Chapter 28
Liam
The engine hums, a sound that should be calming but only grates on my frayed nerves. Every bump in the road sends a fresh jolt of pain through my ribs, constantly reminding me of the fight.
My wrist throbs beneath the flimsy brace.
I stare out the window, watching the world blur by in a smear of white and gray. The snow started as a few flurries, and now it’s coming down in earnest, blanketing the town in a silence that feels wrong.
“You want water or anything?” Knox asks, his gaze fixed on the road.
I shake my head, my throat too tight to form words. I can’t believe he’s driving me home. The man I punched. The man who holds my future in his hands. It’s surreal.
I pull out my phone before I remember it’s dead.
Useless. I’m not really sure what has happened since I was in that cell.
Time became a blur of gray walls and fluorescent lights.
All I know is that half an hour ago, Knox walked in, his face a mask of grim determination, and told me he was getting me out for the night.
I’m not sure why he had the change of heart, but he made me reassure him that I wouldn’t skip town, that the mayor vouched for me. I owe Jake one. Big time.
Knox pulls into the parking lot of a small, brightly lit convenience store. “Be right back,” he says, killing the engine.
I watch him walk into the little store, his movements stiff, his shoulders squared. He looks like a man carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Maybe he is. This town is a mess, and he’s the one in charge.
He comes back a few minutes later, a plastic bag in his hand. He gets in the car, the sudden blast of cold air making me shiver. He hands me a packet of beef jerky and a bottle of water. I take them, my fingers brushing against his. His are cold.
He picks up the water bottle and twists the cap open for me before handing it back.
“Thanks.”
“You sure you don’t want me to drop you at the hospital?” he asks, his eyes on me, assessing.
“I just have a sprained wrist,” I say, a little too defensively. “I’ll have it checked out in the morning.”
He nods, accepting my answer. He watches as I tear open the bag of jerky, the crinkle of the plastic loud in the quiet car. I take a bite, the salty, smoky flavor filling my mouth. It’s not great, but it’s something. It’s a distraction.
“Is it any good?” he asks.
“It’s okay,” I say, shrugging.
“My daughter is a huge fan,” he says, a small, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. “She’d eat the whole bag if I let her.”
I hold out the bag to him. “Here.”
He takes a piece, his movements careful. He bites into it, his jaw working. “Not bad,” he concedes.
“How old is your daughter?” I ask.
“Clara’s fifteen,” he says, his expression softening. “She’s at home right now, waiting for me.”
This is a surprise, a crack in the hardened facade of the sheriff. “I didn’t know you had a daughter,” I say.
“She stays with my ex-wife in New York,” he explains, his gaze distant for a moment. “But Clara’s here for a visit.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what else to say.
He smiles again, a genuine, warm smile that transforms his face. He starts the car and pulls back onto the road, the wipers working overtime to clear the accumulating snow.
The rest of the ride is quiet, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence. It’s a shared space, a temporary truce. I find myself watching him, the way his hands grip the steering wheel, the way his eyes scan the road. He’s not just a sheriff. He’s a father. A man with a life outside of this mess.
The thought is strangely comforting.
We pull up in front of Millie’s apartment building. The lights are on, a warm, inviting glow against the dark, snowy night. And then I see it. Maddox’s bike, parked haphazardly by the porch. A wave of relief washes over me, so potent it makes my head spin.
Maddox is here. He’s with her. He’s taking care of her. For a moment, the weight on my shoulders feels a little lighter.
Knox puts the car in park but doesn’t turn off the engine. “Liam,” he says, his tone serious. “Please stay away from Arnold. If he shows up at the coffee shop, if he tries to contact you, you call me. Immediately.”
He pulls a card from his pocket and hands it to me. It’s his official sheriff’s card with his number scrawled on the back.
“Thank you,” I say, my fingers closing around the stiff cardboard. “It’s snowing,” I add, stating the obvious. “You should drive carefully.”
“I’ll be fine,” he says, a hint of a smile in his tone.
I thank him one last time and climb out of the car, the cold air a welcome shock to my system. I watch him drive away, his red taillights disappearing into the swirling snow.
I turn and walk to her apartment, fumbling my key in the lock. I push the door open and step inside, ready for the comfort of home, for the sight of my two best friends.
And then I’m hit by the scent.
It’s a physical blow, a cloying wave that knocks the breath out of me. It’s Millie’s scent, of course. The sweet, intoxicating mix of vanilla and lavender that I know so well. But there’s something else layered on top, something musky and primal. Pine and snow. Maddox’s scent.
My brain struggles to process the information, to connect the dots in a way that makes sense. But the scent doesn’t lie. It’s the scent of sex. Raw, uninhibited, and recent.
I’m confused. My heart is pounding in my chest. I hear a sound from upstairs, the thud of footsteps, and then Millie is running down the stairs.
She’s wearing Maddox’s shirt. It’s too big for her, the sleeves falling past her hands, but it’s his. I’d recognize it anywhere. And behind her, Maddox appears, his chest bare, his hair a mess, a pair of boxers slung low on his hips.
“What the fuck is going on?” The words are ripped from me, full of disbelief and betrayal.
Millie freezes, her eyes wide with shock. Maddox stops behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder. The protective, possessive gesture sends a fresh wave of rage through me.
And then there’s a knock on the door.
We all turn, a silent, frozen tableau of guilt and confusion. I open the door, my movements stiff, robotic.
It’s Knox. “You forgot your wallet,” he says, holding it out to me.
He stops, his eyes taking in the scene. Me, standing there, my face a mask of fury. Millie, in Maddox’s shirt. Maddox, half-naked behind her. The air is heavy with the scent of what they’ve done.
He knows. I can see it in his eyes. He can smell it too.
“Shit,” Millie says.
“I should go,” Knox says, his words cutting through the suffocating air. His hand is still outstretched, holding my wallet.
“No, I should go,” I say.
I can’t be here. I can’t breathe. Every muscle in my body is screaming at me to run, to get out, to put as much distance between me and this... this scene as possible.
“No one goes,” Maddox says, his tone surprisingly calm. He cups Millie’s face, his touch so tender it makes my stomach turn. “We need to talk about this.”
“Talk about it?” I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “There’s nothing to talk about.” I shake my head, my gaze fixed on Millie, on the way she’s leaning into his touch, on the way his shirt hangs on her small frame. “I’ll go to my mom’s. We can talk about this tomorrow.”
“Liam, wait,” she pleads.
She stops, her eyes wide with a dawning realization. She looks down at herself, at Maddox’s shirt, and then she’s moving, grabbing the blanket off the armchair and wrapping it around herself, a flimsy barrier against the weight of my stare.
Maddox ignores me, his focus entirely on her. He rushes up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and comes back a few minutes later, pulling on a pair of jeans.
Nimbus, oblivious to the tension, winds his way through the mess of legs and emotions, rubbing himself against my calves, a low, rumbling purr vibrating through my body.
At least someone around here is faithful, I think, reaching down to stroke his soft fur.
Maddox takes a seat next to her on the couch, his arm wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her close. She’s a bundle of nervous energy, sitting, then standing, then sitting again, unable to settle.
Knox clears his throat, a sharp, pointed sound that suddenly reminds me that the sheriff is still here. That this entire, fucked-up situation has an audience.
I turn to him, my movements stiff, formal. “Thank you,” I say tightly. “For everything. And for... sharing with me.”
Knox nods, but his expression is stiff, his jaw clenched. He looks as uncomfortable as I feel.
Millie’s head snaps up, eyes wide with a new kind of horror. “You told him?” she asks, her voice trembling.
I pause, confused. “Told me what?”
She looks from me to Knox, her face pale. “About us.”
“What? What are you talking about?” And then it hits me.
My heart hammers in my chest, a frantic, painful beat. Knox and Millie? No. It can’t be.
And then Knox is cursing with frustration. “I didn’t tell him about you,” he says, his eyes fixed on me. “I told him about my abusive father.”
“Shit,” Maddox says.
I sink into the armchair, the one Millie just emptied, my legs suddenly unable to support my weight. I face them, my mind reeling, trying to process this new, even more fucked-up piece of information.
“You slept with the sheriff?” I ask, my voice a hollow echo in the quiet room.
“Shit,” she says again.
Maddox looks at Knox. “You better have a seat,” he says. “This is going to take a while.”