Chapter 28
Liam
Liam stood before the mirror and barely recognized the man looking back. His hair was a mess—an unfixable disaster of stubborn strands that refused to sit right, no matter how many times he dragged a hand through them.
His mouth looked wrecked, the faintest curve of a smile still clinging there like an aftertaste. And his neck… Jesus. There were more marks now, fresh ones, dark and deliberate, climbing high enough that makeup was going to have to work overtime if he didn’t want the whole crew staring.
He was going to have to ask Benji for a makeup kit to take home, and a crash course on how to use it.
The thought made his stomach knot. Holy shit, that was going to be embarrassing—asking for help to hide the fact that he was cheating.
Still, he’d have to cover it before he faced Emma; he didn’t have a choice.
He rubbed a hand over his face, hating how easily the plan came together.
Behind him, Jacob dragged a black shirt over his shoulders, looking unfairly good—like he’d strolled out of an ad campaign instead of out of bed. He seemed maddeningly put together, like he hadn’t just fucked Liam breathless. God, Liam couldn’t look away.
He forced himself back to the sink, splashed cold water on his face, and braced both palms against the counter until the sting faded from his skin.
Focus.
They had one outdoor shoot left and then it would be finished: half a day’s work with barely any dialogue. After that, the crew would pack up, and tomorrow morning they’d be heading back to Hollywood—back to Emma.
Jacob’s voice came from behind him. “You good?”
Liam kept his eyes on the sink. “Define good.”
There was a pause, followed by the faint rustle of a belt cinching. “Capable of walking. Of pretending you slept. Capable of not looking like you just got absolutely wrecked by your co-star.”
Liam glanced at him in the mirror, deadpan. “You should do morning affirmations for the crew.”
Liam tugged on his T-shirt, and somehow the fabric felt too soft. His skin was still too aware of everything—fabric, air, the memory of hands that still seemed to linger there.
Jacob leaned against the doorway, arms folded, eyes fixed on him with that stare that made Liam feel both seen and defenseless. “I’m serious. Can you do this?”
“I’ve done harder scenes on less sleep.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Liam met his gaze in the mirror. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”
Jacob’s weight shifted, but the composure stayed.
“We’re done shooting in a few hours. After that, we’re off the clock.
Free until that bullshit party the studio’s throwing tonight.
” His jaw flexed, a shadow passing through his eyes.
“Then tomorrow, we’re back to real life.
Your perfect wife. My perfect lie. Cameras up our asses. ”
The words landed heavier than Liam wanted to admit. He stared down at a loose thread on his shirt, winding it between his fingers.
Jacob took a step forward, closing some of the distance between them. “So here’s the deal. We’ve got one day—just a few hours where none of that exists. That’s it.” His voice carried a weight that made Liam’s chest tighten.
“So stop looking like you already regret everything,” Jacob said. “We made our choices. Feeling guilty doesn’t help anyone.” He shrugged. “Let’s use this time.”
It was exactly like him—no hesitation, no room for doubt, just the blunt edge of truth cutting through the noise. No comfort, no soft place to land, but also no lies. The worst part was that he wasn’t wrong.
Fine.
He could fall apart tomorrow. Today, he’d take what there was to take. Whatever this was, whatever they were, there wouldn’t be another chance like this—locked doors, no paparazzi, and no one to answer to. He’d take the hours and the softness Jacob pretended not to have.
For now, he’d get ready, paste on a smile, and maybe—if he was lucky—find a way to steal a few more moments with the man who had lodged himself under his skin like a goddamn splinter.
* * *
The shoot wrapped by noon. Quick, easy, nothing dramatic. A quiet lakeside scene with minimal lines and a nod from the director to call it done.
Liam was leaning against a trailer, drinking water that tasted faintly of plastic, when Jacob came up beside him and said, “You want to disappear for a bit?”
Liam narrowed his eyes. “Disappear how?”
Jacob didn’t answer. He just started walking toward the tree line like that was all the explanation needed. Typical.
The trail was narrow and steep, half-swallowed by roots and shadows, the kind of path you only found if you were looking for it. Jacob moved like it was familiar and he’d walked it a hundred times before, steady and sure-footed while Liam stumbled over the uneven ground.
“Jesus,” Liam muttered, ducking under a low branch. “You always walk this fast or are you just trying to impress?”
Jacob glanced back with a grin. “Keep up, Hollywood.” He just kept walking like this wasn’t uphill and vaguely murderous.
Of course Jacob liked nature. He probably hiked for fun and read existential poetry by a campfire or some shit.
They didn’t talk much; it was the kind of quiet that didn’t need to be filled.
Eventually, Jacob stopped without warning.
When Liam caught up, the trail had opened onto a rocky outcrop above the lake.
The water below looked unreal—too still and blue.
The kind of view that made you feel like the rest of the world could wait.
Liam just stood there, staring out, letting himself breathe. “Okay,” he muttered. “I get the appeal.”
Jacob sat down on a flat boulder, stretching his legs out in front of him like he owned the damn forest.
Liam stayed standing for a moment, eyes on the view. “How’d you find this spot?”
Jacob didn’t look over. “Found it that first morning. I’ve come out most days before call time.”
“You’ve been hiking before dawn for fun?”
“It’s quiet.”
That was all he offered—no embellishment, no further explanation.
Liam stood there a second longer before sitting down beside him, leaning back on his hands and letting the view soak in. “It’s a good spot.”
Jacob didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth pulled slightly, like maybe Liam’s approval meant something to him.
Liam let his eyes wander across the lake, the trees, and the stupidly perfect sky. “It’s weird. Being still like this.”
Jacob kept quiet, but Liam knew him now—knew that silence didn’t mean distance; it meant Jacob was listening, giving him space to speak.
“I’ve been performing for as long as I can remember. Drama Club. School plays. Auditions. Set life. Press junkets. Always something to hit my mark for. It never stopped.”
Jacob made a low, unreadable sound.
“But this?” Liam gestured toward the lake. “This is just… still. No one is watching. No one is waiting for me to say the right line. My brain doesn’t know what to do with that.”
Jacob’s mouth twitched. “You’re not great at being still.”
“Nope,” Liam admitted. “I’m trained for stage lights and polite interviews. Not rocky cliffs and silence.”
Jacob was quiet for a second. “You don’t have to do anything here.”
“That’s the part that messes with me,” Liam admitted. “I’m not sure who I am without all that.”
“Maybe this is how you figure it out.”
After a stretch of quiet, Jacob asked, “So, drama club. Tights and Shakespeare and everything?”
Liam laughed out loud. “I was Mercutio. Took it very seriously. Thought I was going to be discovered by some wandering agent in the school auditorium.”
Jacob side-eyed him. “Were you any good?”
“Probably not, but I was loud and I knew all my lines.” He smirked. “My little sister still brings it up—how I died tragically in Mom’s scarf and called it a costume. My family’s great like that. They always showed up. Always sat front row like it was the damn Tonys.”
Jacob met Liam’s gaze and held it, a genuine smile tugging at his lips.
“What about you? What were you doing in high school? Sports? Fights behind the gym?”
Jacob let out a short, humorless laugh. “Trying to survive Stockton.”
“Yeah?”
“I wasn’t doing school plays. I was figuring out how to make twenty bucks last a week and keep the lights on. My mom was an addict. Some days she was there. Most days she wasn’t.”
Liam’s chest tightened.
“I worked at a gas station after school. Did homework when I could. Slept when it was quiet enough.” Jacob shrugged, like it didn’t matter. “That’s what it was.”
He said it like he was narrating the weather. Just facts.
“You still talk to her?”
Jacob shook his head. “No. Haven’t seen her since I was sixteen and she kicked me out. Her boyfriend at the time didn’t want a kid around. She agreed.”
“Jesus.”
Jacob didn’t flinch. “It wasn’t a surprise.”
“And your dad?”
“Left when I was six.”
Liam hesitated. “He had another kid, right?”
Jacob’s jaw flexed. “Yeah. Knox. Twenty years younger. Never met him.”
“He still in Stockton?”
“As far as I know.”
“You ever thought about reaching out?”
“No. Some people think blood means something. I don’t.” Jacob’s voice wasn’t bitter, just firm.
Liam didn’t speak; words felt wrong and useless. Instead, he let his hand drift across the quiet space between them, fingertips grazing Jacob’s. For a heartbeat, nothing happened—then Jacob’s hand shifted, turning to catch his, their palms finding each other in the stillness.
They didn’t look at each other. They didn’t have to. The lake shimmered below them, the trees whispered overhead, the only sounds coming from the wind, the water, and Jacob’s steady breathing beside him.
For one impossible moment, the world felt right.