Chapter 8 Millie
Millie
The sound of the door creaking open yanks me out of a half-dream. My heart jumps before my mind catches up, disoriented in the dim glow from the kitchen night-light.
Nimbus lifts his head from the end of the couch, lets out a single indignant meow, and bounds off the blanket in a gray blur. His paws hit the floor in soft thuds as he darts toward the doorway.
I blink, trying to make sense of the figure standing there. The door shuts quietly, the click too careful to be an accident. Liam.
He moves like he’s hoping not to wake anyone, but Nimbus ruins that plan, rubbing his little face against Liam’s boots and purring like he hasn’t just been ignoring my texts for five hours. Liam bends down to stroke him, his big hand moving slowly along the cat’s back, eyes half-lidded.
Then he straightens, shrugging off his riding coat and tossing it over the arm of the chair. His boots hit the floor with a dull thud.
“What time is it?” My voice sounds scratchy, sleep-rough.
“Two,” he says flatly.
I push the blanket off my legs and sit up. “You weren’t answering my texts. I thought maybe—”
“Don’t,” he cuts in with a shallow laugh that isn’t amused. “Don’t fucking worry about me.”
The words sting more than I expect them to. Too casual, like he’s swatting away a fly. I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders, suddenly cold. “I do worry about you. Liam, you’re like family to me. Of course I worry.”
He stops midway through pulling off his sweater, his chestnut hair catching in the faint light. His eyes lift, dark and sharp, and for a second, I think he’s going to say something real. But he just exhales, shoulders sagging. “I need to go to bed. I’m tired.”
“I made dinner,” I say quickly, because the silence feels unbearable. “There’s pasta left if you want—”
“I’m not hungry.”
He turns to head down the hallway, but something inside me won’t let it go. “Liam, wait.”
He stops. Doesn’t turn. “What?”
The word comes out on a sigh, tight with frustration.
I stand, barefoot, the floor cool under my toes. I’m really trying to be patient with him, but I don’t get where all this aggression is coming from. “Is your mom okay?” I ask.
“She’s okay.”
“Liam? Are you okay?”
“I said I’m fine. I really don’t want to talk right now, alright?”
I should let it go. I should, but…
“I know you have that whole thing with cops, so I just wanted to make sure you were good. I was worried about you. I can make you a plate, and then we can talk for a bit.”
He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face, jaw tight. “I ate with Maddox, okay? I’m fine.”
“So that’s where you were,” I say before I can stop myself.
He spins then, eyes narrowing. “Can we not do the twenty-one questions thing tonight? I’m not in the mood.”
The way he says it—flat, final—makes something twist in my chest. “Why are you being like this?” I ask softly. “I waited up for you because I thought we could talk.”
“There’s nothing to say,” he replies, voice clipped. He pauses halfway to his room and glances back over his shoulder. “Actually, no. That’s not true. There is something.”
My throat tightens. “What?”
His expression shifts, not angry exactly—wounded, uncertain. “Where were you last night?”
My stomach drops. “What?”
“Last night,” he repeats, each word deliberate.
“Maddox and I left so you could have some peace and quiet. We figured you needed a break, so we lied to you just to give you some space. The two of us went to his place to play video games. And when I came back, you were gone. So where the fuck were you, Millie?”
I swallow hard. Oh, God. He knows something. Or he suspects. How would he even know?
“I went to Bar 2.0,” I manage, keeping my voice steady.
His brow lifts. “And?”
“I had a drink,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat. “Played pool.”
“With who?”
“What is this?” I ask, trying to sound annoyed instead of panicked. “Why are you interrogating me?”
He stares at me for a long second, then shakes his head. “This was a mistake.”
“What was?”
“Me thinking we could live together without it being weird.” His voice is calm, too calm, like he’s reining something in. “Goodnight, Millie.”
“Liam—”
He turns, hand on the hallway doorframe. “Drop it,” he says quietly. “I’m done talking tonight.”
Then, softer but cutting all the same: “Next time, don’t stay up waiting.”
He disappears down the hall before I can think of what to say. The small door to his room—the one I converted from the closet when he moved in—shuts with a soft click.
Nimbus hops onto the arm of the couch, watching the hallway with his tail twitching. I stand there for a long moment, staring at the closed door, trying to swallow the ache clawing up my throat.
I should go after him. Knock, make him talk. But what would I even say? Sorry I worried you. Sorry I lied. Sorry I slept with the town’s new sheriff.
I had no idea who Knox was. I had no clue. Of all the people I could have slept with, it had to be a police officer. I fucked up. I fucked up pretty badly.
I know a few fundamental facts about Liam. He’s my best friend. He loves me. He loves Maddox. He loves his mom. And he hates cops.
After what happened between his mom and dad, I can’t even blame him.
Fuck! Why the hell did I sleep with Knox?
How do I tell Liam the truth? He would never understand. He would never forgive me.
I sink back onto the couch instead. Nimbus meows once, so impatient, then jumps down to his food bowl. I follow on autopilot, pour him a little kibble, watching the tiny crunch of his jaw like it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.
The kitchen clock ticks too loud in the quiet. The smell of the leftover pasta fills the room. I open the window just enough to let the cold air in, hoping it’ll clear the tightness in my chest.
My brain won’t shut off.
He was out with Maddox. That should’ve been fine, normal. So why did he look at me like that? Like he knew something.
I press a hand to my mouth, pulse racing. He couldn’t possibly know. There’s no way. No one saw me. Knox and I were careful—well, as careful as two people can be when they’re horny and losing their minds in the cab of a truck.
Still. What if someone saw the truck parked there? What if word gets around?
What if it gets back to Liam or Maren?
Holy hell.
This is bad.
I head to my room and shut the door softly behind me.
The bed feels too big, too empty. I slide under the blanket, curl on my side, and close my eyes.
I see Knox anyway. His hands. His mouth.
The way he said my name like he was trying not to want me but failing anyway.
And then today, seeing him at the meeting, looking every inch the man I should never have touched.
The new sheriff.
My stomach flips.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, willing sleep to come, but it doesn’t. My mind runs in circles—Liam’s sharp words, the look on his face, Knox’s voice echoing across the hall, the whole town clapping while I stood there pretending I didn’t know what his hands felt like.
Nimbus hops up beside me, purring, oblivious to the mess I’ve made of my life. I run a hand over his soft fur, the sound of his contentment a small, fragile comfort.
The house is quiet now. Liam’s door stays closed. No footsteps, no creaking floorboards, nothing but the steady rhythm of my cat’s breathing.
I stare into the dark, eyes burning.
I’m twenty years old, and I just found out that I slept with the town’s new sheriff. And if that isn’t the most spectacularly stupid thing I’ve ever done, I don’t know what is.
I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling again. The faintest light of dawn is creeping through the edges of the blinds. I should close my eyes, try to rest before morning, before I have to face Liam and pretend everything is fine. But sleep won’t come.
All I can think about is the way Knox looked when our eyes met tonight—the flicker of recognition, the quiet curse under his breath, the way his shoulders went rigid as if he’d been hit.
He knows it too.
We’re both in trouble.
Nimbus shifts closer, curling against my arm, and I press my face into his fur, breathing in the faint scent of soap. My chest feels tight, my heart a confused, heavy weight.
Tomorrow, I’ll deal with it. I’ll talk to Liam. I’ll figure out what to do about Knox. I’ll try to untangle this mess I built out of loneliness and bad timing.
But for now, I just lie there, wide awake, listening to the hum of the house, waiting for the morning to come and dreading every minute of it.
The thud is loud enough to make my heart slam against my ribs. I jerk upright, the early light bleeding pale through the blinds. Letting out a startled hiss, Nimbus bolts from the foot of my bed. For a second, I’m caught between dream and waking, trying to piece together where the sound came from.
Then I hear it again—the scrape of something heavy across the floor.
“Liam?” I call, my voice still thick from sleep. No answer. I throw off the blanket and stumble toward the door, bare feet hitting the cold wood.
He’s by the front door when I reach the bottom of the stairs. Jacket half on, head bowed. His duffel bag sits at his feet, zipper half open, a tangle of clothes spilling out. The sight of it freezes me in place.
“What’s going on?” My voice cracks a little.
He doesn’t look at me right away. He just finishes pulling on his jacket.
“I think,” he says finally, voice low, “our friendship’s gotten… unhealthy.”
The words hit hard. “Unhealthy?”
He exhales, glances toward the window, then back at me. “I need some space, Millie.”
My throat goes dry. “Space? From me?”
He nods once, jaw tight.
I step closer, shaking my head. “No. Liam, wait—can we talk about this? Please?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Yes, there is!” The panic rises fast, hot and sharp, until I can feel it in my fingertips. “You’re leaving. That’s not space, that’s—”