Chapter 42
Liam
New York felt like a fever that never broke, constant movement and noise threading through his veins until every part of him vibrated.
The city pressed against the hotel glass—horns blaring, tires hissing on wet pavement, and neon signs bleeding through the rain.
Even twenty-four floors up, the sound carried, faint but insistent, a reminder there was no such thing as silence here.
Liam stood at the window, forehead close to the glass, watching the cabs swarm the curb below. His reflection stared back at him, drawn and pale, with eyes darkened by exhaustion.
It was the third day on the road with Jacob. Three cities in three days, filled with back-to-back interviews, red carpets, photo ops, and the kind of tension that stuck to his skin like sweat.
He hated every second of it—and he hated how badly he didn’t want it to end.
They hadn’t touched in any meaningful way since that booth in LA, more than two months ago. That was the day Jacob’s voice slipped past every wall Liam had built, breaking him open with three simple words: I miss you.
Those words had lodged beneath Liam’s skin, a pulse he couldn’t quiet.
Jacob never spoke them again or offered more, but the tension lived in smaller things—the brush of fingers when he passed a bottle of water, the way he stood too close in crowded green rooms, or the way his eyes lingered when he thought Liam wouldn’t notice.
Each small moment carved him open, leaving him raw.
The bed behind him was unmade, covers tangled from a night where he’d turned over and over, trying not to imagine Jacob just across the wall.
Close enough that if things were different, Liam would have slipped into his room and into his bed without hesitation.
All that longing had nowhere to go, festering beneath his skin, until he was rotting from the inside out.
Tonight was the late-night show—the big one.
A gleaming stage, cameras everywhere, and an audience watching from all over the world.
The kind of interview the studio fought to secure when awards season circled close.
He was supposed to be grateful, smile, and banter with a host who would never see the truth beneath the performance.
The thought of going live on camera again made his throat tighten. He’d have to sit there and smile when he could barely breathe. Sit next to Jacob and pretend he didn’t remember every sound that escaped him in the dark.
He dropped down heavily on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on his knees.
Hands pressed over his eyes until the darkness behind his lids sparked with color.
It had been three days of Jacob being everywhere—in his lungs, in his blood, and in the marrow of his bones.
He was everywhere, as inescapable as his own shadow.
* * *
The host’s voice carried across the stage, bright and booming.
She stood under the lights in a glittering blue suit, with a smile made for the camera.
“Alright, folks, next up—two of the stars of Wingspan, the show that already has the internet losing its collective mind. Please welcome Jacob Wolfe and Liam Hart!”
Applause swelled, lights flared, and the stage manager’s hand cut through the air in a wave that sent them forward.
Jacob stepped first, unhurried, shoulders loose, and every line of his body controlled.
Liam followed, heart hammering like he was walking into fire.
He smiled, lifted a hand in an easy wave, shook the host’s hand, and lowered himself into the chair as though the motions belonged to someone else entirely.
The host leaned forward with a grin that glinted beneath the stage lights.
“Okay, let’s get right to it. Wingspan—not even out yet, and already one of the most talked-about shows of the year.
The trailers alone have the internet buzzing.
And let’s be honest—it’s not just the writing. It’s the chemistry.”
The audience laughed knowingly, a ripple that seemed to crawl beneath Liam’s skin. Beside him, Jacob shifted, the press of his sleeve grazing Liam’s. He loathed the way his body noticed, and the way his blood seemed to chase after that smallest point of contact.
The host smiled wider. “Seriously, the internet has opinions. Reddit’s obsessed. I’ve read the theories. There’s even a freeze-frame thread about that hallway shot. People are analyzing.”
Jacob gave a low chuckle, easy and measured. “It’s flattering. Means we’re doing a good job.”
“Oh, come on,” the host teased, eyes gleaming, her voice pitched high to draw in the audience. “That kind of heat doesn’t just happen. Did you two rehearse those scenes a lot or was that spontaneous?”
Liam’s pulse stuttered, but he forced his mouth into shape and kept his voice level. “We worked together closely. It was a challenging script and we wanted to honor it.” Too careful. He could hear it himself.
Jacob nodded. “There was a lot of trust.”
“Trust,” the host echoed, rolling the word over her tongue. “Interesting choice. That tension? It’s practically erotic.”
Liam made himself smile. “That’s good writing for you.”
“Or good acting,” she countered, her tone a purr.
The cameras trained on him, waiting for charm or something clever. His chest pulled tight and his lungs refused to fill.
Jacob’s voice slid in, calm as ever, saving him. “You’re giving us too much credit. We just showed up and tried not to ruin it.”
The audience burst into laughter and applause rang across the set as relief cracked through Liam’s chest. The moment passed, and the host pivoted. A few more jokes, a bit of promo chatter, and finally a clip rolled on the screen.
Beside him, Jacob was steady, the picture of composure. Liam sat rigid in the glow of a thousand eyes, certain that if he turned his head even an inch, everyone would see the truth written across his face.
* * *
The elevator doors closed, sealing them inside the mirrored box. Every wall threw Jacob back at him, every reflection a reminder of how close they were, how little room there was left to breathe.
They’d ridden from the studio in silence, the city blurring past the windows while Jacob stared out into the lights, as if they mattered more than Liam sitting inches away. Now there was nowhere to look but at each other, nowhere to go but up, the space between them shrinking with every floor.
Liam stood in the corner, shoulders stiff, as his fists buried deep in his coat pockets. Jacob’s stance was straight and rigid, eyes fixed on the glowing numbers above the door, his stillness wound tight enough that Liam could feel it vibrating across the small cabin.
Floor seven lit up. Then eight. Still, neither of them spoke.
“You’re unraveling.” Jacob’s voice cut straight through the silence.
Liam’s eyes stayed on the mirrored door. “I’m fine.”
Jacob let out a breath that sounded a lot like disbelief. “You haven’t been fine in months.”
Heat rose in Liam’s chest, and his head turned before he could stop himself. “And you have? You can’t even look at me. You walk through every room like nothing touches you, but I know better.”
Jacob’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening, but he said nothing.
“Say it,” Liam pushed, his voice daring. “Whatever it is you’ve been holding back since LA. Just say it.”
Jacob moved—his hand slammed the red button, and the elevator jolted to a stop.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Jacob turned then, finally looking at him. His steps forward were slow, deliberate, but the hunger in his eyes betrayed the careful control of his body. He looked like he’d made up his mind and didn’t care if it wrecked them.
“I’ve tried,” he ground out. Another step. “Tried to give you space. Tried to let you go.” His eyes burned into Liam’s. “But I’m done pretending. Done pretending you don’t look at me like you’re starving.”
Liam’s back pressed harder into the mirror. His breath caught sharp in his throat. “Don’t.”
“You think I don’t see it?” Jacob kept coming, his voice cutting deeper. “You think I don’t feel it every damn time you breathe next to me like you’re drowning?”
The mirror’s glass chilled his spine, and his voice cracked as he said, “This is a mistake.”
“Then stop me.”
He should have. He should have pushed him back, said Emma’s name, or Nora’s. He should have done anything but stand there trembling, caught between guilt and want. His body betrayed him, staying rooted, already shaking with need.
Jacob closed the last of the distance.
Liam’s fists tightened, nails digging into his palms. “I’m married.”
“I know.” Jacob’s voice was gravel. “And yet you’re here. Shaking because of me.”
The words tore through him. “You think this changes anything?”
Jacob’s chest brushed his. “I don’t care anymore.”
Liam lurched forward, something inside him splintering wide open, only to find Jacob already closing the distance. Fingers fisted in his hair, yanking him close, as their mouths crashed together. His body curled into Jacob, whimpering into the kiss, every sound raw with need.
Finally. God, finally.
The kiss unraveled quickly, becoming messy and all-consuming. Jacob pressed him into the glass with a growl, his mouth unforgiving. Liam pulled him tight, like nothing could ever be close enough.
The elevator stayed frozen, but everything inside Liam spun out of control. He should have thought of Emma. He didn’t. Couldn’t. Jacob’s mouth left no room for thought, only the wild ache of want.
Jacob bit his lip before dragging his mouth down his throat. Liam’s head fell back against the mirror, fingers holding onto Jacob’s hair as if he could anchor himself there forever.
When they finally broke apart, struggling to catch their breath, Jacob pressed his forehead to his. “You’re still mine,” he said, voice rough with need. “I’ll wait, but don’t think for a second you can keep me at a distance forever.”