23. All In （Finally）
23
ALL IN (FINALLY)
LIAM
C asa Luna used to be my dad’s favorite pizza joint. Now it’s all exposed brick walls, Edison bulbs, and locally sourced ingredients with unpronounceable names. But damn if it doesn’t look good with Sophie in it.
She’s wearing this strappy black silk top that shows just enough skin to make my mouth water, paired with high-waisted leather pants that accentuate a tiny waist and the flare of her hips. Her dark hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders, and when she leans forward to study the menu, I catch a whiff of something floral that makes my head spin.
“The burrata looks amazing,” she says, biting her lower lip in concentration.
That lip bite is going to be the death of me.
“Everything here is,” I tell her, trying to focus on the menu instead of how badly I want to have her for dinner. “But the octopus is their specialty. Chef marinates it in a secret Sicilian concoction.”
Sophie raises an eyebrow. “Quite an upgrade from the dollar slices they probably served here back in the day. ”
I chuckle. If my old man saw these prices, he’d have a heart attack.
“So,” Sophie says, leaning forward slightly. The movement makes her top shift, revealing a flash of collarbone that captures my complete attention. “Tell me about growing up in Williamsburg.”
I clear my throat, forcing my eyes back to her face. “Well, for starters, this place used to have the greasiest, most amazing garlic knots you’ve ever tasted.”
She laughs, and the sound does strange things to my insides.
“Somehow I can’t picture you as a garlic knot kind of guy,” she teases.
“Oh yeah? What kind of guy do you picture me as?”
The words come out as a rumble. Sophie’s cheeks flush pink, and she takes a quick sip of her water. Then she deliberately sets down her glass and leans forward, giving me a view that makes my brain short-circuit.
“Oh, you know,” she says, her voice honey-sweet but with a wicked edge. “The kind who probably had all the girls in Brooklyn chasing after him. Captain of the hockey team, I bet. Charming the moms, breaking the daughters’ hearts.”
She punctuates this with a twinkle in her eyes that tugs at my self-control.
“Growing up in Brooklyn wasn’t quite that glamorous,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “We moved to Williamsburg when it was still rough around the edges,” I tell her, watching as she squirms in her seat. “Then I got into hockey.” I chuckle, remembering. “Equipment’s not cheap, and I was growing like a weed. Seemed like every few months I needed new skates or pads.”
“How did you manage? ”
“Somehow, we did. My mom said she saw something special in the way I was on the ice. And that Kieran would reuse all of my gear anyway, so it was half-price when you looked at it that way.”
Sophie’s watching me intently now. “Turns out she was right.”
“Yeah, well,” I shrug but can’t hide my smile, “she always is. She’s got this sixth sense about things. Even now, she can tell when something’s bothering me just by the way I say hello on the phone.”
“That’s beautiful,” Sophie says softly. Then she grins. “My mom is very tuned in too. But she’s more likely to sense when I’m wearing last season’s shoes or when I skipped a Pilates class.”
I laugh. “Different worlds, huh?”
“Very,” she agrees. “I like hearing about yours, though.”
The way she says it makes my chest tighten. I watch her for a moment, the words I’ve been holding back for days sitting heavy on my tongue. Finally, I take the plunge.
“Can we talk about the morning you bolted from my place like it was on fire?” I keep my voice light, even though my heart’s pounding.
She stills, color rising in her cheeks. “I told you. I had class.”
“Angel.” I reach across the table, my fingers ghosting over her wrist where I once wrote my number. “What we have isn’t just for show. Not for me. And the way you react when I touch you—I can tell it’s real for you too.”
She meets my eyes then, and the vulnerability there nearly stops my heart.
“I know you’re being careful.” I lower my voice, leaning closer. “But I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to. ”
The server approaches before she can respond, tablet in hand. Sophie opts for sparkling water with lime, explaining she has an early class tomorrow. I follow her lead. It’s a good idea to keep alcohol to a minimum during the season.
“And to eat?” the server prompts.
“I’ll have the octopus,” I say, then watch as Sophie scans the menu one last time.
“The burrata to start,” she decides, “and then the handmade cavatelli with wild mushrooms.”
God, even the way she orders pasta explodes my brain.
“Not a big fan of seafood,” she murmurs apologetically, as if I would take it personally that she didn’t take my suggestion. In fact, I love it that she has her own mind and won’t be influenced by the opinions of others.
Once the server leaves, Sophie leans forward, her voice barely above a whisper, “We can’t, Liam. You know we can’t.”
“Why?”
“Where do I even start? My father would make your life hell.”
I lean in, matching her posture. “I’ll handle your dad. I told you that on the first day we met.”
“Can you? Because your coach will want to murder you for dating his daughter.” She sighs heavily, then adds quietly, “And it won’t be just the two of us who will be affected. It’s the whole team that will suffer.” She pauses. “Besides, I’m trying to focus on med school.”
“Those aren’t reasons, Sophie. Those are excuses.”
A group of twenty-somethings at the next table are not-so-subtly taking photos. Sophie notices and sits back slightly as the server places the plates with our food in front of us. Once he leaves, she leans forward again. “See? This is what our life would be like. Constant attention, everyone watching, rooting for the playboy hockey star to break the coach’s daughter’s heart.”
“Is that what you’re afraid of?”
Her eyes glisten. “No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know, Liam. I just...I can’t afford distractions right now.”
“I’m a distraction?”
“You know you are.” She fidgets with her napkin. “Every time you’re near me, I can barely think straight.”
Heat floods my body at her admission. “Good. Because I feel exactly the same about you.”
“Liam...”
“Tell me this thing between us is ordinary,” I challenge her.
Her fork stills mid-twirl, and for a moment, she doesn’t say anything. She just looks at me, her green eyes wide, like she’s waiting for me to blink and laugh it off. For a moment, I see everything I’m feeling reflected back at me—the want, the fear, the possibilities.
“No, this is not ordinary,” she whispers finally.
“Then stop resisting. Say yes, angel.”
She shakes her head, but I can see her resolve wavering.
“Liam.” Her voice is soft, her fingers still fidgeting. “I don’t want to get...sidetracked right now. Med school is my priority. It’s what I want to do. It’s important.”
“I know,” I say, my voice steady, even as my chest tightens. “And I’m not asking you to change that. I’d never ask you to give up who you are.”
She tilts her head, skeptical. “What are you saying?”
“Give us a chance,” I say simply. “A real one.”
Her lips press together, and I can see the walls she’s trying to keep up crumble. “And what happens when it gets complicated?” she asks. “When my dad finds out and loses his shit? Or when the media decides to make me their next headline? I can’t say I enjoyed my face being projected on all the screens during the last game I went to.”
I lean back, taking a moment before responding. “It’s complicated, I know. Your dad already wants to murder me most days, and the media’s already got their eyes trained on us. But none of that changes how I feel about you.” I pause, my voice softening. “Look, I’m not saying it’ll be easy. But I’m saying it’s worth it.”
Her fingers finally stop fidgeting. “Worth it,” she repeats, like she’s testing the weight of the words.
“Yeah,” I say, leaning in again. “Let’s do this, angel.”
Her breath catches, and I can see the crack in her armor deepen. “What if you change your mind?” she says, but her voice is quieter now, less sure. “What if this gets messy?”
I reach across the table, my hand hovering until she nods, letting me take hers. Her skin is warm and soft under my fingers, and I give her a gentle squeeze.
“I get why you’re scared,” I say. “You’ve worked your ass off to get here. You’ve got big dreams, and you don’t want anything—or anyone—getting in your way.” I take a breath, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. “But I’m not here to derail you, Sophie. I’m here because with you, I feel whole.” Her lips part slightly, but no sound comes out. I press on. “You think I’ll run the second things get hard? Then you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” My voice lowers, more serious now. “I don’t give up when things get hard. Not on the ice, not with my family, and sure as hell not with you.”
She’s staring at me like she doesn’t know whether to believe me. And I get it—she’s got every reason to be cautious. But I’ll be damned if I let her slip through my fingers.
“Just give me this,” I say, my voice almost a whisper. “ One chance to prove that I’m in this for real. And if you change your mind—if I let you down—I’ll let you walk away. No hard feelings. No strings.”
Sophie blinks, her green eyes glassy now, like she’s fighting back tears. Her hand tightens around mine, and for a moment, the restaurant fades away. The clinking silverware, the murmured conversations, even the flashes of phones from the next table—it all disappears.
It’s just her and me.
“You’re too good at this,” she murmurs, her voice trembling. “You know just the right things to say.”
I smirk, but it’s soft and careful. “I’m not just saying them, angel. I mean every word.”
She exhales a shaky breath. “Okay,” she whispers.
“Okay?”
“Okay, I’ll give us a chance,” she says, her voice stronger now, but her eyes are still searching mine, like she’s waiting for me to flinch or backpedal.
But I don’t. I just grin, unable to stop the rush of relief flooding my chest.
“You won’t regret it,” I promise, my voice steady with conviction.
“I better not,” she counters, but there’s a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips now.
I lift her hand to my mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. I’ve won this round. But as she pulls her hand back, the way she looks at me tells me she’s not all in just yet. And that’s okay.
Because I’ve already decided I’m going to give her every reason to trust me.
“Speaking of family,” I say after a pause, needing to change the topic, “you’ll get to meet my sister Erin tonight at the concert. She’s doing an internship with Death of Classical . She plays the cello.”
Sophie’s eyes light up. “That’s amazing! She’s been playing for a long time?”
“Yeah, since she was six. She was a tiny kid with this massive instrument.” I smile at the memory. “Mom and Dad couldn’t afford lessons at first, but she got a scholarship at the community music school. Now she’s at Brooklyn College, studying music performance. She’ll graduate in June.”
“You’re proud of her.” Sophie smiles.
“Course I am. She’s got real talent. Plus,” I lean in conspiratorially, “she and Kieran are the only ones who know all my embarrassing childhood stories, so I have to stay on her good side.”
Sophie laughs, leaning in too. “Oh? Any previews of these embarrassing stories?” She’s close enough now that I can see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. Close enough that all I’d have to do is lean forward just a little more...
The server appears with our dessert menus, breaking the moment. Sophie sits back, her cheeks flushed. The interruption lingers between us like a curtain drawn too soon, but I’m not ready to let the moment slip away. Sophie leans back in her chair, cheeks pink and lips slightly parted.
And all I can think of is how much I need to erase the distance between us.
“It’s way past my bedtime,” Sophie says as we pull up to Green-Wood Cemetery. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into a ten o’clock performance. ”
“Live a little, angel.” I grin, helping her out of the car. “Besides, classical music is meant to be enjoyed after dark.”
“It’s winter, Liam. It gets dark at five.” She laughs as she takes my hand and follows me to theiron gates of Green-Wood, Gothic and imposing in the moonlight. A small group of people are gathering near the entrance, all dressed in that particular Brooklyn way that screams “we’re artsy but pretending not to try too hard.”
“This way.” I guide Sophie along the candlelit path that winds through the cemetery. The flames flicker in the light breeze, casting dancing shadows on the ancient headstones. Sophie moves closer to me, her hand tightening on my arm.
“Scared?” I tease.
She scoffs, but doesn’t let go. “Please. I’ve seen way scarier things in the anatomy lab.”
We descend the stairs into the catacombs, cool air enveloping us. The underground space is lit by hundreds of candles, creating an ethereal atmosphere. The stone walls and arched ceilings amplify every footstep.
I spot Erin setting up near the small stage area, her cello case propped against the wall. She catches my eye and waves excitedly.
“Tonight’s program is all Russian composers,” I tell Sophie as we find our seats. “Rachmaninoff, Tchaikovsky, some others I probably can’t pronounce. Erin’s doing a solo piece.”
“This is,” Sophie looks around in wonder, taking in the candles, the architecture, and the intimate setting, “incredible.”
“Wait till you hear the music,” I murmur, my lips close to her ear. I feel her shiver, and it’s not from the cold.
The space only holds about fifty people, and we’re close enough to see the musicians’ expressions. As the first notes of Rachmaninoff’s Cello Sonata fill the catacombs, I watch Sophie’s face illuminated by candlelight. Her eyes are closed, lips slightly parted, completely lost in the music.
She’s never looked more beautiful.
And suddenly I’m not thinking about social media or her father or anyone who might be watching us. I’m just a guy, sitting in a centuries-old catacomb, falling hard for a girl who’s trying her best to keep her heart whole.
When Erin steps forward for her solo, my chest swells with pride. My baby sister, all grown up in her sleek concert gown, looking serious and professional, breathtaking. She adjusts her cello, takes a deep breath, and begins to play Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1.
Deep, resonant notes fill the space, bouncing off the stone walls. Erin’s completely transformed when she plays, gone is my goofy little sister who used to chase me around. In her place is a poised, graceful musician. Her eyes are closed, body swaying slightly with the music, completely lost in the piece.
I glance at Sophie and find her transfixed, her lips slightly parted in wonder. When Erin hits a particularly beautiful passage, Sophie’s hand finds mine in the darkness, squeezing gently.
After the final piece, we make our way backstage—well, as much of a backstage as you can have in century-old catacombs. Erin’s carefully packing up her cello, but her face lights up when she spots us.
“Liam!” she squeals, launching herself at me for a hug. Then she turns to Sophie, her eyes sparkling. “You must be the famous Sophie! I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Your performance was incredible,” Sophie gushes. “That Bach piece was heart-stoppingly beautiful. It’s one of my favorites. ”
Erin beams. “Thanks! I was terrified. The acoustics in the catacombs are tricky. One wrong note, and the ghosts might revolt.” She wiggles her eyebrows dramatically. “Though I guess they’re probably used to terrible music by now. Speaking of, you should hear Liam sing in the shower.”
“Hey!” I protest, but Sophie’s already giggling.
“Oh really? Do tell.”
“Don’t encourage her,” I groan.
“He used to do these dramatic renditions of ‘All Star’ by Smash Mouth,” Erin stage-whispers. “Complete with air guitar solos.”
Sophie’s eyes dance with mischief. “Please tell me there’s video evidence.”
“Unfortunately, big brother here threatened to use my cello bow as a hockey stick if I ever recorded him.”
“I did no such thing!” I defend. “But I did threaten to tell Mom about the time you snuck out to that concert in Manhattan.”
“I was going to see Yo-Yo Ma!” Erin protests. “It was educational. And inspiring!”
“At midnight? On a school night?”
Sophie watches our bickering with obvious delight. “I’m loving this.”
Erin laughs. “Remember the Great Spaghetti War of 2015?”
I groan. “We don’t talk about the Spaghetti War.”
“Now this I have to hear,” Sophie says, leaning forward eagerly.
“Another time,” Erin promises with a wink. “When my brother isn’t here to defend himself. We’ll do coffee, just us girls. I’ll bring photos.”
“What photos?” I ask, suddenly alarmed.
“The ones Mom keeps in that pink album under her bed,” Erin says innocently. “You know, from your scene kid phase?”
“I never had a scene phase!”
“The swoopy bangs and skinny jeans say otherwise, big brother.”
Sophie’s practically crying with laughter now. “Oh my God, please tell me you had guy-liner too.”
“That’s it, we’re leaving,” I announce, but I can’t keep the grin off my face. Watching the two women bond over my embarrassing past shouldn’t make me this happy, but it does.
Sophie wipes tears from her eyes, then unsuccessfully tries to stifle a yawn. “I really should get going. Morning anatomy labs wait for no one.”
“Of course! Go, go!” Erin pulls Sophie into a warm hug. “But we’re definitely getting that coffee. I have so many more stories to share.”
“Don’t you dare,” I warn, but my heart’s not in it. The way Sophie’s looking at me now, all soft and amused, makes me think maybe a few embarrassing stories are worth it.