Chapter 30
Liam
The SUV eased to the curb just after noon, its engine purring low before falling silent. His driver offered no small talk, just a polite incline of his head as Liam stepped out. The man retrieved his bag from the trunk, set it gently at his feet, and slipped back into the city’s stream of traffic.
For a moment, Liam stood still on the pavement, fingers curled loosely around the handle of his bag as his gaze lifted to the building’s facade. It was exactly as he’d left it—the clean, sharp lines, the glass glinting in the sun, every detail orderly and pristine.
The doorman offered a smile that was polished smooth from years of repetition. “Welcome back, Mr. Hart.”
Liam’s mouth shaped into something that might pass for gratitude. “Thank you.”
The elevator carried him upward in silence, the faint hum of the motor the only sound. When the doors parted, the hallway greeted him with its signature scent—lemon polish and wealth.
Inside, the apartment was drenched in midday light.
Emma sat on the couch with a book propped against her knee, the corner of one page caught between her fingers.
She looked up at the sound of the door, and her smile was immediate—the kind of smile that used to steady him but now only reminded him how far he’d drifted.
“Hey,” she said, setting the book aside. “You’re home.”
She rose carefully and crossed the room to hug him. Her body was warm against his, her belly pressing into him with a gentle insistence that caught his breath. He closed his eyes against the sensation.
She leaned back just enough to search his face. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
She didn’t question it. Instead, she took his hand and guided it to her stomach. “She’s been practicing her gymnastics routine.”
He waited, still as a stone. Then came a small kick, sharp and sudden. It made something twist deep in his chest.
“She missed you,” Emma murmured, her fingers covering his, quiet awe clear in her voice.
Liam’s throat worked around the words. “Yeah. I missed you too.” A truth wrapped in a lie, or a lie wrapped in a truth. He couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
Emma’s lips brushed his cheek. “Come sit. I want to hear everything.”
He let her lead him to the couch and curl close, her hand resting where their child shifted beneath her skin. She asked about the shoot, the weather, the lodge, the crew—and about Jacob.
He answered each question with precision, choosing words that balanced on the thin wire between truth and omission, keeping the illusion upright.
Then she started filling him in on everything he’d missed—the baby’s latest kicks, her last check-up, a nursery mood board she’d started on Pinterest.
He responded the way he should, smiling when it fit, nodding when it didn’t hurt.
Beneath the performance, something coiled tighter and tighter.
The walls of their home seemed closer than they had when he’d walked in, the air thinner.
It was as though he’d stepped into a role that no longer fit, one that chafed at the seams and threatened to crush the breath from his lungs.
* * *
Liam sat hunched on the edge of the couch, elbows digging into his knees, fingers locked in his hair as though he could hold himself together if he just pulled hard enough. His breath came too fast, too shallow, never enough. Every drag of air clawed at his ribs and still left him hollow.
Emma had fallen asleep hours ago. She’d curled up against him and pressed her lips to his chest before drifting off, peaceful in a way he couldn’t reach. He lay awake beside her, skin prickling, every breath catching tight in his chest.
The silence wasn’t comfort; it was a trap. A void that swallowed sound and air alike. Even their home felt wrong, as if everything had shifted half an inch while he was gone—familiar, yet misaligned.
He couldn’t stay in bed, so he had stumbled out here, searching for breath, for air, for something. Except nothing worked. His vision was tunneling, his hands were shaking, and his ribs cinched like they’d been welded together.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed his phone and typed the only truth he had left in him: I’m not ok.
The screen barely had time to dim before it lit again, Jacob’s name glowing across it. He fumbled to answer, clutching the phone like a lifeline.
“Liam.” Jacob’s voice was rough with concern, anchoring him in an instant.
His throat worked uselessly, no words came.
“I—” He pressed the heel of his hand hard against his sternum, desperate to shove the panic back inside. “I can’t—” His breath snapped, broken and shallow. “Can’t breathe.”
“Okay.” Jacob’s tone reached straight through the haze. “Are you somewhere you can talk?”
“Living room.”
His pulse thudded so loudly he almost missed Jacob’s next words. “Is she asleep?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now put both feet on the floor.”
The command hit with enough force to bypass thought. He obeyed, his bare soles finding the cool wood, the grain pressing into his skin.
“Feel the floor under you. Ground yourself there.”
Liam nodded before remembering Jacob couldn’t see him. “Okay.”
“Now breathe with me,” Jacob said, his voice dropping into a register that demanded obedience. “In, two, three. Hold. Out, two, three.”
He tried, but air snagged halfway down, his chest locking.
“Again. In, two, three. Hold. Out.”
They kept at it, breath after breath. Jacob’s voice remained patient and steady in his ear, until time slid past unnoticed.
The vise on his chest didn’t vanish, but each inhale dragged a little deeper, each exhale steadier, until eventually his lungs remembered how to work again.
There was finally enough space to hold on to something other than panic.
“That’s it,” Jacob said, steady as stone. “Keep going. I’ve got you.”
Liam bent forward, forehead pressed to his knees, fingers trembling. “Why is this so fucking hard?” The whisper scraped out raw.
“Because you’re having a panic attack.” No judgment, just fact. “But you’re going to be okay.”
A broken sound wrenched out of him. “I can’t do this.”
“You can,” Jacob answered. “Let me help you.”
His shoulders shook. “I feel like I’m drowning. My thoughts won’t stop. They’re chewing me alive. I need—fuck—I need my head to shut up.”
Silence hummed on the line until Jacob drew a long breath. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped. “Do you need me to take over for a bit?”
“Please,” Liam begged.
“Just comfort,” Jacob asked, “or do you need more than that?”
Liam closed his eyes. He didn’t need comfort—he needed something to strip the panic from his bones, something sharper, and Jacob could do that.
“Say it.”
“I need more,” he whispered.
The faint exhale that followed carried through the receiver like heat against his skin. “Good. Then you do exactly what I say. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Lean back. Press your spine into the cushions. I want your body open. Grounded.”
Liam forced himself upright, muscles trembling, and leaned back until the cushions caught him.
“Hand on your chest. Do you feel your heartbeat racing?”
“Yeah.”
“Slide your hand across your chest slowly. Feel every inch.”
Liam closed his eyes, palm dragging over the cotton clinging to his chest, every pass sharpening his awareness of the body beneath.
“Keep it slow,” Jacob said, spoken in that rasp that made Liam’s stomach clench. “This is about being in your body again. You hear me?”
“Yes.”
The panic still hummed, but Jacob’s voice threaded through it, weaving something stronger than fear. His skin burned underneath his clothes.
“You need that shirt gone. Strip it off for me.”
Liam swallowed hard, then pulled the fabric over his head and let it fall, the cooler air raising goosebumps across his overheated skin.
“Better?” Jacob murmured.
“Yes.”
“Hand back on your chest. Drag your fingers over your ribs, your stomach. Feel it.”
The pads of his fingers slid across warm skin, catching faintly on the ridge of each rib.
“Find your nipples. Circle them.”
The brush of touch had him gasping, his body betraying him instantly. Jacob’s answering sound—a low hum of approval—shot straight through him.
“Breathe through it.”
He did, panic dissolving further with each shaky inhale, replaced by a different kind of breathlessness.
"Pinch them. Make it sting.”
Liam did, a whimper tearing free as the sensation arrowed down his body.
“That’s it.” Jacob’s voice roughened, unsteady for the first time. “One day I’ll make you come from nothing but that.”
The suggestion ripped through him, turning his cock hard in the same instant.
“You like that thought?” Jacob asked. “Me touching, licking, and biting your nipples until you’re begging? Until you’re shaking apart for me?”
“Yes,” Liam gasped. “Yes.”
“Keep playing with them. Harder.”
He obeyed, hips jerking against nothing. “Jacob—fuck—”
He could hear Jacob’s breathing now, a little rougher, like he was just as affected by all this.
“Stay with me, baby.” Jacob’s command bound him tighter than touch. “I want to hear every sound. Now pants off, boxers stay.”
Liam shoved his sweats down and kicked them away, until he was left in nothing but thin cotton clinging to the hard, aching length beneath.
“Touch yourself over your boxers. Just pressure.”
The heel of his palm pressed down over his cock and he had to bite back a moan.
"I want you wound so tightly you can barely think. Dripping and aching before I let you come.”
Breath stuttered out of him. “I am.”
"No. You’re getting there. Rub slowly. Up and down."
His hand obeyed, hips shifting restlessly, every nerve straining toward Jacob’s voice.
“Good boy. Just like that. Now peel those boxers down.”
The praise in that gravelly tone undid him in ways he didn’t understand, and he already craved hearing it again.
His thumb hooked the waistband and pushed them down until his cock sprang free, straining with the kind of ache that demanded touch.
“Now you can touch yourself.” Jacob’s tone dipped half a shade darker.
Liam’s hand wrapped around his cock at last, his thumb sliding through the wetness gathered at the head. Relief hit so sharp it nearly broke him. The sound that escaped him was half sob, half moan. Across the line came Jacob’s answering breath—proof he wasn’t the only one unraveling.
“Tell me how hard you are.”
“So fucking hard I’m leaking.” His voice cracked.
“Good. Now stroke. Slow.”
He obeyed, hips jerking into his fist, body vibrating as though every muscle had been strung too tight.
Jacob’s breath shuddered through the line. “Fuck. You’re doing so good. Keep going. I want you fucking your fist for me.”
His head fell back against the couch, eyes squeezed shut, his hand pumping in a rhythm that sent heat climbing fast and merciless.
“I’m gonna come—”
“Not yet.” The command landed sharp, cutting straight through the haze of desperation.
“Jacob—please—”
“Wait. First I need to hear that sound you make when you’re completely wrecked.”
His whole body trembled, every muscle caught between obedience and need. A whimper broke loose as his teeth cut into his lip. He wanted to give in, but Jacob’s voice was an anchor he couldn’t fight.
“Now come for me.”
The words snapped something loose. His spine bowed and his vision went white as heat spilled across his stomach.
Jacob’s voice held steady through every ragged spasm—“That’s it, I’ve got you, you’re perfect.
” It tethered him until the panic was nothing but cinders, burned away in the fire Jacob had stoked with nothing more than his voice.
Liam collapsed back, every muscle spent. Air dragged heavily through his lungs, no longer strangled, settling deep where it belonged. Each slow breath carried him further from the edge and closer to Jacob.
“Are you back with me?” Jacob’s voice was soft and intimate, like he was right there beside him.
“Yeah,” Liam murmured. “I think I am. Thank you.”
"You start to spiral again—you call me. I don’t give a shit where you are, who’s around, or what time it is. You don’t go through this without me.”
Liam’s eyes slipped closed, the words sinking deep, locking into a place even the panic couldn’t touch.