Chapter 22
The plane touches down just after sunset, and by the time I make it off the tarmac, my heart is pounding so hard I feel it in my teeth.
I don’t know if Liam will be here, and I don’t know what I’ll do if he’s not.
I grip the strap of my bag like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. And then I see him. Standing by the luggage carts, hands in his pockets, hair a little longer than I remember. He looks tired. Leaner. But still sturdy and familiar in a way that nearly brings me to my knees.
His eyes find me instantly. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t move. Just watches me like he’s afraid I’m a ghost he’ll blink away.
I walk toward him, legs unsteady, breath catching somewhere between my ribs and my throat.
When I stop in front of him, I can’t speak right away. There’s too much. Everything. I search his face for something. Regret, anger, hope. But what I find nearly guts me.
He’s hurting, too.
“I didn’t know if you’d come,” I whisper.
“I wasn’t sure if you meant it,” he replies quietly. “But I came anyway.”
I nod, swallowing hard, fingers tightening around the strap of my bag like it might keep my heart from spilling out.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I say, barely above a whisper.
His jaw flexes, but his eyes stay locked on mine. “I figured.”
He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t push. Just gestures for me to walk, and I do, falling into step beside him like I never left. Because this airport is not where this conversation belongs.
He opens the passenger door of the truck, holds it for me like it’s second nature. Helps me in. His hand brushes my arm, and the contact is so warm, so familiar, it scrapes something raw and tender inside me.
When he climbs into the driver’s seat, he glances at me. I can see the questions dancing behind his eyes, but he doesn’t voice them.
And I almost blurt it out right then. But the words lodge in my throat.
Instead, he asks, “Hungry? Or do you just want to go home?”
Home.
The word hits harder than I expect, cracking me open in all the places I’ve tried so hard to keep closed.
I look out the window, my voice barely holding steady. “Your place is fine.”
He doesn’t say anything.
Just puts the truck in drive and heads toward the only place that’s ever come close to feeling like home and the one person I’m most afraid of letting back in.
The ride is quiet.
Not awkward. Just full. The air between us crackles, humming with unsaid things and unreleased tension. Every breath feels thick, every glance heavier than it should be.
By the time we turn down the gravel road to his place, the sky is ink-dark, and my skin is buzzing. I feel it building. The heat, the ache, the want I’ve tried so damn hard to bury for months.
He parks the truck and kills the engine, but neither of us moves.
We sit there in the dark, breathing each other in. The silence grows taut, stretched thin between us.
Then he turns to me—and the way he looks at me, like I’m the only thing that can put him back together—undoes me completely.
I reach for him at the same time he reaches for me.
It’s instant. Carnal. Like striking a match in a dry field. Our mouths collide, teeth and tongue, breath stolen as our hands claw for purchase. I climb into his lap, straddling him with a desperation that borders on wild.
His hands are everywhere. He palms my ass, grinds me against him, and I gasp into his mouth when I feel how hard he already is. I roll my hips, chasing the friction like I’ve forgotten we’re in a truck, like I don’t care if the windows fog and the whole damn world sees us.
“Olive,” he groans against my throat. “God, I missed this. Missed you.”
I answer with a low, hungry moan, grabbing the hem of his shirt and yanking it up. He hisses when my nails scrape his stomach. I rock against him harder, faster, aching for him like I’m trying to erase the months we’ve spent apart with nothing but skin and sweat.
He shoves my shirt up, mouthing down my collarbone, biting just hard enough to make me gasp. I reach for his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle, needing him, needing this, right now.
That’s when I feel it.
Something soft beneath me. Not the seat. Not him.
Fabric.
I freeze.
My fingers close around it slowly, and I bring it into the faint glow of the dashboard lights.
A thong. Black. Lacy.
Not mine.
Everything inside me goes still.
His hands fall away like I just turned to ice in his arms. I feel him shift. Hear the curse slip from his lips.
“Shit.”
I scramble back into the passenger seat, heart pounding, shirt half-up, shame burning hot across my skin. I yank it down, but the sting is already there.
“You’ve had someone else in here?”
His mouth opens. Shuts. He blinks, like he wasn’t expecting this part to matter.
“Olive—”
“When?” My voice cracks. My throat’s raw. “How long ago?”
“It’s not what you’re thinking.”
I look down at the fabric in my hands, my fingers trembling. This moment was supposed to be everything. And now it’s shattered. I throw the thong at him like it burns. Because it does.
“I should’ve known,” I whisper, barely holding the tears back. “God, I should’ve known.”
I fumble with the handle, shove the door open.
“Olive, wait—!”
But I’m already gone, slamming the door behind me, walking blindly into the night. Gravel crunches beneath my boots, cold air slicing across my skin, but I don’t care.
Because I came here to tell him he’s going to be a father.
And now all I want to do is run.
I storm down the driveway, tears burning hot in my eyes, vision blurred as I push into the dark. Gravel bites into the soles of my boots. The cold hits my flushed skin, sharp and punishing.
But I don’t stop.
Not until I hear him behind me.
“Olive, wait.”
I don’t turn. I can’t. Not with my chest cracked open like this.
But then he’s there and suddenly his hand is on my arm, spinning me around before I can pull away.
His eyes are wild, panicked, searching my face.
“It’s not what you think,” he says, breathless. “It’s from Sam. From the bachelor party.”
I blink, confused. Still trembling. “What?”
“The thong,” he says quickly. “It’s not… it wasn’t mine. We took my truck weekend to go to the bars. Someone must’ve left it as a prank.” He rakes a hand through his hair, eyes pleading. “I didn’t even notice it was there. I swear to God; Olive I haven’t been with anyone. Not since you.”
My mouth parts, but no words come.
Because I want to believe him.
Desperately.
But the hurt’s still so close to the surface, so sharp, it feels like I might bleed from it.
“You expect me to believe that?” I whisper.
“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “Because it’s the truth.” He steps closer, hands raised like he’s afraid I’ll bolt. “I know I’ve let you down before. I know I’ve made mistakes. But not this. Not you. I wouldn’t do that to you, Olive.”
I shake my head, trying to breathe. Trying to think.
“You didn’t call. You didn’t fight. I waited, Liam.”
“I know.” His voice breaks. “And I’ve regretted it every day.”
Silence stretches between us.
Tense. Fragile.
“I came here to tell you something,” I say finally, my voice thin.
He looks at me, eyes filled with every emotion I’ve tried to forget.
“Then tell me.”
My throat tightens. I press a hand to my stomach. And this time, I don’t stop the words.
“I’m pregnant. We’re having twins.”
His reaction isn’t what I expect. Not even close.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t say a word. Instead, he takes a step back. And then another. Like I’ve just slapped him.
“Liam?” I say, my voice cracking.
His eyes flash with shock, confusion, something darker twisting behind them.
“Are they mine?”
The question slices through me. I blink, stunned.
“What?” I whisper, like maybe I heard him wrong.
“Are they mine, Olive?”
I flinch, like the words physically hit me.
“How could you ask me that? Of course they’re yours.”
His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing. “Because you’ve been gone for three fucking months. That’s why I’m asking.”
Pain flares white-hot in my chest.
“And if you remember,” I snap, “before that, we were in bed every goddamn night.”
I don’t mention the freaking baby-making room, and how we probably broke some kind of record in there.
He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Just looks at me like I’m someone he doesn’t know anymore.
Then he says, “I’m going to need proof.”
The words are cold. Final. Like a verdict. I stagger back a step, breath caught in my throat.
“What?” I whisper again, but this time it’s broken.
He looks down, jaw clenched, fists curled at his sides like he’s trying to stay in control. But the damage is already done.
He doesn’t believe me.
He doesn’t trust me.
I came here carrying everything and handed it to him with shaking hands. And he dropped it. Shattered it. I press my lips together, fighting the tears rising fast and vicious.
“Forget it,” I say, turning away.
Because I came here hoping we could rebuild something. And now I know we’re standing in the rubble.
His sigh follows me like a shadow.
“It’s late,” he says. “Come inside. I’ll take you to a hotel in the morning.”
I hate that he’s right. It’s too late to call in favors. Ruby’s sweet, but even she wouldn’t appreciate me banging on the B&B door at this hour, not after three months of silence.
And I’m tired. Bone-deep, soul-worn, drained in a way sleep can’t fix.
But then he seals it with a blow I should’ve seen coming.
“I have to be at Sam’s place by two for the ceremony, so we’ll need to leave around ten.”
Right. Sam and Charlie’s wedding. Tomorrow. He says it like an afterthought. Like a reminder of where he’s really supposed to be. And it stings more than I want to admit because in a different world I’d be there with him.
Numbly, I move past him, my boots echoing on the floorboards as I step inside.
The house smells the same, like pinewood, coffee, and memories I’ve tried to forget. The familiarity of it almost drops me to my knees.
And then I see him.
Carl.
Sitting on the couch like he belongs there, flipping through a magazine, completely at ease.
His gaze lifts when he hears me. Our eyes meet for one tight, loaded second.
I glance back at Liam. He doesn’t say anything.
Doesn’t explain. Of course he doesn’t. I don’t stop walking.
Don’t give either of them the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.
I just keep going, straight to the guest room.
I shut the door behind me and press my back against it, chest heaving, eyes burning. I don’t cry. Not yet. Not again. But I feel it coming. Because this time I think I really broke something I can’t fix.
I sink down onto the mattress and bury my face in my hands. The tears come before I can stop them. Hot, bitter, silent. I cry for everything. For the babies growing inside me. For the way he looked at me like I was a stranger. For the proof he demanded. For how easily he let me walk away again.
I cry because I feel stupid.
Because part of me still wants to believe him.
Still wants to be wanted.
Still wants this place to be home.
A soft knock startles me. I wipe my face quickly, trying to pull myself together.
“Come in.”
The door creaks open, and Carl steps in.
I stiffen, unsure of what the hell he could possibly want right now.
Carl leans casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smug little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he drawls, syrupy-sweet and twice as bitter. “Guessing this little reunion didn’t go quite the way you rehearsed it.”
My stomach turns.
“What do you want?” I snap, not bothering to pretend I’m glad to see him.
“Easy, sweetheart. Heard you crying and figured I’d be a gentleman and check on you.” He steps further into the room, slow and deliberate. “Heard you found that thong and got all riled up.”
I say nothing. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
He smiles wider, like silence is its own kind of victory. “Also heard you’re claiming to be pregnant with his kids. Just like I told him you would.”
That makes me stand. My fists curl at my sides.
“What do you want, Mr. Stone?”
His brows lift. “Mr. Stone? So formal.” His tone turns cold. “What I want is simple. I want you gone. Me and Liam finally have something real going on here, and I’m not going to sit by and let you ruin it.”
I laugh, sharp and humorless. “No. What you really mean is that Liam’s distracted. If I stay, he’s going to see what’s happening. That you’re leeching off him, and you know it.”
His jaw twitches. I’ve hit a nerve.
“How dare you.”
“You forget something, Mr. Stone,” I say, stepping toward him now. “I did the books, and I handled the records for Liam. I’ve seen every little ‘loan’ you talked him into. Every check. Every favor. Every excuse.”
His face darkens. “That’s none of your business.”
“The hell it isn’t,” I shoot back. “I watched Liam bend over backwards to clean up after you. Again and again. And now, when he’s finally starting to build something real, you’re the one trying to tear it down by coming after me.”
“I’m protecting him.”
“No. You’re manipulating him. Like you always have.”
Carl takes another step into the room, his voice low and dangerous now. “You don’t belong here, Olive. You never did. You’re a distraction. A liability.”
I lift my chin. “And you’re a coward. Hiding behind a son you never earned.”
Rage flickers in his eyes, but he doesn’t have a comeback. Good. Because I’m done playing small to make space for men like him.
“Now get the hell out of my room,” I say, steel in my voice. “Or I’ll call Liam in here and tell him exactly how you’ve been spending his money and how you just spoke to the mother of his children.”
Carl glares at me like he wants to say more. But he doesn’t. He turns on his heel and slams the door on his way out.
I’m left standing there, heart racing, hands shaking but somehow stronger than I’ve felt in weeks.
I exhale loudly.
And tomorrow I’m going to tell Liam the same hard truths I just told his father. Even if he doesn’t want to hear it.