Chapter 35
Present
I’m a coward. There’s no other way to put it.
I’m also a horrible person. Liam is finally walking on his own, yet, I can’t be happy for him.
I was shocked when I got home almost a week ago and he was walking without a cane.
For a few seconds, I was ecstatic for him.
But then he told me he was done with rehab in two to three weeks, meaning he wouldn’t have to live with me anymore.
So, like the coward I am, I’ve avoided him.
I’ve been leaving for university earlier than needed, staying late, and I’ve faked more than one headache in the last week.
I know he knows I’m avoiding him. I was really expecting him to say something, but every time I say I have a headache, or that I’m not feeling well, he just tilts his head to the side, asks if I want anything, and tells me to go take a shower.
And when I come out, there’s a mug of tea and a plate of food sitting on my dresser or my nightstand along with a little note or doodle.
He’s waiting for me to tell him what’s going on, I just don’t want to face the reality.
I can’t. I don’t want him to move back to Vancouver.
I don’t want to be away from him. I know that we could do the long distance thing, but I don’t want to.
I want to be with him. I want to kiss him goodbye before leaving for work, and come home to him every night.
I want to keep finding little notes everywhere, and to paint more pottery together. I don’t want to go back to a world without Liam consuming every aspect of my life, but I can’t move to Vancouver, and Liam’s life is out there. So, I’ve been avoiding him like a coward.
Which is why I’m still at work at ten p.m. on a Friday.
And it’s raining. And I walked this morning, for some unknown reason.
And my phone is dead and my charger is still sitting on my nightstand.
I need to go home, but I don’t want to face reality.
Who would have thought that in three short months I would go from not ever wanting to see Liam Jones ever again to never wanting a day to go by without seeing him.
I called Cassie this morning. She already knew some of it, but I hadn’t told her that Liam and I were pretty much dating.
So, I called her over lunch and told her everything.
From the lasagna, to the pottery, to the making me breakfast, lunch, and dinner the last eight weeks, to him only sleeping in my bed, to joking about getting another dog, and to him being done with his rehab program at the university in two weeks.
And finally, I told her that I didn’t want to let him go.
Her response was to laugh and call me melodramatic.
She talks to Liam often enough, though, not daily like Ronan, and she said that she’s never seen or heard him so happy before.
That there’s no way he’s even thinking about leaving me at the end of rehab.
She told me to “Unzip my vagina, let my balls out, and just ask him to stay.” I love Cassie, but sometimes she has very colorful language.
I’ve been talking myself up to go do exactly what she told me to for the past ten hours, but I can’t find the courage to.
I don’t know what I’m so afraid of, honestly.
I really don’t think he wants to leave. This morning, when I got dressed, I saw that he had moved all his shirts from the closet in my spare room to the closet in my room.
His shirts were right there, alongside mine.
None of what he has done over the last six weeks—since he moved in really—screams that he wants to leave.
If anything, it screams I’m not leaving.
I even heard him call Gigi his the other day, as he was adjusting the grow lamps in the living room.
He’s taking care of your plants and calling the “mutt” his and you really think he’s leaving? I can hear Cassie say in my head.
There’s no way he’s planning on leaving.
With that resolve, I’m ready to um . . .
let my balls out. I quickly pack my office, lock the door, and speed walk the three kilometers home.
I hurry up the driveway and into the house, where I find Liam pacing.
He stops as soon as he hears me open the door and he looks pissed.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so mad.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he yells, face red, fists balled at his sides.
Okay, this is not what I was expecting. Why is he so mad? “At work,” I answer, meeting his scolding gaze, not backing down. Where did he think I was?
“At school?” he asks. His voice is quieter, but still loud.
“Yeah, at school,” I answer, crossing my arms across my chest and giving him a what the hell look.
“You’ve been at school this entire time?” he asks again.
“Yes, Liam, I’ve been at school all day,” I tell him in a raised voice. Why is he asking me the same question over and over.
“Then why the hell is your car in the driveway? And why the fuck didn’t you answer your damn phone when I tried calling?” His voice raises again.
“Because I wanted to walk, and my phone died,” I sass, not knowing why I’m even playing into whatever little game this is.
“It died? How old are you? Are you not responsible enough to keep a charger with you? What adult lets their phone die?” he asks, breathing heavily as his face gets impossibly redder. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him, or anyone for that matter, this mad, and I’m not a fan of it.
“It happens. The charger I had in my office broke yesterday and I forgot to bring one with me this morning. Now, change your damn attitude and calm down,” I say, finally matching his anger. I’m not a fan of being talked to this way, and there’s no way I’m going to let this slide. Now, I’m pissed.
“Calm down,” he repeats, almost in disbelief.
“You want me to calm down?” he says with a dry laugh.
“How the fuck do you expect me to be fucken calm when you’re over five hours late, won’t answer your fucken phone, not to mention it’s dark, on a Friday night, and you decided to walk home.
In the damn rain, Sloane!” he yells the last part, gripping his hair.
“Do you know how fucken dangerous that is? And you never answered your phone,” he says, his voice losing all anger.
All anger leaves my body at his last question. Do you know how fucken dangerous that is?
Immediately, I know why he’s so mad. He was worried. My brother told me he got hit by a drunk driver on a rainy morning. He thought something had happened to me.
Tears sting my eyes as I make my way over to him to wrap my arms around him.
“Sloane, no,” he says. But I can hear the surrender in his voice, and it’s not long before his arms wrap around mine.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, face squished in his chest, his arms wrapped so tight around me I can barely breathe.
“You scared the fuck out of me, Rosie,” he says, leaning down to take a deep breath of my smell. It relaxes him and his arms loosen around me a little, but he doesn’t let go.
“I know. I’m sorry,” I tell him again. I feel horrible. I never thought about what he would be thinking—going through.
“Don’t apologize. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.
No one should ever yell at you. I’m sorry,” he says, pulling back to frame my face with his hands and drop a kiss on my forehead.
“I just kept picturing you hurt, lying in the middle of the road in a puddle of blood, and I just . . .” He trails off, tears trailing down his cheeks.
I wipe at them as mine start falling faster.
“I know,” I say, running my hands up and down his back, trying to calm him.
“I just can’t picture a world without you. The thought of you hurt somewhere and not being able to get to you . . .”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise.
“Promise?” he asks. I can hear the desperation in his question.
“Promise,” I say, planting a kiss on his lips and dropping my forehead against his. Seeing this as my opportunity, I ask, “Do you promise not to leave?”
“I’m not going anywhere, Sloane. Not now, not ever.
If you wouldn’t have avoided me during the last week you would know that I’m not leaving.
That I’m going to go get the rest of my stuff in Vancouver but that I’m not letting you out of my life.
Not again,” he says, his voice lighter, and I see that the tears have stopped.
I pull back and wipe at his cheeks, asking, “You’re staying?”
“Never leaving,” he promises. “I’m not living without you ever again. I work from home, Sloane. I can work from anywhere and the place I want to be is right beside you. ”
He dries my cheeks. “Not even asking if I want you to stay?” I tease, as the air around us crackles in tension, the mood changing.
“I’m not giving you the option,” he says, before slamming his lips onto mine, taking what he wants—what he needs. My hands find their way back to his neck as I pull him impossibly closer to me, only for him to pull back.
“Are you sure you want to do this? I’m not the easiest man to love, Sloane. I still have a long way to go to deal and handle the aftermath of this accident,” he says, with a look so intense I swear he can see through to my soul.
“You’ve always been complicated, Liam, but I’ve loved you through it all. Even when I ran away, my heart was yours. We’ll get to the other end, whatever that looks like, together. Promise,” I say, leaning in for another soul-reaching kiss.
“I’m not always gentle,” he comments, leaving a trail of kisses across my cheek to my ear, nipping at my earlobe, sending tingles down my spine.
“Like I said before, I can handle you, Liam Jones.”
At my words, he takes a step back from me letting the warm, tension-filled air sneak between us.
“Promises, promises,” he teases in a tone I’ve never heard from him. But I like it. My body likes it too. My nipples tighten and my thighs clench. “Your room. Now.”
I don’t even think of questioning him, I just quickly make my way to my bedroom, with Liam right behind me. “Take off your shirt and pants,” he says, leaning against the doorframe.
Immediately, I shed my sweater and pants, not caring where they land. I’m left in my lacy black bralette and thong which he appreciates if the breath he just took is any indication.
“Turn. Let me see the back,” he says, taking a few steps closer to me. “Fucken gorgeous.” He presses up against my back, hand coming to tease my breast where skin meets lace. “Know what would make you even more gorgeous?”
Shaking my hand, he chuckles before bending down to streak his tongue up my neck, making me arch into him and moan.
“You, on your knees for me, in this sexy little black lace.” My heartbeat quickens at his words.
“Did you think of me as you slid these up your smooth thighs this morning?” he asks, snapping the band of my thong against my skin, making me moan.
“Words, Sloane,” he commands.
“Yes. I think about you with everything I do,” I confess.
“Good girl,” he says, letting his fingers trail to my belly button and dipping to where I want his touch most. But he doesn’t give me what I desperately need. “Now, on your knees.’
I don’t waste a second. I turn on my heels, meet his gaze, and drop to my knees, making him hiss out a breath and giving me the confidence to pull at his grey sweatpants until they hit the floor.
“Were you thinking of me when you forgot underwear this morning?” I ask, running my fingers up his thighs.
“I think about you with everything I do,” he says, repeating my words from earlier as he runs a finger along my jawline. I can feel my underwear get wetter at the touch.
Not needing any more encouragement, I waste no time taking him into my mouth.
“Goddamn it, Sloane . . .” he trails off, encouraging me to take him deeper.
I have had him in my mouth since the first time, and I think I can take him deeper on my knees than I did on the bed.
Testing my theory, I run my lips back to his tip, giving him a hard suck as I tongue the underside of the head, making his fingers fist in my hair.
Then, I catch his eye and ever so slowly run my lips down his length until my chin rests against his balls, feeling him deep into my throat.
The feeling I get when I see his eyes roll to the back of his head and the moan he lets out make it impossible for me to leave my hands on his thighs.
My hips are humping thin air, trying to find some kind of friction.
I don’t think twice before sliding one of my hands to my own thigh, sliding it under my underwear.
I barely have the time to touch myself, before Liam pulls my hair a little harder, making my eyes meet his.
“Oh no, Sloane, that’s all mine to play with. Keep your hands where I can see them,” he says with a thrust of his hips.
Listening, I bring my hands back up to his thighs.
“Am I too deep?” he asks. I shake my head.
“Good. Tap my thigh twice if you want me to stop.” Next thing I know, I’m not the one moving my lips up and down his length, because he’s thrusting his hips in and out of my mouth.
My nails dig into his thighs as I try to keep from touching myself.
My entire body is shaking with need as he continues using my mouth for his own pleasure.
My nipples tingle, and my hips keep searching for any kind of friction.
Anything to dull the ache he’s created low in my belly.
Suddenly, he stops. Hopefully to take me out of my misery. But no, instead he pulls back so just the tip is against my lips and asks, “Can I come in here?” as he runs a finger along my upper lip.
Without letting go of his tip, I nod my head yes.
“Are you gonna swallow?” he asks. I barely have time to give him another nod before he’s using my mouth to find his pleasure.
“Take off your bra,” he instructs through gritted teeth as he keeps shallowly thrusting his hips. “Pinch your nipples, hard. Just like you like it.”
Following his instruction, it’s now my eyes rolling to the back of my head as a moan escapes me.
“Fuck,” I hear him say, lost in the pleasure I’m finally getting, just as his taste hits my tongue.