Chapter 30
Liam
Iwatch them from the sheriff’s car, the engine a low, idle hum against the morning quiet. The airfield is small, a single runway and a building that looks more like a large shed than an airport.
Clara throws her arms around Knox’s neck, a fierce hug that makes his shoulders hunch. He buries his face in her hair, her purple tips a bright splash of color against his dark jacket.
I can’t hear their words, but I can see the way his hand tightens on her back, the way he holds on for a second too long before letting her go. He ruffles her hair, a gesture so paternal, so full of a casual, easy affection, it sends a sharp pang through my chest.
I want that.
Not just a kid. I want that. The easy love, the quiet moments of goodbye, the knowledge that there’s someone in the world who is yours, not in a possessive way, but in a foundational, bone-deep way.
A family.
I would never be like my father.
I would never be the source of fear, the reason for tears. I would be the safe harbor, the one who wipes away the tears, the one who shows up every single time. I would be the best father ever.
And I want that kind of family with Millie.
The thought is a sucker punch to the gut that steals my breath. It’s not a new thought, not really. It’s been there, lurking in the back of my mind for years, a half-formed dream I’ve been too scared to fully acknowledge. But now, seeing Knox and Clara, it’s crystal clear.
Fuck. It’s Millie. It has always been Millie.
I curse under my breath, the sound swallowed by the confines of the car. I pull out my phone, the screen a stark, unforgiving rectangle. Nothing from her. No texts, no calls. Just a wall of silence that feels heavier than any accusation.
Below her name in my messages is a string of unanswered texts from Maddox.
Maddox: ???
Maddox: Dude, where r u?
Maddox: Call me.
I’ve been ignoring him, lost in my own selfish pit of despair, just like I’ve been ignoring the truth.
I lean my head back against the seat, the scratchy fabric of the sheriff’s sweatshirt a constant, irritating reminder of where I am.
In the sheriff’s car. Wearing the sheriff’s clothes.
Because I punched the sheriff. And I’m on my way to drop off his daughter at the airport after he let me sleep on his couch.
The whole situation is so fucked up, it’s almost funny.
Almost.
Because as I sit here, the events of the last twenty-four hours replaying in my mind, a horrible, gut-wrenching realization dawns on me. I’ve been wrong about everything. So completely, spectacularly wrong.
I fucked things up. I was selfish and possessive and a complete and utter asshole. I saw Millie as mine. My best friend. The one person who was supposed to be there for me, the one who was supposed to understand me, the one who was supposed to want me.
I never stopped to think about what she wanted. I never stopped to consider that she was her own person, with her own desires, her own needs, her own capacity to love.
And now I can see it. I can see all the people who see her for who she really is. Not just an extension of me, not just a piece of our fucked-up little trio, but a vibrant, beautiful, complicated woman who is worthy of love. Who is loved.
Can I really blame Maddox for falling in love with her?
The thought is a bitter pill to swallow, but I force it down.
He’s been there, right beside me, for years.
He’s seen her laugh, he’s seen her cry, he’s seen her at her best and her worst. He’s loved her quietly, patiently, from a distance, respecting a boundary I didn’t even know I’d put up.
While I was busy being jealous and possessive, he was being a friend. A true friend.
I really fucked up. I need to make it up to her. To both of them. I don’t know how yet, but I know I have to try.
The car door opens, and Knox slides back into the driver’s seat. He’s quiet, his movements stiff. He keeps his eyes fixed on the road ahead as we pull away from the curb, leaving Clara and the small airport behind.
“Were you crying?” I ask, the question a blunt, teasing probe.
He turns to me, his eyes red-rimmed, the skin around them puffy. “Don’t be an asshole,” he says, but there’s no heat in it. He was clearly crying.
I nudge him with my elbow, a small, awkward gesture of solidarity. “It’s okay,” I say, the corners of my lips twitching up. “We’re even now.”
A real smile transforms his face, softening the hard lines of his jaw. “You’re kind of a douche,” he says, shaking his head.
“I know,” I admit, my own smile widening. “But you’re a douche who cries at airport goodbyes, so I think we’re on pretty equal footing.”
He laughs again and it fills the small space of the car. “Fair enough,” he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “God, I’m still hungry. I’m craving one of those sticky buns from Cora’s bakery. The ones with the cream cheese frosting.”
My stomach rumbles in response. “That sounds amazing.”
He glances over at me, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“Can we make a quick stop at the garage first?” I ask, my tone hesitant. “I just want to check on the truck. See what the damage is. Last I checked, the tow company dropped it off there.”
He nods, his expression understanding. “Okay,” he says. “No problem.”
The garage smells of oil and gasoline, a familiar, comforting scent that takes me back to teenage years spent tinkering with old engines and dreaming of a life beyond Driftwood. It’s a cluttered space, filled with the sounds of air wrenches and the low rumble of a radio playing classic rock.
It’s a world of grease and metal, a place where problems are tangible, fixable. It’s so different from the emotional minefield I’ve been navigating for the last twenty-four hours.
Elias, the owner, is a bear of a man with a gray beard and hands the size of hams. He’s hunched over the engine of a sleek, new-looking car, his brow furrowed in concentration. As we walk in, he straightens up, wiping his hands on a rag that’s seen better days.
And then I see them. Shepard and Sadie, standing by the office door. Sadie is pacing. Shepard is leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, a small, indulgent smile playing on his lips.
“What’s going on here?” Knox asks, his gaze fixed on the new car.
“Sadie accidentally scratched the paint,” Shepard explains, his tone fond. “And Gabe and I won’t let her just paint a mural over it to cover it up.”
“It was a tiny scratch!” Sadie protests, her hands on her hips. “A masterpiece would have been a much better solution.”
“I’m sure it would have been,” Shepard says, his smile widening. “But some of us prefer our cars to be a single, uniform color.”
Sadie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “You guys are no fun.”
Shepard’s gaze shifts to me, his expression turning more serious. “I heard there was a bit of a problem at the Cocoa Nook,” he says. “It was closed up all of yesterday. Is everything alright?”
I feel a flush of heat creep up my neck. “There was a misunderstanding,” I say tightly. “But we’re hoping to reopen soon.”
He nods, his expression sympathetic. “Glad to hear it. Let me know if you need anything.”
Elias walks over then, a clipboard in his hand. “Here’s the quote for your truck,” he says, handing it to Shepard. He scans the paper, his brow furrowed. “Looks fair,” he says, pulling out his wallet. “Let’s get this taken care of.”
They handle the transaction, a quick, efficient exchange of cash and paperwork.
I say my goodbyes to Shepard and Sadie, promising to stop by the library once it’s up and running again. Then I turn my attention to the reason we’re here.
The truck’s sitting in the corner of the garage, a mangled, twisted wreck of metal and glass. The front end is completely caved in, the radiator pushed back into the engine block, the hood crumpled like a piece of paper. It looks even worse than I remember.
Elias walks with me, his expression grim. “It’s not pretty,” he explains. “But I think I can fix her. It’s going to take some time, and it’s not going to be cheap, but she’s a good, solid truck. She’s worth saving.”
I nod, my throat tight. “Thanks, Elias. I appreciate it.”
He claps me on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry about a thing, son. I’ll take good care of her.”
We finish up the consultation, discussing timelines and parts, the details a blur of technical jargon that I barely comprehend. My mind is elsewhere, drifting back to Millie, to the look on her face when I walked in, to the scent of Maddox clinging to her skin.
We’re back in the truck, the engine a low, comforting rumble, when I break the silence. “Can you believe Millie had a crush on that guy?”
“Elias?” Knox asks, his gaze fixed on the road.
“No, Shepard,” I clarify.
I watch him think about it for a moment.
“The quiet, intelligent librarian with the kind eyes and the gentle smile? It’s not a stretch.”
“I can see it,” I admit. “He’s a good guy.”
“She really has no type, huh?” he says, a small smile playing on his lips.
We both laugh, a shared moment of absurdity in the midst of everything.
“No,” I say. “But I’m glad we at least made the cut.”
“Me too.” His gaze softens. “Me too.”
He’s talking again, his voice a low, excited drone about sticky buns and cream cheese frosting, about the importance of a good breakfast before a long day of dealing with the town’s problems. I’m only half-listening, my mind still reeling from the conversation about Shepard, from the realization of how wrong I’ve been.
And then my phone rings.
I pull it out of my pocket, my heart already starting to pound in my chest. The caller ID displays my best friend’s name.
I answer it, my hand suddenly trembling. “Maddox?”
“Liam,” he says, his voice a frantic, panicked rush of words. “Thank god. I’ve been trying to call you.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, my blood running cold. “Is it Millie? Is she okay?”
“She’s in heat,” he says, the words a raw confession. “Nothing’s working. She’s in heat, and it’s bad. Really bad.”
“Fuck,” I say, the word an expression of pure, unadulterated terror. The world tilts on its axis, the blood draining from my face.
The scent of her, the memory of her in that room, it all comes rushing back, a tidal wave of horror and desire. She’s in heat. And I’m not there. I’m not there to protect her, to help her, to... what? To claim her?
The thought is a primal, possessive urge that I can’t deny, a terrifying, all-consuming need that makes my head spin and my body ache.
“What do you mean, it’s bad?” I ask. “What’s happening?”
“She’s... she’s not herself,” he says, his voice cracking. “She’s in pain. And she’s... she’s asking for you.”
“For me?” I ask, my heart leaping into my throat.
“And me,” he admits in a low, ashamed whisper. “She’s asking for both of us. And the sheriff.”
I close my eyes, the world spinning around me. This is it. This is the moment. The point of no return. I have a choice to make. A choice that will define the rest of my life. Do I run? Do I hide? Or do I face the truth, no matter how terrifying, no matter how complicated?
“Where are you?” I growl. “I’m on my way.”
“We’re at home,” he says, and I hear a mixture of relief and fear in his voice. “Hurry.”
I hang up the phone, my hand shaking. I turn to Knox, my expression grim. “I need you to take me to Millie’s. Now.”
He looks at me, his eyes wide with understanding. He doesn’t ask any questions. He just nods, his jaw tight, and slams on the brakes, the truck screeching to a halt before he whips it around in a sharp, illegal U-turn.
We’re flying down the road, the world a blur of white and gray, the engine screaming in protest. And all I can think about is getting to her.