Chapter 7 Liam
The bridge was visible from the boathouse dock.
Emily stood near the middle, hands shoved in her jacket pockets, staring down at the water.
My chest felt lighter than it had in days.
This morning on the water with Alex—the perfect synchronization, the way our blades had moved like we'd been born for it, the heat that had built between us even in a goddamn boat—it was still humming under my skin. Electric. Real in a way nothing with Emily had felt in months.
And now she wanted to talk.
Good.
Because I'd been thinking too. About what I wanted. About the fact that we'd been on a "break" and honestly? This was probably what I needed. No more forcing myself to be present when my head was somewhere else. No more guilt every time we did anything.
She deserved better than what I'd been giving her.
I could tell her that. Be honest—well, honest enough. I'm not ready for a relationship right now. You deserve someone who can give you what you need.
Clean. Simple. The mature thing to do.
I started across the bridge. Footsteps echoing on the wood. The river moved beneath us, dark blue-black in the late morning light. Both boathouses visible downstream—Riverside's beat-up dock, Kingswell's glass and stone monument sitting pretty across the way.
I didn't look at it long.
Emily turned when she heard me coming.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey."
She shifted, arms still crossed like she was holding something in. Her face was harder than I was used to seeing, not anger but frustrated.
"Thanks for meeting me."
"Yeah. Of course."
"I've been thinking about what happened," she said.
Here it was. The opening I needed.
"Emily, look—"
"Let me finish." Her voice had an edge I wasn't expecting. "You lied to me, Liam. About everything that happened that night. And in the hallway—"
She stopped. Swallowed.
"You looked guilty."
The word hit wrong. Made my shoulders tense.
"I know I fucked up," I said. Came out rougher than I meant it to. "I shouldn't have lied about the break-in."
"Are you sorry you lied? Or just sorry I caught you?"
Heat crawled up the back of my neck. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I don't know if I can trust you anymore."
The accusation hung between us.
My plan—the mature breakup speech I'd been rehearsing—started dissolving. Because she was looking at me like I was the bad guy here. Like I'd committed some crime when all I'd done was help delete a fucking video to save my own ass.
"You don't trust me?"
"Should I?"
"Yeah, actually. You should." My voice was getting louder. I could hear it but couldn't stop it. "I didn't do anything except try to fix a problem."
"What happened that night?" Her eyes locked on mine. "With Alex."
My heart hammered. Wrong rhythm. Too fast.
"We deleted the video. That's what happened."
"And?"
"And nothing."
"Then why did you look like that when I found you? You weren't just close to him, Liam. You were touching his chest. I saw your hand on him."
Shit.
She'd seen more than I thought.
"I was about to push him." The lie came automatically. "We were arguing about Riverside, typical Kingswell superiority bullshit. Then I saw you coming and didn't want it to turn violent."
Emily shook her head. Small movement. Like she wanted to believe me but couldn't quite get there.
"What's the deal with you two?"
"Rivalry shit. That's all."
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not lying."
"Then look me in the eye and tell me there's nothing going on between you and Alex."
The challenge sat there.
I should have done it. Should have looked her in the eye and said the words. But the way she'd phrased it—nothing going on—made my chest tight. Made the defensive anger surge.
"What do you think is going on?" The words came out sharp. "You think I'm gay? Is that what this is about?"
Emily's eyes widened slightly. "I didn't say that."
"But that's what you're thinking, right? That's why you're asking about Alex. Because you think there's something—what? Romantic? Between me and some Kingswell asshole?"
"Liam—"
"It's rivalry shit, Emily. Competitive weirdness.
Adrenaline. That's it." I could hear myself spiraling—voice getting louder, meaner, doing the thing I always did when someone got too close to something I wasn't ready to look at.
"Yeah, I got too close in that hallway. Because I was about to shove him. Not because—"
I stopped. Jaw clenched.
"Not because what?"
"Nothing. Forget it."
Silence. Cold air between us.
"You want to know what's going on?" I looked back at her. "Nothing. But it doesn't matter because you don't believe me anyway."
Her face changed. Hurt flashing sharp across it.
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it? You've already decided I'm lying. Already made up your mind. So what's the point?"
"I want you to be honest with me."
"I am being honest."
"You're not." Her voice cracked. "You shut me out. Every time I try to get close, you pull away. And I keep telling myself it's just how you are. That you need space. That if I'm patient enough, you'll eventually let me in."
She wiped at her face with the back of her hand. Quick. Angry at herself for crying.
"But you won't, will you? You're never going to let me in."
The guilt hit like a fist.
She was right. She'd been right all along and I'd been too much of a coward to admit it.
"I'm sorry." My voice came out rough. "Emily, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
"Didn't mean what? To shut me out? To make me feel crazy for asking questions?"
She looked away toward the water. Arms crossing again. Protecting herself.
From me.
"I fucked up." The words felt inadequate. "I've been fucking up for a while. You deserve better than what I've been giving you."
She didn't respond. Kept staring at the water.
"And you're right. About all of it. I do shut you out. I don't let you in. And it's not fair to you."
Silence.
"Emily, please look at me."
She did. Slowly. Red eyes. Blotchy cheeks. Hurt that I'd put there.
My chest ached.
"I care about you," I said, quieter. "I do. And I hate that I keep hurting you."
"Then why do you do it?"
Because I don't know how to be what you need. Because every time you try to get close, I panic. Because I'm so fucked up inside that I can't even—
"I don't know," I said. "I'm sorry. I don't know."
Her face crumpled slightly. Like she'd been hoping for a different answer.
"I don't know if I can trust you again," she said. Brutal honesty. "You lied. You shut me out. When I try to be close, you pull away."
"I know."
"But I want to try." Something vulnerable breaking through the hurt. "If you want to. I want to see if we can fix this."
Wait... what?
The relief I'd been expecting—the clean break, the mature ending—evaporated.
"You want to fix this?" I asked, confused.
"I know it's stupid." She wiped her face. "But I can't stop thinking that maybe if we actually try—really try—we could make it work."
No. This wasn't how this was supposed to go.
I'd come here planning to end it. To be honest about not being ready and let her move on.
But she was crying. Looking at me with hope and hurt tangled together. And I'd just said cruel things that made her feel small.
"Emily—"
"Not like before." She took a breath. Steadied herself. "I'm not saying we're back together. Not officially. Just... dating. Seeing where it goes. No pressure. No labels. Just us trying to figure out if this can work."
The smart thing would be to say no.
But the guilt was eating through my chest, and she was looking at me like I had the power to fix what I'd broken.
"Okay," I heard myself say.
Relief crossed her face. Hope.
It made everything worse.
"Yeah," I said. "Okay. We can try."
"I need you to be honest with me. Really honest. If you can't do that, this won't work."
I nodded. Forced myself to hold her eyes.
"I can do that."
The lie sat heavy on my tongue.
Emily looked at me for a long moment. Then nodded. Small. Reluctant but accepting.
I closed the distance between us and put my arms around her.
Not her idea—mine. Out of guilt and wanting to fix what I'd just broken with my words.
Her arms stayed at her sides for a beat. Then slowly—reluctantly—they came up around me.
She held on tight, like she was trying to hold something that kept slipping through her fingers.
She was shaking slightly. Still crying. My fault.
I pulled back enough to see her face. Red eyes. Blotchy cheeks.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I really am."
She searched my face for something. Truth, maybe. Proof that I meant it.
I kissed her.
She kissed me back.
Her lips were soft, familiar, and tasted like chapstick and salt from tears.
But something was off. Not wrong exactly. Just not right. Like putting on a jacket that used to fit but didn't anymore—sleeves too short, shoulders too tight, something fundamental changed that made it impossible to pretend nothing was different.
When I pulled back, her eyes were still searching mine.
"Okay," she said. "Let's try again."
Tell her. Right now. Tell her you didn't mean it.
I didn't.
"Yeah."
"I need to work on trusting you again. And you need to work on letting me in." She said it like a plan, like something we could fix with effort and good intentions. "We can do that, right?"
"Right."
Another lie.
Emily wiped at her face one more time, then managed a small hopeful smile.
"I should get to class. Text me later? Maybe we can get dinner this week."
"Yeah. Definitely."
She squeezed my hand and let go.
I watched her walk back toward Riverside's campus until she disappeared into the flow of students heading to class.
I leaned against the railing and looked down at the water. Dark enough that my reflection was just a vague shape against the moving current.
My phone sat heavy in my pocket.
I should text Alex. Tell him what just happened. That Emily and I were trying again. That whatever had been happening between us—
I pulled out my phone. Opened messages. Found his name.
Stared at the blank screen and thought about what I' say.
Hey, so I'm back with Emily. Saturday night was a mistake.
Except it wasn't a mistake. That was the problem. But I couldn't do it.
It's just physical, I told myself, shoving the phone back in my pocket. I don't owe him anything.
The words felt true and false at the same time.
I stood there alone on the bridge between Riverside and Kingswell. Between Emily and Alex. Between the person I was supposed to be and whoever the fuck I actually was.
I'd come here planning to end it.
Instead, I'd locked myself into lying more. Into pretending I could be what Emily needed when I couldn't even figure out what I wanted.
And I couldn't text Alex. Couldn't tell him. Couldn't close that door because some part of me wasn't ready to.
I chose Emily.
And I already knew I was going to regret it.