Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Liam
T he tension in the lab was thick enough to choke on.
I stood frozen in the doorway, watching the color drain from Emerson's face as Jasper's words landed like body blows. Her usual razor-sharp focus fractured, and something in my chest twisted at the sight.
After Jasper pushed past me, but before I could think better of it, my feet carried me across the lab. My hand found her shoulder, the familiar warmth of her seeping through her lab coat.
Christ, I wanted to pull her against me. Tuck her head under my chin like I had so many times before, when late nights turned into early mornings and her walls came down just enough to let me in. But now...
She turned, and those eyes that usually cut straight through my bullshit were wide and lost.
My fingers twitched with the need to cup her face, to smooth away that look of despair. But I stayed still, caught between wanting to protect her and knowing she might bolt if I tried.
Then something shifted. Like a switch being flipped, her spine straightened, that familiar spark of determination lit her eyes, and before I could blink, she'd whirled around, her fingers flying over the keyboard with their usual precision.
"Liam, you were right." Her voice shook, but not with fear.
No, this was the spark I'd come to recognize—the one that meant she was onto something big.
She pulled up the presentation, and I found myself leaning in without thinking. Her hair brushed my cheek, that shampoo she used hitting me with a wave of memories I didn't have time to process.
"Look at these data points. We wouldn't have found this without you."
The slides flicked past, a blur of numbers and graphs that initially looked like alphabet soup to my tired brain. Then, like one of those magic-eye pictures suddenly snapping into focus, I saw it. The pattern. The correlation. The impossible thing we'd been chasing for months.
"Holy shit," I breathed, leaning on the edge of the desk to steady myself. The implications rolled over me like a tsunami, making my knees weak. Because if this meant what I thought it meant...
“Liam, it’s amazing,” Emerson said, practically bouncing with excitement. “Your idea to measure long-term brain activity has given us insights that could totally change how we understand love. We’re on the edge of a scientific breakthrough here!”
A rush of emotion hit me: pride for actually contributing something useful, guilt for the chaos my ideas had caused, and a huge wave of relief that my theory wasn’t a total disaster.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, avoiding her eyes. My voice was barely audible, weighed down by my earlier doubts. “I ruined your research. You must hate me.”
Her eyes were blazing with an intensity that left me breathless, like she was some kind of superhero ready to save the world—with science.
“No. You made this happen. You’re the reason we made this discovery. Don’t you dare feel bad about this,” she said firmly.
Her words hit me, and I felt a lump rise in my throat. My eyes welled up. Damn it. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this emotional.
“Thanks,” I whispered, my voice choked with gratitude.
We stood there, inches apart, the air between us buzzing. My palms were sweating, my heart pounding like I’d just run a marathon. I needed to tell her the truth—all of it.
“Emerson, we need to talk,” I said, my voice rough with urgency and nerves. She nodded, her expression softening with curiosity, maybe even a hint of concern. Damn, she was beautiful.
“Okay,” she said, her eyes locked onto mine.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
“I haven’t been totally upfront with you,” I said, the words coming out in a rush. “My grandma’s… sick. She has memory issues, pretty bad.”
Emerson’s eyes widened slightly, but she stayed silent, staring at me like she needed to hear everything.
“For the past couple weeks, I’ve been living at the lab,” I said, finally letting it all out. “It’s the only way I could afford her care and still manage to eat.”
My voice wobbled on the last word, relieved to spill the secret but terrified of how she’d take it.
Her face flashed a whole host of emotions—shock, confusion, and something else I couldn’t quite identify. Maybe pity, or maybe something kinder.
The silence between us felt huge, like it could swallow me whole. My heart pounded, each beat reminding me I might have just made everything so much worse.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” My voice was heavy with regret. “I was scared of how you’d react. I didn’t want to dump my problems on you.”
Emerson frowned. I could almost see her mind reevaluating every moment we’d shared, colored by this new, painful truth.
Then, she stepped closer. Her hand reached out, fingers lacing with mine. The warmth of her touch sent a shock through me, and I held my breath, afraid to move, afraid to hope.
“Liam,” she whispered, her voice softer and gentler than I’d ever heard.
Her eyes shone with concern and something deeper, something that made my heart ache. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve figured something out together. You didn’t have to go through this alone.”
There was no judgment in her tone, just that steady concern that made my chest ache. The tension I'd been carrying for weeks melted from my shoulders, leaving me light-headed with relief.
"I should have put my trust in you." My thumb traced slow circles on the back of her hand, each touch trying to say what words couldn't.
Her skin was soft, familiar in a way that made my throat tight. "I was so damn scared of losing you, of my problems being too much. But this—" I squeezed her hand gently, "—what we have, I should've trusted it."
"Liam." My name on her lips was barely a whisper. Those eyes that had first hooked me—that could freeze a room or spark a fire—were bright with unshed tears.
"You're never a burden to me." Her voice cracked, and something in my chest cracked with it. "I should have seen it earlier—you're the one thing in my life that feels right, that feels like home."
The words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest.
"Doc." My voice came out rough. "I've loved you for so long."
The confession burned its way up my throat, months of holding back finally spilling over. "I think I've loved you since that first day, when you looked at me like I was a puzzle you couldn't quite figure out."
Tears spilled down her cheeks as she shook her head, that smile I’d fallen for trembling at the corners.
"I love you too, Liam." Her laugh was watery. "I was just too busy being distracted to notice."
"We can't let fear fuck this up again," I murmured into her hair, breathing her in. "Promise?"
She tilted her head back, and Christ—those eyes, hitting me with the full force of everything she felt. My knees went weak, but I held on tighter.
"Together," she said, voice steady and sure in a way that made my heart stutter. "No more running, no more hiding."
Standing in the middle of the lab where it all began—where I’d first walked in and had my world turned upside down by Dr. Emerson Grant—everything finally made sense. I could feel her heart beating against mine, and my arms tightened around her. Like hell would I let anything come between us again.
"Remember that disaster of a dinner?" She looked up at me with that sparkle in her eye that always meant trouble. "When you nearly torched my kitchen trying to impress me?"
A laugh rumbled up from my chest. "Hey now, I was going for romance! Besides—" I grinned down at her, "—it worked out pretty well, didn't it?"
"Only because I never actually had to eat what you cooked," she fired back, that smile spreading across her face in a way that made my breath catch. God, she was beautiful when she got snarky. Her expression softened. "But really, it's all the disasters that make us stronger. They're our story."
"Wouldn't change a single stupid thing." My voice came out rougher than intended. "Got us here, didn't it?"
She pressed her face against my chest, and fuck if her warmth radiating through my shirt didn't send electricity down my spine. Every muscle in my body tensed with the effort not to just grab her right there.
"Here's to our beautifully messy, imperfect love story," she said.
Then I caught that look in her eye—the one that always meant I was in trouble in the best possible way—and before I could catch my breath, she was tugging me toward one of the private rooms.
"Come on," she said with that smile that made my brain short-circuit. "Think we've got some lost time to make up for."
My heart nearly stopped. Because that look in her eyes? That was pure trouble. And I couldn't fucking wait.