Thirty-One
THIRTY-ONE
LIAM
I dodge Micah’s right hook at the last second, relieved I don’t get another blow to the face. It was about time Micah and I met face-to-face, considering I’ve used his name in every single lie since I got to New York.
We’ve been at it for the past hour, rounding off our workout with some sparring. It’s the perfect release—when he’s not actually trying to knock me out. Micah is a seasoned Thai boxer, and every time we’re in the same town, we squeeze in a workout.
I duck another jab, but the next one’s faster, catching me square in the face.
“Oh shit!” he blurts as I throw up both hands in a time-out. Pain radiates from my nose across my face, sharp and unignorable.
“Pretty sure you just broke my nose, man,” I say, shaking off my gloves and pressing my fingers to my nose. Sure enough, there’s blood. Great.
“Can someone get some ice?” he calls, and we both collapse onto the corner of the ring.
“Sorry, Liam,” he says, running a hand over his face. “For a minute, I was in a real fight.”
I laugh through the ache. “Yeah, you don’t say.” A young kid from the gym hands me an ice pack and I steady it against my nose, the cold biting into the skin and numbing the pain a little. Micah lets out a heavy sigh, the kind that’s been held in way too long. The look on his face says it all—he’s carrying something dark, something I’ve never seen in him before. There’s something up with him.
“What’s wrong, man?” I ask. We've been friends for over fifteen years; I know when he's struggling. And judging by the way he’s been throwing punches today, something's eating at him.
He rubs a hand over his face, and I catch myself thinking it again—Micah is, objectively, a ridiculously handsome guy. Yeah, I said it. His eyes are impossible to ignore—one a piercing green, the other a rich, warm brown. Add to that, his skin tone, which looks like he’s been kissed by the sun year-round, and a beard that’s always perfectly shaped, even when he swears he hasn’t touched it in days. The cherry on top? His well-earned physique from years in the ring. It’s no wonder both women and men practically line up to throw themselves at him.
Finally, he looks up, his expression...shattered. His eyes are glassy, his shoulders sagging like the fight has left him. “I don’t even know where to start,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
It doesn’t take much guessing to know who’s at the root of this. I never liked his ex—still don’t. That woman trapped him in a mess of a marriage with a pregnancy, knowing exactly what she was doing. Micah had just broken into the big leagues at the time, a world champion in Thai boxing and a rising star in the real estate game. He’s always had a knack for knowing when to buy and when to sell, quickly building a reputation as an entrepreneur with a rare eye for prime investments. And she knew. She knew she was latching on to a guy destined for success, and she did everything in her power to secure her spot on that ride.
Micah always said he could handle it. He was set on being there for his kid, and said he wanted to ‘do the right thing.’ But she’s only made things harder.
Manipulative doesn’t even begin to cover it. She was constantly throwing his success back in his face, making demands and if he hesitated even once, she’d pull the ”custody” card.
From the beginning, her eyes were always on the prize—money, status, and the material things Micah’s name could bring her. Whenever money wasn’t flowing her way, she’d dangle his son over his head as leverage. Micah always caved, hoping it would give his son a stable life. But she couldn’t care less. The kid was just a means to an end—a guarantee of cash flow for her lifestyle. It’s been brutal to watch; bit by bit, I’ve seen it erode him from the inside out.
And then, when their marriage finally broke down, it was like she was thrilled to get out, knowing she’d milked him for everything he had. She never wanted a child in the first place; he was her ticket, not her family. Micah never says it, but I can see it in his eyes—that frustration that she didn’t just hurt him, she used their son to do it.
He lets out a breath, the strain evident in his posture. “She’s back, now going for full custody,” he says finally, his tone bitter. “She wants to take my son away from me. After two years of flaunting around spending my money. She says that my life is too ‘unpredictable.’” He looks up, anger flashing in those grey eyes. “Can you believe that?”
I shake my head. “That’s ridiculous. You’re one of the most reliable guys I know, Micah.”
“Tell that to her lawyers. She’s got them ready to drag out every fight I’ve had—every fight I’ve been in, every business trip I’ve taken. They’re set to make it look like I can’t provide a stable home for Theo.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustration radiating off him. “She’s trying to tear it all down, maybe to prove some point—or to squeeze more money out of me. I don’t even know anymore.”
I grip his shoulder, feeling his tension. “We’ll figure this out, man. This isn’t over. I might know a lawyer that could make a real difference here.”
If I remember right, Adeline’s dad is one of the top family attorneys in the state—maybe even the country. He’ll tear this custody case apart. His expertise is exactly what Micah needs right now.
Before he can respond, a cute voice cuts through the hum of the gym. ”Oh, okay, by the boxing ring—thank you, sir.” I turn and spot Sophie, dressed in a pair of light blue tights and a sporty T-shirt, her eyes searching the room.
Why is she dressed like—oh, hell. I told her I’d go on a run with her today. Don’t ask me why I suggested it. I hate running. But, I’d use any excuse to spend more time with her outside of the office, which is where we’ve spent most time. Not that I’m complaining—the time we’ve spent in the office has been...distracting, to say the least.
Her gaze lands on me, and her brow furrows immediately. She tilts her head, taking a step closer, her voice soft but sharp with concern. “What happened to you?” Her eyes flick down to my shirt, where a streak of blood stains the fabric. “Why are you bleeding?”
Her hands reach up, brushing over my face, and I can’t help it—I smile. She actually cares more than she’ll admit.
I glance down, wiping my chin with the back of my hand, as if that would somehow make the dripping bloody mess disappear. “It’s nothing,” I say quickly, my voice brushing the edge of casual, though the sting in my side tells a different story.
Her eyebrows shoot up, her lips parting slightly. “Why are you smiling?” she asks, her voice tinged with confusion, maybe even a little suspicion.
I hold her gaze, the corners of my mouth curling further, but I don’t answer. Not yet. She doesn’t need to know what’s spinning in my head—not until I’m ready to tell her.
But soon enough, Sophie Anderson, you’ll know too. It’s you and me.
Micah steps in, extending his hand. “I might’ve accidentally clocked him,” he says with a sheepish grin. “I'm Micah, by the way.”
Sophie takes his hand, a playful spark lighting up her eyes as she glances between me and Micah. “Oh, so you’re actually a real person,” she says, her voice laced with teasing amusement. A soft laugh escapes her, and Micah’s brow furrows as he shoots me a sharp what-the-hell look.
I just smirk and wave him off, fully aware of what she means. She’s been hearing his name in every story I’ve told, and now, finally, he’s standing in front of her.
“Hi, I’m Sophie. And lucky you—I’ve been wanting to smack him once or twice myself.”
My smile falters as I sputter, “Heeey!”
They both ignore me completely, and Micah’s usual charming grin is firmly in place, though I catch the glint of mischief in his eye—he knows exactly what he’s doing. “So you’re the Sophie Liam never shut up about. I gotta say, I see why.” His gaze flickers over her, a harmless once-over, but it hits a nerve. Even though it’s just Micah being Micah, I don’t like it. Not one bit. I know how everyone looks at Sophie—like she’s a prize, a dream just out of reach. And the thought of anyone else getting ideas? No. She’s mine. Only mine. Even though she doesn’t accept it yet.
She glances at Micah, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “He speaks about me?”
“Never shuts up,” Micah replies, that smirk widening as he throws me a look that makes my fists itch to hit something again.
I clear my throat, trying to reel in the possessiveness bubbling up. “Alright, I think we’re done here. Let’s go, Soph.” I toss the ice pack aside and grab her hand, almost dragging her toward the locker room.
“Okay. Bye, Micah. It was nice meeting you!” she calls over her shoulder with a chuckle, clearly amused by my reaction.
Micah’s laugh follows us down the hallway, echoing with a knowing tone. When I glance back, he’s grinning, shooting me a look that screams, You’re in deep, buddy. And yes, yes I am.
“Liam, this is the men’s locker room,” she says, crossing her arms and casting a wary glance around.
“Don’t worry, no one’s coming in. They all saw me dragging you in here,” I reply, smirking as a blush spreads across her cheeks.
Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “And what exactly do they think we’re going to do in here?”
“Nothing like that,” I say, shrugging with mock innocence. I pause, my gaze dipping to her lips, letting the silence stretch. “Unless, of course, you want to...”
Her blush deepens, but she smirks, deflecting as she lightly swats my shoulder. “You’re terrible.”
I grin. “Kidding.” I’m not.
She reaches out, her fingers brushing softly across my face, her touch gentle and warm. But then she seems to catch herself, pulling her hand back and letting it fall, fingers curling restlessly at her side. I miss the touch instantly, that fleeting comfort gone too soon.
She sighs, her eyes lingering on the bruise spreading across my nose. “Seriously, we should get your face checked.”
“It’s fine. It stopped bleeding.” I wave it off. “For a second, I thought it might be broken, but I don’t think it is. It just aches a bit, nothing major.” I start moving toward the lockers, already pulling at my shirt. “Let me just change, and we’ll go on that run.”
“Liam, you shouldn’t be running after being hit in the face, especially if you thought you broke your nose.”
I pause, glancing over my shoulder with a smirk, “Oh? So, what do you suggest we do instead?”
She opens her mouth, a sharp retort clearly forming, but the words never come. Her gaze betrays her, sliding down as I pull off my shirt in one smooth motion. The air shifts. Her breath catches—just barely—but enough for me to notice.
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, fingers nervously twisting at the hem of her own top as if she’s not sure what to do with herself. Her eyes drag back up to mine, the soft pink on her cheeks deepening into something more heated, more telling.
Despite her attempt to hold her ground, I see her falter, the flush creeping further down her neck. I take a slow step closer, the space between us charged with something unspoken, my grin widening.
“Like what you see?” I murmur, my voice low, teasing—but heavy with intent.
Her lips part, but she doesn’t respond, and I can’t decide if she’s speechless or just too stubborn to give me the satisfaction. Either way, I’m not backing down.
She quickly looks away, shrugging, but her voice is softer. “How about…you take a quick shower, and we go for a late breakfast instead?”
I reach out, brushing a loose strand of her sunshine hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering just a second too long, the soft strands like silk against my skin. “That sounds perfect,” I say, my voice dropping lower, rougher, “unless, of course, you’d rather take me up on that other offer.” I throw in a slow wink, unable to hide the way I drink in her every reaction.
Her laugh bubbles out, warm and addictive, wrapping around me like a drug I can’t quit. She playfully smacks my chest, her touch light but lingering. That easy moment, her guard down, her cheeks flushed—it undoes me.
Before I even realize what I’m doing, I lean in, my lips brushing hers in a soft, chaste kiss that somehow feels anything but. It’s tentative and fleeting, but the heat between us ignites instantly, humming just beneath the surface.
“I’ll be quick,” I murmur against her lips, savoring the way her breath hitches, her eyes wide with something I don’t need her to say out loud.
“Okay,” she whispers, her breath warm against my lips. And I can’t resist—I lean in, stealing one more kiss, this time lingering just a beat longer before pulling away. I step back, catching her eyes one last time before letting the cool shower water wash over me, easing the heat of the moment…for now.