Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHLOE
“ T hank you, officer,” I say, my voice sounding small.
The female cop nods. “Lock this after us,” she instructs before exiting with her partner.
I close the door behind them and slide the deadbolt into place. The neighbor called the police with the commotion. I’m glad they did because Lucas had cut off my 911 call too soon.
Now, the apartment is eerily silent. A dull ache throbs on the side of my face as I make my way to the bathroom. Flicking on the light, I’m taken aback by my reflection. The gash near my temple, about two inches long, has stopped bleeding but dried blood smears my cheek. The area is already swollen and beginning to bruise. The edge of the coffee table was unforgiving.
I can’t believe it escalated to this. He pushed me—then fled the scene. He didn’t even bother to make sure I was okay. But what did I expect? He’s a bad guy. I know that now more than ever. The police even issued me an emergency protection order. It’s just a piece of paper, but it’s something.
I turn the faucet on and splash my face, watching as the water turns pink and swirls down the drain. The cold water numbs the pain for a moment, but I can’t shake the feeling of shame that washes over me.
It’s why, before the police showed up, I texted Ashley and Liam that I wasn’t feeling well—a cop-out. I found my phone floating in the kitchen sink filled with the soapy water that I forgot to drain earlier. Lucas threw it there, probably after trying to wipe the debt collector contact information from my phone.
But my laptop was still intact. So, in a last-minute attempt to cancel our plans, I quickly messaged Liam and Ashley right before the police showed up at my door.
I dry my face with a towel and notice a smudge of blood on the turquoise fabric. Fuck . More mess to clean up. I must have re-opened the wound while washing it. I see the fresh glistening blood in the cut when I look in the mirror.
I watch as my expression in the mirror contorts, tears flooding my eyes, and my vision blurring.
How did I get here?
I fucking opened the door, my rational mind tells me. I’d be gone in the first act if this was a horror movie—it was the moment the audience was screaming for me not to do it, and I did it anyway. I let the bad man in.
Now, I clutch the bathroom sink, trying to steady myself.
It’s not my fault , I tell myself . All my clients who are victims of abuse—I tell them the same thing. They’re not to blame. They’re caught up in it, but they’re not responsible for the abuser’s actions.
I know it’s true. But it doesn’t feel any less shitty. And how can I continue as a life coach when my life is unraveling?
A knock at the front door interrupts my thoughts and my body tenses up. What if it’s Lucas again?
I can barely hear anything over the pounding of my heart in my ears.
“Chloe, it’s Liam,” he calls out, his voice filled with concern.
I feel a rush of relief, but also hesitation. Part of me wants to throw open the door and run into his arms, seeking comfort and security. But another part of me doesn't want him to see me like this. I've made such a huge mistake letting Lucas in, and now he'll know about it and worry. And it's my problem to deal with.
But I can’t leave him waiting outside either. He knocks again. “Chloe, are you okay?”
I quickly try to fix my hair, which is up in a smooshed, lopsided ponytail with pieces falling out everywhere after the tussle with Lucas. I pull out the hair band and let my hair fall around my face, obscuring part of my injury.
I don’t want Liam to see this—it’ll be triggering for him, I’m sure. His mother was battered, and now here I am looking like a complete mess. My mind even goes so far as to consider dabbing some concealer on the bruises, but I quickly dismiss the idea. I’m not going to hide what happened. I owe Liam—and myself—more than that.
I steel myself and open the door. Liam’s face falls when he sees me.
“Oh, my God, Chloe,” he says, shock and horror in his voice. I swear I can see his heart breaking. He’s holding some small container, but it doesn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into an embrace. He smells like citrus and sea salt, reminding me of our dreamy days on the yacht. They seem so far away now.
I feel safe in his arms, the warmth of his chest comforting, and tears well up in my eyes.
“What happened?” he whispers, pulling back after a moment, searching my eyes and brushing a tear off my cheek with his thumb. “I saw the police outside…” He trails off, a question lingering.
“Come in,” I gesture for him to move inside, closing and locking the door behind him.
“Do you need to see a doctor?” His eyes scan the damage near my temple as he gently moves my hair away to assess the full extent. I let him, appreciating his tenderness.
“No.” I try a small smile. “The bleeding stopped; I don’t need stitches.”
“What happened, Chloe?” he asks again urgently.
“Can we sit down?” I need to ground myself for this conversation, to process what happened.
I see his jaw tense, frustration flickering in his eyes, but he sighs. We move to the couch, and he sits close to me, his hand on my leg, keeping me near. He’s still holding the container, and I realize it’s soup.
“You brought soup?” I glance up at him.
“You said you weren’t feeling well,” he explains, almost as if just remembering the chicken noodle soup he’s holding. The sweetness of his gesture makes me feel more guilty for not being completely honest when I texted him earlier.
He sets the soup on the coffee table and takes my hands in his, his hands even warmer than usual from holding the hot container. His eyes are filled with concern, waiting for me to explain.
I scrunch up my forehead, wincing at the pain near my eye. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away. Lucas came over,” I admit.
“You asked him over?” Liam’s voice carries a note of betrayal.
“No,” I shake my head, a bit offended he would think that. “He showed up at my place. I agreed to talk to him, but?—”
“You agreed ?” Liam repeats, shocked.
“Liam, let me finish,” I say, frustration rising. Tears threaten again. I’m exhausted, and his reaction isn’t helping.
He waits, silent, but I can see his jaw remains tense, his eyes worried.
“He texted me asking to meet up and talk. I wanted to handle this myself, so I agreed to set up a time, but I didn’t expect him to show up at my apartment right away,” I explain, feeling exasperated.
Liam’s expression doesn’t look any less concerned, but he continues to listen.
“I thought I could handle things, but Lucas tried to take my phone and he pushed me.” I shake my head, still disbelieving this happened. “I hit the corner of the coffee table.” I gesture towards my injury with a shrug.
I see anger flashing behind Liam’s eyes. It’s the same look he gets when he talks about his mother being abused. Guilt gnaws at me because I know how triggering this is for him.
“What else?” Liam says, trying to keep his anger in check.
I shrug again. “Then he left. He threw my phone in the sink, so I used my laptop to text you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But it seemed more like an in-person thing,” I breathe a laugh, surprised at my own attempt to lighten the mood.
But instead, his mood only darkens as he takes a sharp breath. “You shouldn’t have opened the door, Chloe. Why didn’t you call me? He could have hurt you more—or worse.” His face contorts with pain.
I pull my hand out of his, feeling the sting of his words. “I don’t need a lecture, Liam.”
I stand up, pacing around the coffee table that smashed my face earlier. I notice there’s still blood on the edge of it.
“I’ll beat myself up enough without your help,” I continue, turning to face him with frustration rising inside me.
He winces at my harsh words from his spot on the couch, but I can't stop now.
“Why are you even here?” I shake my head. “This isn’t part of our deal. There are no cameras here. It’s a waste of your time,” I assert, frustrated by still not knowing where I stand in his life. What am I to him?
But then it hits me—there will be cameras. People will find out about the restraining order against my ex, which is public record. Liam will probably get his picture snapped walking out of my apartment after comforting me. Even when we were in Catalina together, paparazzi captured moments of us together.
Is that why he’s really here? He’s still playing the role of doting boyfriend? Was bringing me chicken soup just part of the act?
My mind is spinning with questions, doubts, and fears. Liam’s expression becomes even more wounded and angry as he stands, rounding the coffee table as he walks toward me.
“Do you realize how much you mean to me, Chloe?” He stops in front of me, still keeping his distance but the coffee table no longer separates us.
I remain silent, but my breathing becomes shallow as I watch him closely, unable to look away. I hear the faint tick of a wall clock as the moment stretches between us. His deep brown eyes seem to convey everything to me and my heart races. But what if I’m just making it up?
“Let me show you,” Liam says, as if he’s reading my thoughts. A rush of emotion courses through me at his words. When he sees my reaction and I don’t object, he slowly approaches me.
As he closes the gap between us, his eyes stay locked on mine and my body tingles with anticipation. He reaches up and runs his thumb gently across my bottom lip, setting my skin on fire.
I feel the heat of his body, so close to mine. Then, he leans down and brushes his lips against mine softly, leaving me wanting more.
He sees my reaction, my yearning, and doesn’t keep me waiting any longer. He leans in swiftly, claiming my mouth in a passionate kiss, consuming me. I feel his arms wrap around me as I instinctively put mine around his neck.
Liam’s kiss is intense and urgent, maybe driven by the thought that I was in danger—I can sense his anger, desperation, and relief all at once.
And in his embrace, I find solace and comfort. Our kisses are deep and fiery, our mouths moving together in perfect harmony. I barely register the dull pain of my wound as his face presses against mine because the pleasure he’s giving me far eclipses it.
When Liam pulls back slightly to look into my eyes and gauge my reaction, we’re both panting heavily. This moment with Liam… it’s pure bliss and makes me forget about everything else.
That is, until I catch sight of red stain on his face. My lips part and I pull away further, realizing that there’s blood smeared on the side of Liam’s face.
I touch my temple, feeling a warm wetness. Our kiss must have reopened the cut on my head. Seeing the blood on us, it’s like reality is slapping me in the face. I’m a mess.
“Oh my God.” I pull away. “I’m sorry.” Tears rush to the surface again.
“Chloe, it’s okay,” Liam says gently, moving toward me, but I back up.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize again, my voice breaking as a new tear falls. I need rest, space, escape…
“You don’t need to apologize. Let me help you, Chloe,” he offers, his gaze tender as he reaches for me, but I recoil. The way he’s looking at me—sad, pitying, even—fills me with shame. I’m standing here, blood dripping down my face, because I let a dangerous ex into my apartment. Because I deluded myself into thinking I could handle things.
“I’m supposed to be helping you ! I’m your coach, but I’m a fucking mess,” I spit out in disgust at myself.
I don’t want him to see me like this. How did my life spin so out of control?
“You’re not my coach; you’re my girlfriend,” he corrects me, as if that would help.
A bitter laugh escapes me. I can’t deal with this confusing relationship right now. My head is spinning. His kiss—it was everything. But we’re in Hollywood and Liam’s a good actor. I thought Lucas was someone he’s not. My judgment is obviously fucked.
“Please, just let me get a grip, okay?” I inhale deeply, trying to catch my breath. “I just need some time.”
“Chloe, I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“I have a restraining order against him. I’ll be fine,” I assure Liam.
The look of hurt on his handsome face only makes me feel worse. But I need to gather my thoughts, and I can’t do that with him here. After a moment, he reluctantly accepts my request and moves toward the door.
As he reaches for the handle, he turns to give me one last look. It’s—loving. But somehow, it also feels like the long, last look between tragic lovers. I know this won’t end well.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, hoping he understands.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he tells me, his warm eyes locked onto mine.
All I want is to be with him, but I know this isn’t right. I’m only setting myself up for more hurt, and I don’t think I could bear it.
“Lock this door behind me,” he says firmly, and I nod. He opens the door and is swiftly gone, closing it behind him.
I’m left alone in my unbearably quiet apartment. I feel a deep ache that has nothing to do with my physical injuries.
I need to let him go. Liam needs to figure things out, and so do I. He shouldn’t get caught up in my mess. He needs to be freed up for a real relationship, something where money isn’t exchanged, and the boundaries aren’t unhealthy as fuck.
And I need to recover from this disaster—somehow.
After washing and bandaging my wound, I lie in bed, trying to make sense of everything that has happened. I want to sink into the darkness of sleep, but my mind is too restless. My thoughts eventually drift to my father, who is probably still sleeping in London.
Despite the distance between us since my mom died, I want him to know what went on while he was sleeping. The altercation with Lucas could have ended much worse. Liam is right, I’m lucky. I decide to call my dad later, after we’re both awake.
Just I start to submit to the heavy pull of sleep, I hear a knock. I shoot upright in bed, consciousness ripping me back to my bedroom. My heart is beating fast, and I’m terrified that it’s Lucas. He’s come back.
But then, in the quiet, I wonder if the knock was real or if it was only in my dreams. I was slipping off into sleep and can’t decipher what was real.
Before I can fully process it, a loud knock makes me jump, confirming that someone is at the door. Terror floods through me. He’s here.
Oh fuck. I fumble for my phone.
“Chloe, it’s me,” a familiar voice calls out. Relief floods over me as I recognize Michael’s voice. Then confusion sets in. It’s so late. A knot of anxiety builds— What has Lucas told him? Is Michael here to scold me for this being my fault somehow based on a tale Lucas spun?
Pulling on my robe, I open the door just as Michael starts knocking again.
Michael’s face is creased with concern, and I see the shock in his eyes as he takes in the bruising on my face that the Band-Aid doesn’t cover.
“Hi,” I say, surprised to see him.
“Chloe, oh my God,” he exclaims and wrapping me in a gentle hug. The embrace catches me off guard—it has been such a long time since we’ve been this close.
“Why are you here? It’s midnight,” I ask softly, confused. He releases me, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.
“Liam called me,” he explains, shaking his head as he stares at my wounded face.
Liam called him? I guess he had his staff track down Michael’s number. Part of me wants to be annoyed by his interference, but I can’t help feeling grateful.
“Liam told me what Lucas did,” Michael says with a pained expression and a simmering anger underneath. “I’m so sorry, Chloe.” His voice breaks with emotion. “I’m so sorry,” he repeats, tears welling up in his eyes.
I hold my arms out and he hugs me again. “It’s okay,” I whisper.
“It’s okay,” I repeat, trying to convince myself as much as him.