. “Thank you, Liam.”

For a moment, we stand there, the quiet hum of the house wrapping around us. It feels both intimate and bittersweet, like the calm before a storm I’m not sure either of us is really ready to face.

“Good night, Maggie,” he says, the sound carrying a warmth that makes it even harder to stay in this room alone.

Reluctantly, I close the door softly behind me and set my purse on the dresser, the quiet hum of the house settling around me. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I clutch the bundle of Liam’s clothes against my chest, his scent still lingering faintly on the fabric. The intimacy of it feels bittersweet, a reminder of the connection we’ve built in such a short time.

My thoughts wander to the long drive back tomorrow, the miles stretching between here and my tiny life, between this version of myself and the one waiting on the other side of reality. Should I wake Liam before I leave? I should, shouldn’t I? Say goodbye properly. But the idea of saying goodbye feels more heart-wrenching than I expected.

I pull my knees to my chest, staring at the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains. What would a future with Liam even look like? He’s ending one chapter of his life while I’m trying desperately to write my next one. Our worlds feel like two entirely different constellations—both moving forward, but on separate paths.

I exhale heavily, letting the thought go as I slip into Liam’s oversized cotton shirt and soft pajama pants. The fabric is warm against my skin, but it’s the feeling of being wrapped in him that settles the ache in my chest, if only for a moment.

The hallway is quiet as I pad to the bathroom. I close the door behind me, the lock clicking softly into place. Leaning against the cool wood for a moment, I let out a shaky breath, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

What am I doing?

I turn on the faucet and splash cold water onto my face, hoping it’ll bring some clarity to the mess of emotions tangling inside me. But the truth is, clarity feels further away than ever.

A soft knock pulls me from my spiraling thoughts. My heart stumbles as I grab a towel, patting my face dry before crossing to the door. For a moment, I hesitate, fingers resting on the handle. I take a steadying breath, then pull it open.

Liam stands on the other side in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, his broad frame filling the doorway. His expression is indecipherable, a mix of something I can’t quite place—hesitation, maybe? Concern? His brown eyes meet mine, and my pulse quickens.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I just… wanted to check if you were okay.”

I grip the doorframe, my knuckles brushing against the smooth wood. “I’m fine,” I manage, though the word feels thin.

He studies me for a beat longer, his gaze softening as it sweeps over my face. “You don’t have to say you’re fine if you’re not,” he murmurs.

The vulnerability in his tone tugs at something deep inside me. “I guess… I don’t know what I’m feeling,” I admit.