Page 31

Chapter Thirty-One

I t was hard to know what feelings were real and which ones weren’t when I’d spent so long pretending.

Emotions had been dangerous growing up. It wasn’t mine that mattered, but my mother’s. I’d learned that early, when my tears would bring on her fury, claiming that I was doing it for attention.

Oh, your life is so horrible, isn’t it?

I’d then have to listen to how terrible her life was, having to raise me on her own, with no money, no husband, no life of her own.

It saddled me with a guilt that emerged each time I felt any type of negative emotion for myself. I realized that usually I was being unreasonable.

Sure, my mom yelled at me sometimes, and sometimes her behavior could be a little unpredictable. Sometimes she passed out for entire days at a time, when she had promised me we’d do something together or she’d take me somewhere. But some kids had no parents at all. Some kids got hit or abused.

So, really, she was right. What did I have to cry about?

Now, thinking about the situation, it felt completely unreasonable, but even the knowledge of that wasn’t enough to push the feelings down.

I was upset, but I knew how to pretend I wasn’t. And that’s what I’d have to do to keep the peace. I didn’t want a confrontation. I didn’t want to fight. I didn’t want to get yelled at for feeling something I already knew I had no right to feel.

So, as I walked into Liam’s apartment, I told myself I wasn’t going to bring it up. Not the fight he got into, not the secret girlfriend he was hiding. None of it. It wasn’t my business. And I knew from experience that people didn’t like being questioned about their choices. I’d learned to keep the questions at bay.

But then I saw him, and every thought in my head went out the window.

“Hey,” he said, looking utterly and completely exhausted.

The air felt different. It always did when someone was upset. I had a sixth sense for that type of stuff, like I could absorb whatever someone else was feeling the moment I laid eyes on them.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, staring at him where he sat at the kitchen counter.

His head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

“You’re upset,” I said, that feeling of anxiety growing inside me like it did whenever anyone was in a bad mood.

But this wasn’t just anyone. This was Liam. And I wasn’t scared of his bad moods. I was concerned for him.

He stared at me, green eyes blazing, before letting out the softest laugh that seemed to lighten some weight off of him.

“How could you possibly know that?”

I shrugged, moving to sit on the stool beside him.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” I pleaded, feeling the strongest urge to fix it for him.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, lips parted as if in disbelief. “I’m fine.”

“I know you’re not.” I frowned at him. “Is it because of me?”

“ What? ”

“Are you mad at me?”

“, no.” He shook his head. “Not at all—”

I wondered if he’d gotten into a fight with his girlfriend. Or maybe he was upset that I was still here. It had been nearly a month since I promised I’d only be here for a few days.

I couldn’t break a promise I’d made. Not when I knew how it felt to be on the other end of that. I was taking up too much time and space in this man’s life, and I needed to rectify it immediately.

“I need to go,” I said, standing up, already in motion, planning my escape.

“.” His chair slid back against the floor with a loud screech. “Wait, wait, wait. Where are you going?”

I didn’t want to look at him. I couldn’t. I needed to get a handle on my emotions, and it was impossible to do that around him.

“I need to leave. I’ve been here for too long.”

“, stop.” He reached out, tugging my wrist until I had no choice but to look up at him. His eyes were wide and panicked, and the look on his face made me feel breathless.

“What?” I asked, voice breaking.

I felt like I was helplessly trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. I knew the only way to do that would be by leaving on my own terms.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, his voice low and soft. “What’s wrong? Why are you sad?” His hands were cupping the sides of my face, keeping my eyes on him.

I closed my eyes against the sight of him, hating the tear that slipped down my face.

His finger brushed it away.

“I just need to go,” I said resolutely. “Please, just let me go.”

“No,” he said firmly. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

Finally, I opened my eyes, staring at him through the tears that clouded my vision.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend?” The words slipped out despite how hard I tried to hold the question back.

He froze, hands dropping.

“What?” he said, taking a step back.

“Some people at work were talking about how they saw a picture of you online with some girl,” I said, willing him to deny it.

He said nothing, his face remaining impassive. He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it shut without a word coming out.

It was as good as confirmation.

“Did you see the picture?” he asked at last.

My heart sank.

“No!” I responded. “I wouldn’t betray your privacy like that.”

I started moving again, knowing I needed to leave. Now.

“, stop. Wait,” he said, following me through the apartment.

“If I had known, I wouldn’t have stayed this long, taking up all this space,” I said.

“,” he said, my name a plea on his lips. “Please, it’s not like that.”

I turned slightly, pausing on my ascension up the staircase.

“Who’s your girlfriend?” I asked, hating and not understanding why I felt betrayed and abandoned by this man who had no obligation to me.

“You,” he said, and his words froze me in place.

“What?”

“It’s you,” he repeated, and I stared at him dumbstruck. “No, I mean—” He ran a hand over his face, fumbling for words. “Jesus, not like that. I just mean, you’re the girl in the picture. It’s you.”

My mind whirled, trying to make sense of his words.

“Someone took it that night we were at the bar and posted it online and ran with it. I’m so sorry,” he said in an agonized tone. “I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d hate me for it. But it’s just a really blurry picture. I doubt anyone would be able to tell it’s you, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

My eyes were downcast, processing everything he was saying. I’d never heard him so frantic. Liam, who was always relaxed and level-headed.

“I’m so sorry, . These people—they’re crazy. They think they have a right to everyone’s private lives. They don’t blink an eye about posting that shit on the internet.”

I was confused, not understanding why he kept apologizing. The only thing I could process was that Liam didn’t have a girlfriend. And that the girl everyone thought was his girlfriend—that was me.

“Please don’t leave,” He whispered, voice breaking. “I promise I won’t let anything like this happen again.”

My eyes snapped up to his, my chest aching at the desperation I found there.

“It’s okay,” I said, still reeling from the heartache, confusion, and relief I had just experienced in rapid succession. “I don’t mind.”

“You don’t mind?” he repeated, dumbfounded.

“No, I don’t mind if people think that.” I shook my head.

The article. The photo. The entire internet thinking I , of all people, was his girlfriend. This was his life. Strangers writing things, making assumptions about him. About people he was connected to.

It should have scared me, but it didn’t.

And now Liam, standing in front of me, eyes searching mine like he still wasn’t sure I was going to leave.

“I just hate the idea of people spewing shit on the internet about you,” he said, reaching out to push a strand of hair back from my face. “You’re not up for debate.”

My heart jolted.

“I don’t care what people say.” I shook my head, realizing that it was true.

Never before in my life could I have honestly said that I didn’t care what people said or thought about me. But I was here with Liam, feeling more certain of who I was and who he was than I had ever been in my life.

It didn’t matter what people said. I knew who he was. And it seemed, impossibly, like he knew me too.

He blew out the biggest breath of relief, pulling me in for a hug. Before I knew what was happening, I was hugging him back, breathing in the scent of him.

Then, in a small voice, I asked the question that was easier to ask when my eyes were closed, and my face was cradled against his chest.

“What about you? Do you mind? That people think I’m your girlfriend.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, and my body tensed with anxiety until he finally responded,

“No, . I don’t mind.”

A slow breath escaped me, my shoulders loosening as I stepped back from him.

Liam studied me for a beat, then exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

“If you’re being serious about the rumors not bothering you,” he said, looking as if it were hard to get the words out, “then do you want to save my life by doing me the literal biggest favor in the world?” he asked, his face turned in a way that told me he was expecting rejection.

I stared at him, knowing there was nothing he asked of me that would be too much. After all he’d given me—safety and comfort, and friendship—how could he think there was anything I wouldn’t do for him?

“Anything,” I responded.