Chapter 9
Liam
They weren’t filming. Something was delayed—lighting, probably—but no one seemed in a hurry to explain.
Jacob and Liam ended up behind the trailers, the two of them sitting on the ground against the sun-warmed metal, legs stretched out in the gravel.
The shade from a crooked tree made the heat more bearable.
The silence wasn’t awkward, just dense with whatever waited between them.
Liam fidgeted with his water bottle, peeling the label into shreds before taking a swallow, the silence pressing in on him until he had to break it. “You ever notice how everything gets weirdly quiet right before something big?”
Jacob didn’t look over. “This isn’t big.”
“You sure?” Liam let his skull thud back against the trailer wall, tilting to look at Jacob. “Feels like something’s about to happen.”
Jacob slid him a glance. “You always this dramatic?”
“Occupational hazard.” Liam’s grin came quick and careless. Then just as fast: “You grow up around here?”
Jacob shook his head. “Stockton.”
“Seriously?” Liam blurted, surprise coloring the word before he could rein it in.
One eyebrow arched. “Why does that surprise you?”
“I don’t know. I just—” Liam shrugged, mouth twitching. “Figured you for a big city guy. New York or LA, something like that.”
Jacob gave a soft huff, the kind that wasn’t quite a laugh but edged close. “Stockton’s still a city.”
“Yeah,” Liam said, grin tugging wide. “But it’s not flashy.”
“Neither am I.” The words landed flat, simple, like it wasn’t even up for discussion.
Liam studied him for a moment. The sun caught Jacob’s face, making the hard lines seem softer. His brows furrowed slightly, not in irritation but thought.
“I like that,” Liam said. “That you’re not flashy.”
Jacob kept his gaze forward, staring out at the gravel lot, where the sun painted everything in gold. He didn’t respond and Liam let the silence hang. He was starting to learn Jacob’s rhythms—how quiet didn’t mean retreat, and how stillness wasn’t the same as disinterest.
“I don’t like being looked at,” Jacob said finally, voice low. “Not really.”
Liam blinked. “You’re an actor.”
“Doesn’t mean I like the spotlight.” Jacob’s lips curved. “My mom used to say glitter’s just dust that doesn’t know it’s dirt.”
Liam tilted his head, a laugh slipping out before he could stop it. “That’s… brutal.”
Jacob’s gaze didn’t waver. “So was she. She hated anything that took up too much space. Noise, joy, attention. She didn’t trust it. I learned to keep to myself.”
There it was, the thing Liam kept chasing without meaning to—a thin crack where something raw slipped through before Jacob could stop it. Liam didn’t press, afraid it would vanish if he pushed too hard.
He bent to grab a pebble, flicked it into the shade, and watched it hit dirt with the most anticlimactic thud possible.
“Then she wouldn’t have liked me,” he said.
“I was the loud kid. Couldn’t shut up, laughed at everything, turned every room into a stage.
My sisters used to swear I was allergic to silence. ”
Jacob glanced at him, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You still are.”
“Maybe,” Liam admitted, a smile breaking through. “But I think you secretly like it.”
A twinkle stirred in Jacob’s eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Liam bumped his shoulder playfully. “You like me. Admit it.”
Another beat passed, and then, so soft it seemed to slip out before he could catch it: “I do.”
Liam froze. Jacob offered nothing more, but he didn’t take it back either.
The admission hung delicate in the air, too frail to touch.
Liam felt panic creep in, a desperate need to shatter the silence before it swallowed him.
He shifted fast, words spilling out before he could stop them.
“So, uh, you ever think about what you’d be doing if you weren’t acting? ”
Jacob exhaled slowly. “Probably something with my hands. Building things. Fixing things.”
“Like a mechanic?”
“Maybe.” A ghost of a smile. “Or just someone who doesn’t have to laugh on cue.”
Liam made a low noise, shaking his head. “You’d hate it.”
Jacob glanced at him sideways. “Would I?”
“You live for this. You just pretend you don’t.”
That earned him a look, steady and unreadable. “You think you’ve got me figured out?”
“No.” Liam smiled, soft but sure. “But I think I’m starting to see pieces of you.”
Jacob didn’t deflect. Didn’t joke. Just stared like he was searching for the lie in Liam’s eyes—and couldn’t find one.
Liam looked away first. Not because he wanted to, but because it was too much.
“You know,” he said, words tumbling fast to fill the air again. “When I was ten, I used to fake being sick so I could stay home and watch old movies.” His ADHD brain always did this—pushing him onto the next thought, whether anyone else could follow the train or not.
Apparently Jacob had no trouble with the sudden turn; he just followed, steady in a way that made Liam feel a little less scattered. “What kind?” he simply asked.
“Whatever I could find. Noir, comedies, big old Hollywood dramas. Didn’t matter. I’d sit there in a blanket cocoon, whispering all the lines under my breath. I think my mom probably knew I was faking, but she never called me on it.”
Jacob was quiet for a beat. “You always wanted this?”
“Yeah.” Liam laughed sheepishly under his breath. “Didn’t think it would be so… overwhelming. But I love it. It’s stupid how much I love it. Always has been my dream.”
He glanced over. “And you? What did you dream about when you were a kid?”
Jacob picked up a twig from the dirt and turned it between his fingers, like he was debating if the question deserved an answer. “Dreams weren’t really a thing where I grew up. You just survived. Wanting more felt like asking to be disappointed.”
Liam stilled, waiting for Jacob to elaborate.
“When I started acting, it was just money. A paycheck. Something better than breaking my back for scraps.”
Liam swallowed. “And now?”
Jacob’s eyes stayed forward. “Now I want the work. I need it. I love it more than I ever wanted to admit. And I fight to hold onto everything I’ve built, every day.”
Silence fell again, heavy but not empty. The honesty sat between them like a third presence. Liam let out a breath, long and slow. They stayed there, not touching, not speaking, just sharing the same air.
For the first time, the silence felt like home.
* * *
The hostess led him through soft light and clinking glasses, past the hum of laughter and forks scraping plates, into the back corner of the restaurant.
The booth looked like something out of a vampire movie—black walls, dark velvet cushions, blood-red pillows, and candles flickering in iron holders.
Rich, moody, and a little theatrical. Exactly the kind of place Cassie would choose.
She was late.
Liam slid into the booth, ordered something strong without glancing at the menu, and let himself sink back like the cushions might hold him together.
The buzz of voices pressed close, every laugh and clink too sharp against his skin.
He felt strung out, vibrating, like he couldn’t keep his body from betraying the storm inside.
Twenty minutes later, Cassie appeared in a blaze of red leather and heels that demanded attention. She dropped into the booth opposite him like a queen taking her rightful throne, a wicked grin daring him to keep up. “You ordered without me.”
“You were late.”
“I brought chaos and high fashion—that buys me at least ten minutes.”
Liam gave her a look, but his mouth twitched despite himself.
She squinted at him. “Jesus, you look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”
“I missed you too,” he muttered, tracing a finger through the condensation dripping down his glass.
She didn’t poke right away, just watched him with the kind of focus only someone who’d known him since braces could manage.
He finally exhaled, words dragging out of him. “Everything feels… full. Like there’s no room left in my head, and if one more thing gets shoved in, I’m going to crack.”
Cassie tilted her head. “Emma and the baby? Something wrong?”
He shook his head.
“Work?”
A pause. “Not really.”
Her eyes narrowed, sharp as knives. “So it’s someone at work.”
He didn’t speak, and that was enough.
“Aha.” She snapped her fingers. “It’s him, isn’t it? This is about The Wolfe.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked and he closed his eyes.
“Wait. Did he say something? Was he a dick? Do I have to hurt him?”
He rubbed his temples, voice like gravel. “No. It’s not like that.”
She leaned closer. “Then what is it? Come on Liam, spill, this is like pulling teeth.”
“I keep thinking about him.” His hand dragged down his face, like he could erase what he’d just said.
“Not as a scene partner or in any way that makes sense.” He swallowed hard.
“He’s just… there. In my head. Constantly.
I see him and everything else shuts off.
My brain forgets what it’s supposed to be doing. ”
The confession sat between them, ugly and fragile.
Cassie leaned back like she’d been shoved. “Holy shit.” She reached for his drink and took a slow swallow like she needed time to process. “Okay. I said spill, but that wasn’t a spill—that was a damn flood.”
Liam groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “God.”
Cassie’s foot nudged him under the table. “Hey. I’m not judging. Just catching up. It’s a lot.” She studied him. “I mean… for one, you’re straight.”
“I know.”
“You love Emma. You were over the moon when she told you about the baby.”
“I know.”
“And now you’re telling me Jacob Wolfe is the guy who short-circuits your nervous system?”
He looked up, eyes tired. “Yeah.”
Cassie just stared, and then, softer than usual, “Okay. But have you ever… with a guy?”
“No. Nothing. Not even a crush.” His voice was flat.
She let out a long breath. “Damn. Okay. So Jacob Wolfe broke your compass.”
He huffed something between a laugh and a groan.
She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “So. What now?”
He stared down at his drink. What now? He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with this.
His nerves sparked every time Jacob came near, his eyes kept dragging toward him even when he told himself to stop.
Meanwhile, waiting at home was Emma and the life he’d sworn he wanted.
The secret inside him kept pressing hard against his ribs, until he could hardly breathe around it.
“I don’t know.” His fingers curled tight around the base of the glass.
Cassie watched him, eyes narrowing like she was trying to decode a language only he knew. Her voice dropped. “Do you want him?”
Liam’s head snapped up, jaw tight.
“Not asking if you love him,” she said carefully. “Just… do you want him?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. It was carved across his face.
She reached for his drink again, took another sip, and set it down with precision. “So, is it just physical?”
He shook his head once. “No. It’s… everything.” His throat worked. “It’s the way he looks at me. He doesn’t talk much, but lately he’s been opening up, and whatever he says sticks. It gets under my skin.”
A pause.
“Yesterday we were behind the trailers. Waiting around. And he… he told me things. Stuff I know he doesn’t hand out easily.
I didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to leave.
I just wanted to sit there, with him, exactly like that.
” Liam’s mouth twisted. “I don’t think he meant to let me in, but he did.
Now I can’t stop thinking about that either. ”
Cassie just stared at him, her expression unreadable. “Well. That’s going to be inconvenient.”
Liam barked out a laugh he didn’t mean, the kind that slips loose when you are too wrung out to hold anything in.
It wasn’t funny, not even close, but once it started he couldn’t stop.
His shoulders were shaking with the sheer misery of it.
Cassie stared for a beat, then snorted, and suddenly they were both laughing at nothing.
Laughing until it left them breathless and grinning at each other across the table—because what else were friends for?