The 90-Day Experiment (The Expiry Date Diaries #1)

Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Liam

T he shirt trembled in my hands, refusing to fold right. My fingers felt thick, clumsy, like they belonged to someone else. Someone who hadn't just watched their whole world walk away.

Emerson's face kept flashing through my mind—those final moments when her walls had started to crumble. The tears tracking down her cheeks, smearing her always-perfect makeup.

Christ, I'd never seen her cry before. Not once in all these months. The image burned behind my eyelids every time I blinked.

I tried to focus on the simple task of folding the damn shirt, but the fabric felt wrong under my fingers. Rough. Dead. Nothing like the silk of her skin, the way she'd shiver when I'd run my hands down her sides, how perfectly she fit against me when?—

"Fuck." The word echoed in the empty lab, bouncing off sterile walls that suddenly felt like they were closing in.

Everything in here screamed of her—her organized chaos, her scribbled notes, that stupid periodic table poster she'd hung up because "the colors matched the aesthetic."

Another shirt. Focus on another shirt. But my hands wouldn't stop shaking, and my brain wouldn't stop torturing me with memories. Emerson padding around her apartment in nothing but my t-shirt, those endless legs driving me crazy.

That laugh—God, that laugh. It used to fill up every empty space in a room, in me.

The duffle bag gaped open on the lab bench, half-packed and pathetic. Just like me. I reached for my phone, needing a distraction, but the universe wasn't done punishing me yet.

A photo from that day at the carnival lit up the screen—her head thrown back in genuine laughter, none of that controlled scientist bullshit.

My arm was around her waist, and I was looking at her instead of the camera, completely gone for her even then. We'd just won that stupid tiny teddy bear she'd insisted was "statistically impossible" to get.

Something hot and tight squeezed my chest. Months of breaking down her walls, of watching her slowly let me in, of falling so completely I couldn't tell where I ended and she began.

And now what did I have? An empty lab and a half-packed bag?

She'd walked away, taking everything that mattered with her.

How the hell had we gone from perfect to broken so fast?

The silence of the room was shattered by the ringing of my phone. My grandmother’s face flashed on the screen and I hesitated for a moment. The last thing I wanted was to unload my problems on her, but I knew better than to ignore her call.

“Hey, Gran,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. “How are you?”

“What’s going on? You sound like you’ve been hit by a truck,” she said, her voice already slicing through my act.

Subtlety had never been her thing. I tried to evade, busying myself with more packing.

“I’m fine, Gran. Just tired from work,” I lied, even knowing she wouldn’t buy it.

“Don’t give me that crap,” she shot back, her worry coming through loud and clear. “I can hear it in your voice. Spill. Now.”

I sighed, the weight of the truth pressing down on me. There was no point hiding it from her.

“It’s Emerson,” I finally admitted, my voice cracking. Just saying her name sent a jolt through me. “She ended things. Said she couldn’t risk getting hurt.”

The words were bitter, each one a reminder of the reality I was struggling to accept. Christ, I could still smell her lingering on my clothes. There was a pause on the other end, then a deep sigh.

“Oh, Liam,” Gran said, her voice softening. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks. I just... I thought maybe she was the one, you know?” The words felt too small to describe what I felt for Emerson.

“I know, kid. But maybe don’t give up hope just yet. Sometimes love finds its way back,” she said, her tone softer than usual. “But also, always keep your head on—the big one, at the top of your body, not the other one. Love can be a real bitch sometimes.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at her blunt wisdom, even as my heart ached.

“Thanks, I actually think I needed that.”

“Of course you did,” she replied. “Now, listen to me. You’re going to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and remember that you’re a damn catch. If she couldn’t see that, then it’s her loss. And if you need to cry, do it. Just make sure you’ve got a bottle of whiskey and some good music. Crying without whiskey is for amateurs.”

A small, genuine smile tugged at my lips. “Okay, Gran.”

The smile faded as I remembered the last time I’d shared a bottle of whiskey with Emerson, the night that had started innocently enough, but that whiskey had ignited something primal.

How she’d turned around, bracing herself against the couch.

Fuck, the sight of her waiting for me.

It had been the most intense sexual experience of my life, and the memory fucking haunted me.

“Actually, Gran...” I hesitated, running a hand through my hair. “I was wondering if I could crash at your place for a bit? My apartment’s getting fumigated, and I need a place to stay.”

“Fumigated, huh?” There was a pause, and I could almost hear her trying to figure out if I was full of shit or not. “Of course you can, kid. My couch has been missing your butt. Plus, I need someone to help me with my crossword puzzles. They’ve been kicking my ass lately.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it. I love you.” My voice was thick with emotion, gratitude swirling with the pain that still throbbed in my chest.

“Love you too, kid. Oh, and don’t forget to call your mother. She worries.”

My breath caught in my throat. A familiar ache spread through my chest. “Yeah, Gran,” I said softly, trying to keep my voice steady, “I’ll call her.”

“Good boy,” she said, her voice filled with warmth and pride, oblivious to the slip.

After we hung up, I sat there, phone still clutched in my hand. Gran’s memory was slipping more and more these days, and this was an especially painful reminder.

My mother had been gone for five years now.

Gran mixing up the past and present wasn’t new, but each time it happened, it was like ripping off another bandage I’d carefully placed over the wound.

As I chucked my stuff into the duffel bag, abandoning the pretense of folding, my mind kept wandering back to the secrets I’d kept from Emerson.

The truth about my financial mess gnawed at me. Would things have been different if I’d just been honest from the start? If I’d trusted her enough to share the load I was carrying?

The shame and regret felt like an anvil on my shoulders, dragging me down deeper.

My hand hovered over the doorknob, hesitation gripping me. Should I confront Emerson one last time? Lay my heart bare and beg for another chance? The thought of seeing her again made my heart race.

But the rejection, the finality in her eyes, stopped me cold. I had to respect her decision, no matter how much it hurt.

And fuck, did it hurt—like a knife twisting in my guts.

I opened the door and stepped into the hallway, taking one last look back at the lab.

With a final, deep breath, I turned and walked away, leaving behind not just the lab, but maybe my entire future.