Chapter 13
Liam
The set emptied around him piece by piece—lights cooling, cables being gathered, voices dropping low with the drag of exhaustion—until only shadows remained. The kiss scene was finished, played out again and again until Liam’s mouth felt raw and his chest ached with every breath.
And Jacob? Gone.
No goodbye, no explanation. One second he was standing there, jaw tight, face unreadable, and the next he’d vanished, leaving Liam with the taste of him still clinging to his mouth.
Liam didn’t think. He didn’t plan. Heat and instinct carried him across the lot, shoes striking against asphalt, the air cutting sharp through his lungs. The trailers loomed ahead, hulking shapes in the shadows. He didn’t knock; he just opened the trailer door and stepped inside.
Jacob stood near the kitchenette, one hand braced against the counter, the other curled around a bottle of water he hadn’t even opened.
His shoulders were taut, his head bent like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.
He didn’t turn around right away, but when he did, the guarded mask was back in place.
As if nothing had happened. As if Liam hadn’t spent the entire afternoon being kissed like it meant something.
“Liam.” His voice was flat and gruff. “Don’t.”
Too late.
“You kissed me,” Liam said, shutting the door behind him, the sound too loud in the small space. “You pushed me into that wall. More than once.”
Jacob’s jaw ticked, the muscles pulling tight as his knuckles whitened on the counter. “It was a scene.”
“Bullshit.” Liam stepped forward. “That wasn’t a scene. You think I don’t know the difference by now?”
“You’re not thinking straight.”
“No,” Liam snapped, voice breaking. “I’m not. Because you kissed me like it meant something, and then you walked away like it didn’t. And now you’re fucking hiding again.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Jacob’s voice was tight, as if each word was pulled through his teeth.
“Says who?”
Finally, Jacob’s eyes met his, and it landed like a punch. His face was all cold restraint, but his eyes gave him away—the heat, the hunger, the wanting he couldn’t hide.
Liam stepped closer. “You don’t get to do that. Don’t stand there and pretend I’m the crazy one. You were there too.”
Jacob didn’t answer.
Liam stopped just in front of him, close enough to feel the tension vibrating off his body. Close enough to remember those hands gripping his waist and hauling him in. He had never felt so completely claimed by someone else’s need.
“You felt it too,” Liam said, and it wasn’t a question.
Jacob’s silence cut sharper than denial.
“Say it.”
Still nothing. Still that wall. So Liam pushed harder, his voice shaking with frustration. “You didn’t think about the cameras or the crew. You didn’t think about your wife. You just kissed me like you couldn’t stop yourself. Don’t stand here now and pretend it didn’t mean a damn thing.”
Jacob’s hand clenched tighter around the bottle, plastic groaning beneath his grip. His face turned away. “Go home,” he said hoarsely.
“No.”
“Liam—”
“Don’t tell me to walk away. We’ve been circling this too long—I’m not doing it anymore.”
At last Jacob responded, not with words but with action. He stepped around him, opened the trailer door, and walked out into the night without a single backward glance.
Liam didn’t follow. He stood rooted where Jacob had left him, hands shaking, the faint trace of cologne still clinging to the air like a ghost.
That was when the guilt struck. He hadn’t thought about his wife or the baby.
Not once. Not until now. He’d come in here running on adrenaline, acting before thinking—like he always did.
Jumping straight into the fire without stopping to ask if he’d burn.
Ready to fight for something he couldn’t even name.
When the rush faded, all that was left was the question twisting in his chest—what kind of man did that make him?
* * *
The buzzing wouldn’t stop. Liam groaned and fumbled across the sheets, fingers clumsy until they closed around his phone.
The screen lit up, blinding in the dark.
Notifications stacked one on top of the other—texts, missed calls, headlines flooding in so fast it looked like wreckage piling up in real time.
Trending #1: “Leaked kiss from Wingspan set—Liam Hart not officially and without permission. Just some asshole with a phone, catching them from the edge of the set. Close enough to capture his mouth on Jacob’s and the sound of him moaning into it. A stolen moment, and now it belonged to the internet.
The clip started mid-kiss: his lips pressed hungrily to Jacob’s, and his body leaning in as if he couldn’t get close enough.
Jacob’s hand clutched his jaw, and then—God—the wrecked sound that tore from him when Jacob kissed him deeper.
The most damning part wasn’t even that. It was the way they didn’t stop when Ellen called cut.
The way it only grew hotter, rougher, as if no one else existed.
By the time the clip ended, Liam was on the floor without remembering how he got there. His back was pressed to the kitchen cabinet, the phone still in his hand, frozen mid-frame. No one could pretend the kiss wasn’t electric. The press didn’t, and neither did the fans.
“Liam Hart is NOT straight.”
“If that’s acting, give them a fucking Oscar.”
“Liam Hart’s gay awakening caught on film.”
He scrolled, feeling dizzy. It was already everywhere; YouTube breakdowns, TikTok loops, slow-motion replays of Jacob gripping his jaw, even fan edits cut to heartbreak songs. His stomach dropped further with every swipe.
He couldn’t breathe. His phone buzzed again, vibrating against his palm. He didn’t look. He dropped his head into his hands, lungs seizing as his mind ran loops—Emma, the baby, headlines, his career, Jacob—everything at once.
That was how Emma found him, sitting on the kitchen floor.
She stood in the doorway, her own phone clutched in her hand, her face pale and unreadable.
She didn’t come closer, only pressed play.
He sat there, forced to watch her take it in.
At first her face was neutral, but as the seconds ticked by, the stillness cracked, shock giving way to hurt.
When it ended, she looked straight at him, her voice cutting.
“You kissed him after they called cut. You didn’t stop. ”
Liam exhaled. “I know.” There wasn’t an argument to make, no words that could twist what she’d seen into something else. She’d watched it with her own eyes.
They remained in silence, the kitchen suddenly too small to hold the distance between them.
“I knew what this job was,” she said at last. “I read the script. I knew there would be intimacy.”
He nodded, throat dry, body stiff against the cabinet.
“What I didn’t expect,” she continued, voice like glass, “was to feel like I was watching something I wasn’t supposed to see. Like it wasn’t for the cameras.”
There was nothing he could say to that; no defense or excuse.
She held his eyes a beat longer, then turned and walked away. The door shut behind her with a soft, final click. The silence that followed felt louder than the buzzing of his phone. He sat there frozen until the vibration rattled against the tile for a third time. Carson.
He dragged the call open. His voice came out raw. “Hello.”
“You saw it?” Carson’s tone was tight.
“Yeah.”
“Fuck.” A beat. “It’s a clusterfuck. TikTok’s in heat. Reddit’s analyzing your pupils. YouTube—don’t even open YouTube.”
Liam closed his eyes. “It wasn’t supposed to leak.”
“I know. Studio’s losing their minds. They think it was someone rogue on crew. They’ve launched an investigation, but that doesn’t help us now.”
Liam pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “So what do we do?”
“We’ll do damage control, interviews if we have to. Listen Liam, this isn’t going away anytime soon.”
“It was a scene,” Liam snapped. “It was acting.”
Carson snorted. “Acting doesn’t usually have audio that sounds like you’re about to come.”
Liam flinched. “Jesus.”
“I’m not saying it’s fair,” Carson added quickly.
“But you’re under the microscope. You’re America’s golden boy—the perfect husband with a baby on the way.
That’s the brand, Liam. Right now they’re feasting on this.
Playing gay on screen? No problem. People thinking you are gay?
That’s different. That’s when it might hurt your image.
Unfortunately the world isn’t as progressive as it pretends to be. ”
Liam forced the lump down his throat. “And Jacob?”
“Jacob’s Jacob. Untouchable. People worship him. He can take the hit. His team’s stonewalling, staying above it. It’ll work for him.”
Liam said nothing.
“You okay?” Carson asked at last, voice softened.
He didn’t respond. They both knew the answer.
“I’ll send you talking points. Your publicist will call. We’ll hold the line.”
The call ended and the silence came crashing back. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until sparks lit behind them, until the ache in his chest matched the one in his skull.
He wanted to smash the phone. Or himself. Instead, he dragged his gaze back to the screen. Missed call after missed call—his publicist, Cassie, his sisters, even his dad. Just noise, all of it. Except for one message that refused to blur into the rest.
Unknown: Are you okay? Jacob
Liam stared. They’d never texted before. Those three words sat on his screen like a weight in his hand. His thumb hovered, useless, because what the hell could he say? Nothing would change the fact that half the internet thought he was in love with Jacob Wolfe.