Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
Liam
The cold air stung my face as I walked.
I hadn’t planned on walking to Sam’s house, but I needed it. I needed the time, the distance, the movement to work through the thoughts in my head before I faced him. Because the truth was, I had no fucking clue what I was going to say.
I just knew I had to say something.
I had spent the last few weeks licking my wounds, trying to shove down the embarrassment from the Taproom.
It wasn’t just that my friends had called me out.
It was that they were right. I’d treated Sam like just another hookup or casual fuck Another fun, fleeting thing that didn’t require commitment or consequence.
But Sam was none of those things.
Sam had been my friend first.
And somewhere along the way, he had become so much more.
Sex with Sam was amazing. But being held by Sam? That was better. Holding his hand, looking into his eyes, hearing him laugh, and curling up to a shitty movie on the couch with him was all better.
He was better.
He was different.
And I had fucked it up.
I kept texting him. Calling. Trying to get him to talk to me, to meet me, to just acknowledge me in some way beyond his cold, distant responses. But Sam wasn’t playing the game anymore. His replies were minimal, his calls non-existent.
And when I finally called him out on it?
He responded with a single letter.
K.
Not OK. Not I need space or I don’t want to talk to you right now.
Just K.
I had stared at that text for an eternity, my stomach twisting, my heart dropping.
K was worse than anything else he could have said.
K meant finality.
K meant I’m done playing your games, Liam.
And I couldn’t handle it.
Not the silence, the distance, or the way everything in my life had felt off since Sam started pulling away. It was like a missing puzzle piece I’d never noticed was essential, until it was gone.
Fuck you, Joni Mitchell and your "Big Yellow Taxi".
Which was how I ended up here, walking through Havenwood at night, my hands shoved deep in my pockets, my breath visible in the crisp October air.
The streetlights cast long, golden streaks across the damp pavement, my shoes hitting the sidewalk in a steady rhythm that did nothing to quiet the storm inside me.
I needed to see him.
I needed to talk to him.
I needed something.
And, because the universe had a twisted sense of humor, it started to rain.
At first, a whisper of drizzle was soft against my skin, cool against the heat burning under my collar.
Then heavier.
A steady, relentless downpour.
Water seeped through my hoodie, dampening my jeans, pressing my clothes against my skin. The fabric clung to me like a second layer, chilling me to the bone.
It felt like a sign.
Like everything in the world was telling me to stop.
To leave it alone.
To turn around and accept the fact that maybe, just maybe, I had already lost him.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
I kept walking, feet sloshing through puddles, rain dripping from my curls into my eyes, turning the world into a blur of streetlights and shadows.
By the time I turned onto Sam’s street, my pulse was knocking, my heart in my throat.
The house was dark except for the warm glow of a single lamp in the living room window.
I hesitated, a ribbon of doubt threaded through my ribs.
What the fuck was I even going to say?
Hey, sorry I was an asshole. Sorry I’ve been running from this. Sorry I pushed you away and then got pissed when you did the same to me.
It felt pathetic. It felt too late.
But I still walked up the steps. Still curled my fist.
Still knocked. Hard. Loud. Waited. Nothing.
I knocked again, rainwater dripping off my sleeve. Still nothing.
My pulse spiked, frustration curling tight in my chest. “Sam!” I banged my fist against the door. “Open the fucking door.”
I heard movement inside.
Then, the door swung open.
And Sam stood there.
His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes sweeping over me, taking in the soaked hoodie, the way I was probably shivering, the sheer desperation I was barely containing.
And then?
He crossed his arms over his chest. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t step aside. Didn’t invite me in.
And that? That pissed me off.
“Why won’t you talk to me?” I demanded, my voice rough over the steady downpour. “Why are we… Why is this different now?”
Sam sighed, leaning against the doorframe, frustratingly calm, like my presence on his porch, dripping wet, wasn’t rattling him in the slightest. Like he hadn’t ripped the floor out from under me by pulling away these last few weeks.
“Liam,” he said evenly, “you’re standing in the rain, shouting at me like a crazy person.”
I threw up my hands, water flying from my fingertips. “Because you won’t fucking talk to me!”
His look didn’t waver, steady and measured in a way that only made my chest burn hotter.
“You haven’t exactly given me a reason to.”
The words were a gut punch.
I let out a breath, dragging my fingers through my soaked curls.
“Jesus, Sam.” My voice cracked, and I hated it.
Hated how much this… how much he was messing with me.
I took a step closer, the rain running in cold rivulets down my face, dripping from my chin.
“I tried, okay? I called. I texted. And you just—” I shook my head, clenching my jaw. “You just ignored me.”
Sam’s jaw tightened.
“I didn’t ignore you.” His voice was measured and firm. “I just stopped making it easy for you.”
The words hit deep, right in the center of my chest.
I swallowed hard.
“Why?” I asked, my voice quieter now, the anger fraying at the edges.
Sam crossed his arms, his shoulders rising and falling with a barely restrained tension.
“Because I was tired, Liam.” His voice was low, even, but it cut through the rain like a knife. “I am tired.” His gaze locked on mine. “Tired of waiting for you to figure out what I already knew.”
A cold weight settled in my gut.
I gritted my teeth. “And what is that?”
He tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes unwavering, the rain catching on his lashes.
“That I don’t do casual.”
My stomach dropped.
The air between us shifted, heavy with everything unsaid, everything I’d been trying to avoid.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
Because fuck.
Because I’d known for a while now that Sam wasn’t just another hookup. That he wasn’t someone I could keep at arm’s length, just close enough to touch but never let in.
And I’d spent weeks trying to pretend that wasn’t true.
But now?
Now there was nowhere to hide.
The rain dripped from my eyelashes, my clothes clinging to my skin, but none of it was as suffocating as the weight of Sam’s words.
I shook my head, scoffing, still grasping for some kind of footing. Some kind of control.
“What do you want me to say, Sam?” My voice came out rough, defensive. “What did you expect me to do?”
Sam let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. Just something tired. Something done.
“I don’t know, Liam,” he said, voice edged with something raw. “Maybe something like ‘Hey, sorry I was an asshole. Sorry I’ve been running from this. Sorry I pushed you away and then got pissed when you did the same to me.’”
My breath caught.
Because fuck.
That was exactly what I’d thought. Exactly what had run through my head as I stood in my apartment, pacing, spiraling, before I’d stormed out into the cold.
Sam didn’t know that. Couldn’t have known that.
But somehow, he’d still managed to lay me bare.
Sam inhaled deeply, letting the words settle between us, weighted and waiting. The rain dripped from his hair down his face. He didn’t wipe it away. Didn’t move. Just stood there, steady, bracing himself.
And then, he spoke softer this time, measured and deliberate.
“But I also don’t know how to do this.” It wasn’t an accusation. It was just the truth. “With you. With us.”
He took a step closer.
I swore I could feel the heat of him through the cold.
“But what I do know?” His breath hitched, barely perceptible, but I caught it. “Is that I want you.”
My chest tightened, everything inside me clenching at once.
He didn’t stop.
“I want to be with you. I want to hold your hand, kiss you, watch stupid TV with you. I want you.” The last words cracked slightly, just enough for me to hear it.
Feel it. His throat worked as he swallowed, jaw tightening before he pushed forward.
“And as much as it hurt, when you told me you didn’t want that, at least I finally and definitively knew.
And I figured out how to move on.” His shoulders squared, his expression raw, exposed.
“Keeping me on call like one of your fucking Rogue guys?” He let out a short, sharp laugh, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “That doesn’t work for me.”
He was right. I had treated him like one of them, one of the guys I kept just far enough away to never get close, to never expect anything of me beyond a few nights, a few moments. A good time.
But Sam wasn’t them.
He had never been them.
And now, he was standing in front of me, rain-soaked, heart in his hands, waiting.
For me.
For an answer.
My throat was tight.
My heart was hammering.
I felt exposed.
Vulnerable in a way I hadn’t felt in years.
My walls, the ones I’d spent so fucking long fortifying, were crumbling.
I could feel the urge to deflect clawing its way up my throat, to make a joke, to push this back where it was safe, where it didn’t matter.
But I couldn’t.
Because Sam was looking at me.
And for the first time in my life, I realized I wanted to be seen.
I took a breath.
A deep, shuddering breath.
And I finally let the words out.
“I don’t do relationships,” I admitted, my voice rough, raw, like it had been scraped along the edges of something jagged.
Sam scoffed, shaking his head as he turned away, reaching for the door handle.