Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
The house was quiet when I got home after dinner at the Dumontiers’, but the kitchen light was on.
I found my mom at the stove, stirring what smelled like her famous chicken soup.
She was still in her scrubs from the clinic where she was a nurse.
She’d worked during the day at a local diner and taken night classes when I was little, focused on giving us a better life without my dad.
I’d always been proud of her work ethic, but I’d also hated that she’d always had to work so hard just to make ends meet.
Her red hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and she hummed softly to herself as she cooked. It was such a familiar sight that my chest loosened just looking at her.
“Hey, Ma.”
She glanced over her shoulder, her face lighting up the way it always did when she saw me. “There’s my sweet boy. I was starting to think you’d forgotten where you lived. I’ve hardly seen you at all this summer.”
My mom had met my dad when she was a young waitress in Donegal, Ireland.
He’d swept her off her feet, and after a whirlwind romance, he’d convinced her to come back to the States with him.
But as soon as they’d gotten back, he’d disappeared on work trips, leaving her alone more often than not.
She once told me she’d been ready to go home to Ireland when she found out she was pregnant with me.
My dad, Nick, promised her he’d be around more after that. He’d even proposed.
He did stay for a little while, but not long. And with a baby and no money to her name, she had no choice but to stay. I always wondered if she hoped he’d turn it around. Unfortunately, he just left her with a lot of heartache and broken promises. I was ten when she kicked him out for good.
I dropped a kiss on her cheek before grabbing a water from the fridge. “Work and camp have been kicking my ass.”
“Mm-hmm.” She turned back to the stove, but I caught the knowing look in her eyes. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
I froze with the bottle halfway to my mouth. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, nothing.” She waved her hand dismissively, but she was smiling in that way that told me she knew something I didn’t want her to know. “Just that I know my son, and that look that’s been on your face all summer has nothing to do with construction or hockey camp.”
“What look?”
“Like you’ve got a wee secret.” Her Irish accent was way thicker than mine, and even after living in the States for twenty-two years, it was barely watered down.
She always said it was because you couldn’t water down a true Irishman, and in the North—of the Republic, she always clarified, the “true” north—they were as true as they came.
She tapped the wooden spoon against the pot and turned to face me fully. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Ava Dumontier.”
It wasn’t a question.
“How do you know that?” I hadn’t lied to my mom, but I hadn’t told her who I was spending time with this summer. I’d just said I was going out. I had plenty of other high school friends I could’ve been seeing. How could she possibly know I was spending all that time with Ava?
“Liam Michael Farrell.” My mom crossed her arms, and even though I had a good eight inches on her, she still managed to make me feel like I was twelve years old and caught sneaking cookies before dinner. “Do not insult my intelligence.”
I sighed, leaning against the counter. There was no point in lying to her—she’d always been able to see right through me. “Fine. I’ve been with Ava, but seriously, how’d you know?”
“Lovey, this is Meadowbrook.” She laughed softly. “Even if you think you’ve been discreet, everyone knows everyone’s business around here.” She raised an eyebrow. “In a town this small, everyone talks. It’s a miracle the rumor hasn’t gotten to her parents yet.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face. We’d been so careful—or at least, I’d thought we had. But my mom was right. Meadowbrook was the kind of place where you couldn’t sneeze without someone asking if you were coming down with something.
“Does anyone else know?” I asked. “Besides the town gossips?”
“Not that I’ve heard. People are being respectful, keeping it to whispers. For now.” She studied my face for a long moment. “But that’s not going to last forever. You know that, right?”
“Yeah.” I took another drink of water, wishing it was something far stronger. “I know.”
She was quiet for a moment, turning back to stir her sauce. The silence stretched between us, filled only by the soft bubble of the pot and the hum of our old refrigerator.
“Liam.” Her voice was gentler now. More serious. “Just…be careful with her, okay?”
The words hit me like a bucket of ice water.
Be careful with her.
I knew what that meant. I knew what she was really saying, even if she was too kind to spell it out.
Be careful because you’re your father’s son. Be careful because you’ve got his face and his charm and maybe his inability to stay faithful. Be careful because the last thing the Dumontiers need is you breaking their daughter’s heart the way your father broke mine.
“I know, Ma.” My voice came out hoarse with defeat. “I know what I am.”
She turned, her brow furrowing. “What you… Liam, that’s not what I—”
“It’s fine.” I threw the now empty water bottle in the trash. “I should get some sleep. Early day tomorrow.”
“Liam—”
“Night, Ma. Whatever you’re making smells great. Save me some.”
I was out of the kitchen before she could say anything else, taking the stairs two at a time to my room. The door clicked shut behind me and I stood there in the dark, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Be careful.
I sank onto the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.
My mom had watched my father destroy her. She’d taken him back again and again, hoping he’d change, believing his promises. And every single time, he’d proven that men like him—men like us—weren’t built for faithfulness. Weren’t built for commitment. Weren’t built for the kind of love that lasted.
Men as handsome as us have responsibilities to never settle down.
His voice echoed in my head, a demon I couldn’t exorcise no matter how hard I tried.
I thought about Ava—the way she looked at me, the way she’d smile at me like I was her hero. I thought about the softness in her eyes and the way my chest ached every time I had to leave her.
I thought about how easy it would be to destroy all of that.
Ava hadn’t brought up telling Drew since he and Harper had broken up. He was working on a plan, but even after her visit with him, she hadn’t made any mention of telling him about us.
Maybe she’d realized what I was starting to suspect—that some secrets were better left buried. That what we had was good precisely because it existed in a bubble. No expectations. No pressure. No promises I couldn’t keep.
The bucket list had always had an end point. That was the deal—help her check off her items, give her the experiences she wanted, and then…what? Go back to being just friends? Pretend none of it had ever happened?
My stomach knotted at the thought.
But maybe that was the right call. Maybe once we finished the list, we could both walk away clean. She’d have her confidence, her experiences, and her proof that she wasn’t boring—far fucking from it.
And I’d have the knowledge that I hadn’t ruined her.
That I hadn’t broken her the way my father broke my mother.
Drew would never have to know. The friendship would stay intact. Everyone would win.
So why did the thought of it make me want to put my fist through a wall?
I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Be careful.
Yeah. Careful was exactly what I needed to be.
Because I was starting to realize that maybe the person whose heart was going to get broken wasn’t Ava’s, but mine.