Thirty-Three
THIRTY-THREE
SOPHIE
I broke down in Liam’s arms when I left Dad's room. The weight of it all hit me at once, overwhelming and inescapable. I don’t think I could settle on just one emotion because I felt them all—relief that, even briefly, my father had seen me; sadness for the sudden nature of those moments; fear that it might be a long time before I find him like that again; and hope—fragile and bright—that a part of him is still there, holding onto me in the ways that matter most.
He even remembered that I’d sent him photos of my tattoos and asked to see them. I showed him the small forget-me-not behind my ear, and as much as he dislikes tattoos, I think he might actually like this one. But there was one tattoo I couldn’t show him—the one I share with Liam, the one we have inked on our fingers. I’d covered it, kept it hidden, but it’s still there, close to me always.
Liam didn’t say anything when I cried, just held me tighter, his hand running soothingly over my back as I let it all out. It wasn’t until much later, when my tears had dried and the world felt still again, that I realized how much I needed him here, in this moment.
“How are you feeling, Soph?” Liam leans toward me in the back of the cab, his gaze kind, knowing. We’re supposed to make two stops—one at my apartment and one at his. Originally, I only had a half day off, but after leaving Dad, Liam insisted I take the whole day to rest. But Adeline isn’t home; she’s at work, and the idea of being alone right now fills me with a strange hollowness I’m afraid to explore.
“I’m good,” I answer, knowing he doesn’t believe me, but he lets me have my words, lets me feel what I need to feel.
“Liam?” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes?”
“Can I come with you?” The words slip out, fragile and hesitant, as though I’m testing the air between us. Do I even have the right to ask? My voice feels too small, too exposed, but I can’t take it back. I need someone. I need him. He’s the only one who can keep me standing when my knees feel weak enough to buckle. The one who stays, even when I’ve given him every reason to walk away. Let’s be honest—he’s upset with me. Very upset. But he’s Liam. And that means something. It always has.
My throat tightens as I whisper, “I don’t want to be alone,” my gaze flickering to his, searching for something—anything—but I drop it before I can see too much. Rejection. Indifference. Or worse, pity. I couldn’t survive pity from him.
Liam’s expression softens, worry flickering in his eyes like a shadow he can’t quite hide. He reaches out, his large hand enveloping mine. His thumb brushes gentle, steady circles over my knuckles, an anchor in the storm swirling inside me.
“You never have to be alone, Sunshine,” he murmurs, his voice quiet but filled with a depth that wraps around me like a safety net. There’s no hesitation, no doubt, just a promise spoken as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Of course, you can come with me. For as long as you need.
The last time I was in his apartment, I was sneaking out, doing the classic walk of shame, leaving him in bed like a ghost slipping into daylight. But now, as I stand beside him, watching him open the door to his sleek, modern penthouse, it feels different—solid, real even.
He has one of those high-tech password locks that clicks open with a soft beep, and I catch the sequence he types in: ninety-four, twenty-two, zero, six . My birthday. A small smile settles on my lips, and a flicker of something unnameable stirs in my chest. I feel cherished, even if he’d never say it out loud. But I don’t say anything either—this is for him, not for me.
The door swings inward, the soft lighting and clean lines of his space welcoming us like an unspoken promise.
“How about you jump in the shower and relax a little?” Liam suggests, his voice is a gentle caress and all I want is to lean into him. “I’ll order us some ramen for lunch.”
The suggestion is like music to my ears; he knows ramen is my comfort food, especially Szechuan ramen, my favorite. It’s the perfect antidote for a rough day, the warmth seeping into you from the inside out, is the best medicine for a broken soul.
“Okay,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips, grateful for how well he knows me.
A shower actually sounds perfect. Liam leads me to the en suite bathroom in his bedroom and leaves me to it. I pull my hair free from its tight ponytail, and it springs up wildly, sticking out in all directions. I look like I’ve been electrocuted—fantastic.
I strip off my clothes and step into his very modern shower, eyeing the buttons and controls like they’re part of some spaceship. What is all this? I press the first button I see, and a jet of ice-cold water rains down from the ceiling.
“AAAHH!” I yelp, darting to the far side of the shower, desperately trying to escape the icy assault. The shower’s huge—big enough for two—but right now, I’m just trying to survive this cold-water ambush.
“Are you okay?!” Liam’s voice calls out, amusement lacing his words.
“Yeah, just got ambushed by freezing water!”
He laughs. “If you look to the right, there’s a handle. Just turn it to adjust the temperature.”
I find the handle, turning it to warm. Finally, blessed warmth fills the space.
“Why was it set to freezing?” I call out.
A beat of silence. Then he replies, “I needed a cold shower.”
I can almost hear the grin in his voice, and my cheeks heat up, a smile tugging at my lips. The innuendo is clear, and I can’t help but laugh, been there done that, buddy. Many times.
I continue pressing two other buttons–number five and seven–out of curiosity and am once again assaulted by jets—this time from the side and the floor. One shoots straight up my ass and I scream again, pressing the same two buttons to make the harassment stop. Apparently, I don’t know the saying that curiosity killed the cat. I just had to press and find out.
When I reach for Liam’s shampoo, the scent fills the air, washing over me like a whisper of the past. It smells exactly like him—clean and warm—and I pause, letting it linger a moment longer than I should, as if it’s grounding me in a way I didn’t expect. After rinsing it out, I glance at the shelf, searching for conditioner, not expecting much.
But my fingers catch on a bottle, and I blink, staring at it. It’s my favorite brand. The one I used to buy back in Spain. A strange warmth unfurls in my chest as I turn it over in my hands. He remembered. After all this time, he still remembered. It’s such a small thing, almost insignificant, but it feels like a thread connecting us—something he held onto, even when I thought everything between us had unraveled. For a moment, I just stand there, the weight of it sinking in, unsure what to do with the emotions curling inside me.
Once I’m finished, I step out and wrap myself in the big, fluffy towel he gave me, but I quickly realize I don’t have any clothes to wear. But Liam does. This is probably very inappropriate, but I have no other choice. I can’t sit around naked in a towel eating ramen with him.
I walk to his closet, a sprawling walk-in lined with oak, complete with a chaise lounge in the center. It’s every girl’s dream.
It’s fancy, organized, and very much Liam. You wouldn’t believe it, but Liam likes it neat and he loves quiet luxury. His suits hang in neat rows—black, gray, navy. Crisp white shirts are lined up beside them, and even his T-shirts are hung up, everything meticulously arranged. I open a glass-fronted drawer, finding a row of luxury watches. I remember how much he loved watches; back then, he had a couple of Rolexes, each tied to a specific goal. Now, he has over ten, including a Patek Philippe. A smile spreads across my face. He’s done well, reached his goals, and a sense of pride warms me.
Finally, I find what I’m looking for—sweatpants. I slip into a pair of gray ones and grab one of his T-shirts, pulling it over my head. It’s soft and smells like him, and I feel surprisingly at ease in his clothes.
“They look better on you than they do on me.”
Startled, I whip my head toward his voice, finding him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me. My heart stutters as I instinctively tuck my left hand behind my back, shielding the uncovered tattoo before he can see it. The concealer in my bag will fix it later—just not now. The dim light catches on his jawline, sharp and shadowed, and the way his T-shirt clings to his broad shoulders feels almost unfair. He’s in sweatpants that hang low on his hips, casual yet devastating, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. There’s something about him like this—relaxed but utterly commanding—that makes it hard to look away. Mouth-watering.
It feels almost too intimate. Yet, how it should be.
“I hope you don’t mind,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended as I tug at the hem of his T-shirt. “I didn’t have a change of clothes.”
“Not at all.” His eyes hold mine, a small smile playing at his lips. “I like seeing you in my clothes.”
Silence falls between us, a charged energy filling the air as we take each other in. It’s like everything unsaid is hanging there, electric. Then he clears his throat, breaking the spell. “Food’s here. Let’s eat, and then I want you to rest up a bit.”
He ordered four different kinds of ramen, including my favorite, Szechuan, saying he wanted me to have options. But he didn’t stop there—there was also sushi, spring rolls, dumplings, and loads of tempura. We sat on the floor by his coffee table, surrounded by steaming bowls and plates, eating until we were full, just talking..
We talked about my dad, shared memories, and everything we’d been up to these past few years—years we hadn’t spoken. It was mostly work for both of us—long hours and packed schedules, with Liam traveling a bit more than me. Each story, each small laugh, each memory filled the room with a warm, easy comfort, as if no time had passed at all.
Now we’re talking about embarrassing stories.
“Micah and I took a guys’ trip to Thailand,” Liam continues, his turn to tell me a story, a grin already spreading across his face. “We spent the day exploring these insanely crowded street markets, buying stuff we definitely didn’t need. We chose Thailand because Micah wanted a ‘real Muay Thai experience,’ and, well, I was just being a good friend.” He chuckles, rubbing his shoulder as if he can still feel it. “Brutal, by the way,” he adds, rubbing his shoulder as if the memory still stings.
“Muay Thai in Thailand? Sounds like you got your ass kicked.”
“Oh, ass kicked is an understatement,” he chuckles. ”But trust me, that wasn’t even the interesting part. So, after that, our guide leaves us at a beach for a bit. Promises he’ll be back in, like, an hour.”
I narrow my eyes, sensing something’s up. “And let me guess… this wasn’t a regular beach?”
He gives me a sheepish smile. “Yeah, turns out it was a nude beach.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No way! You surprise me, Liam. You don’t exactly look like a nude beach kind of guy.”
“Well, that’s what Micah said at first too,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “But, you know, there weren't that many people around, so we thought, ‘What the heck, we’re in Thailand, right?’ So, we decided to…you know…embrace it. Stripped down and went for a swim. The water was perfect, like the kind you’d see on a postcard.”
I raise an eyebrow, trying to picture him like that. ”So, you’re telling me you both went all in?”
“Yup.” He laughs, eyes twinkling. “It was great…until our guide came back and started laughing his head off.”
“Oh no.” I cover my mouth, holding back laughter. “What happened then?”
Liam leans in, his voice lowering as if he’s letting me in on a secret. “We walk out of the water, trying to cover ourselves, and…no clothes. No phones. Nothing. Our guide couldn’t stop laughing, saying something about ‘real experiences.’ Meanwhile, Micah and I are furious, asking him where our stuff went.”
I’m already laughing, shaking my head. “So, what did you do?”
He grins. “Well, our only option? We had to buy something from the only stall on the beach.”
“Oh god, please don’t tell me it was something embarrassing.”
“Oh, it was.” He can barely hold back his own laughter now. “The only thing they sold were these hideous, bright pink sarongs. They had cartoon elephants on them and the words ‘Hot Stuff in Thailand.’”
I burst out laughing, clutching my stomach. “No! Please, please tell me there are photos.”
Liam groans, running a hand down his face, but his smile gives him away. “Unfortunately, there might be one or two, thanks to our guide and his amazing timing.”
I laugh even harder, picturing the scene. “That’s it. I need to see those someday. ‘Hot Stuff in Thailand,’ huh? Definitely your finest moment.”
He shrugs, chuckling. “Hey, when in Thailand…”
I wipe a tear from my eye, still laughing. “Please, tell me more. I need more of these stories.”
Liam shakes his head, grinning. “You get one of these per week.”
“Per week?” I give him a playful pout.
“Okay, maybe two, if you play nice,” he concedes, his voice softening just enough to make me smile. “But it’s time for you to rest. It’s been a tough day, and it’s already evening. We’ve been talking for hours.”
He tries to steer me toward his room, his hand warm and steady on my back, but I catch his arm and stop him. The thought of being alone right now feels unbearable, and the silence is too heavy to face.
“How about we rest together on the sofa, watching a movie?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light, even though my insides feel like a tangled mess. I offer him a hopeful smile, adding a playful bat of my lashes for good measure. It’s a little shameless, I know, but I can’t help myself. I need him close—his steady presence, his warmth—without having to admit how much.
For a moment, he just looks at me, his expression unreadable, and I brace myself for a refusal. This man really wants me to rest. Then he sighs, a sound that’s both exasperated and fond, before shaking his head. The corners of his mouth lift into a small, lopsided smile, one that does something I can’t quite name to the space between my ribs.
“As if I can say no to you,” he mutters.