Chapter 14
Sofia
Love, I was discovering, was a lot like champagne. It bubbled. It went straight to your head. And it made you feel invincible, right up until the moment you tripped over your own feet.
It had been three days since Liam’s surgery. Three days of playing nurse, chauffeur, and secret fiancée.
He was back in his apartment (I had insisted he stay at the Kensington, but he refused, citing "pride" and "stairs"). So, I had essentially moved into the garage. I had brought pillows. I had brought a space heater. I had brought a coffee maker that cost more than his monthly rent.
And we were... happy.
Deliriously, stupidly happy.
I was sitting in the back of my Marketing Strategy lecture, supposedly taking notes on "Consumer Retention Models." In reality, I was sketching a logo for "Vanner Customs" in the margins of my notebook.
My phone buzzed on the desk.
Liam (Patient Zero): Bored. Come over. Bring ice cream.
I smiled, biting my lip to suppress a giggle.
Me: I’m in class. Learning how to be a corporate shark.
Liam (Patient Zero): Be a shark later. Be a nurse now. My knee hurts.
Me: Is that the only thing that hurts?
Liam (Patient Zero): Everything hurts. But mostly my heart, because you’re not here.
I snorted. The girl next to me—a Tri-Delt named Jessica who always wore pearls—glared at me.
"Sorry," I whispered.
I looked at the text again. My heart.
He was cheesy. He was needy. And he was mine.
I typed back: On my way. Chocolate or Vanilla?
Liam (Patient Zero): Vanilla. Always.
I packed up my bag, ignoring the professor who was droning on about brand loyalty. I had brand loyalty. It was just to a specific, 6'5" brand of goalie.
I walked out of the lecture hall, feeling light. I felt like I was floating two inches off the ground.
"Sofia!"
I stopped in the hallway.
It was Brad Pensington. The guy from the gala. The guy Liam had almost punched.
"Hey, Brad," I said, keeping my voice neutral. I shifted my bag to my other shoulder, subconsciously protecting my phone.
"Leaving early?" he asked, falling into step beside me. He smelled of expensive cologne and entitlement.
"Errand to run," I said vaguey.
"Right," he said. "Errands. You've been busy lately. Haven't seen you at the sorority house. Or the bar. Or... anywhere, really."
"I'm managing the team," I said. "It's a lot of work."
"Managing," Brad repeated. He smirked. "Is that what they call it? I heard Vanner got hurt. Bad break."
"Yeah," I said, my chest tightening. "ACL tear. He's recovering."
"Recovering where?" Brad asked casually. "I stopped by the team house to drop off some notes for Carter. Vanner wasn't there."
"He's staying with family," I lied. It was the cover story we agreed on.
"Family," Brad nodded. "Right. His mom lives in... where is it? New Hampshire? A trailer park, right?"
The way he said trailer park made my blood boil.
"It's none of your business, Brad," I snapped.
"Touchy," he laughed, holding up his hands. "Just making conversation, Sof. You seem... defensive. Like you're hiding something."
"I'm not hiding anything," I said, walking faster toward the exit. "I'm just busy. Goodbye."
I pushed through the doors into the cold winter air, my heart racing.
He knows, a voice whispered in my head. Or he suspects.
But then I thought of Liam waiting for me. I thought of the way his eyes lit up when I walked in the door.
Let him suspect, I thought defiantly. Let them all talk. They can't touch us.
I got into The Beast—which I was still driving because my G-Wagon was still "pending assessment"—and drove toward the grocery store.
We were invincible. Weren't we?
The grocery store was a danger zone.
I was in the frozen aisle, debating between Ben & Jerry's and H?agen-Dazs. I was wearing my oversized Blackwood Hockey hoodie (stolen from Liam) and leggings. I looked like a student. I felt like a spy.
"Sofia?"
I froze, my hand hovering over a pint of Chunky Monkey.
I turned slowly.
Victoria Vance stood there. The cheer captain. The Queen Bee of Blackwood.
She was holding a basket filled with kale and kombucha. She looked me up and down, her eyes lingering on the hoodie.
"Nice sweatshirt," she said. Her voice was sweet, saccharine sweet. "Isn't that Vanner's? It looks huge on you."
"I... grabbed it from the equipment room," I lied. "It was cold."
"Right," Victoria said. She stepped closer. "I heard he's out for the season. Surgery yesterday."
"Yes," I said. "He's recovering."
"Where?" she asked. The same question Brad had asked. "I wanted to send him a card. Maybe visit. Cheer him up."
"He's not taking visitors," I said quickly. "Doctor's orders. He needs rest."
Victoria narrowed her eyes. "You seem to know a lot about his doctor's orders. For a student manager."
"It's my job," I said, lifting my chin. "I manage the roster. Injury reports go through me."
"Of course," Victoria smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "Well, tell him I said hi. And tell him... tell him the team misses him. Especially the girls."
She winked and walked away.
I stood there, clutching the ice cream so hard the carton dented.
Especially the girls.
It was a dig. A reminder that Liam was a commodity. That other people wanted him.
But they didn't have him. I did.
I grabbed the ice cream and marched to the checkout.
Let her send a card, I thought viciously. I'm the one changing his bandages.
I paid cash (Liam’s cash, from the purse sale) and left.
When I got to the apartment, Liam was on the floor.
Not on the mattress. On the actual floor.
He was doing leg lifts.
His brace was locked straight. He was sweating, his face contorted in concentration.
"What are you doing?" I shrieked, dropping the grocery bag. "You had surgery yesterday! You're supposed to be resting!"
"Rehab starts now," he grunted, lowering his leg slowly. "Atrophy sets in after 24 hours. I need to keep the quad firing."
"You are insane," I said, rushing over to him. "You are going to rip your stitches."
"Stitches are fine," he panted, looking up at me. He was pale, but his eyes were bright. "Did you get the ice cream?"
"Yes, I got the ice cream. But I'm not giving it to you until you get back on the mattress."
"Help me up," he said, holding out a hand.
I grabbed his hand and pulled. He groaned as he shifted his weight, hopping on his right leg to the mattress. He collapsed onto the pillows with a sigh.
"Better?" I asked, arranging the blanket over him.
"Much," he said, catching my hand and pulling me down for a kiss.
He tasted salty and sweet.
"You're sweaty," I complained, but I didn't pull away.
"You love it," he murmured against my lips. "So? How was the outside world? Did you conquer corporate America?"
"I dodged bullets," I said, sitting on the edge of the mattress. "Brad Pensington and Victoria Vance. Both asking about you. Both suspicious."
Liam frowned. "What did you tell them?"
"That you're with family. That you're not taking visitors."
"Good," he nodded. "Keep the perimeter secure."
"They know something is up, Liam," I said quietly. "Victoria recognized your hoodie. She looked at me like she wanted to skin me."
"Let her look," Liam said, reaching for the remote. "She's just jealous because she knows she's not my type."
"And what is your type?" I asked, fishing for compliments.
"Short," he said. "Bossy. Expensive taste. Bad driver."
"Hey!" I slapped his chest.
"But seriously," he caught my hand, his expression sobering. "Don't worry about them. They're noise. As long as your dad doesn't know, we're fine."
"My dad thinks I'm at the library," I said. "He called me yesterday while you were in surgery. He wanted me to come to the office."
Liam went still. "What did you tell him?"
"I told him I was busy," I said. "I didn't go."
"Sofia," Liam said, his voice serious. "You blew off Marcus Thorne? For me?"
"Yes," I said. "You were in surgery. I wasn't going to leave."
"He's going to be pissed," Liam warned. "He doesn't like being ignored."
"I'll handle him," I promised. "Now. Ice cream. Before it melts."
We ate the ice cream in bed, watching a terrible action movie on his laptop. It was perfect. It was our bubble.
But bubbles are fragile things.
Around 6:00 PM, my phone rang.
It wasn't my dad. It was Mia.
"Hey," I answered, putting the phone on speaker so I could keep massaging Liam’s calf (the non-injured one). "What's up?"
"Where are you?" Mia sounded tense.
"Library," I lied automatically.
"Really?" Mia asked. "Because I'm at the library. And you're not here."
I froze. My hand stopped on Liam’s leg. He looked at me, raising an eyebrow.
"I... I meant the design studio," I corrected quickly. "I'm working on a project."
"Sofia," Mia said. "Cut the crap. I know where you are."
"What?"
"I know you're with him," Mia said. "And honestly? I don't care. Get some, girl. But you need to know something."
"What?" I asked, my stomach dropping.
"There's a photo circulating," Mia said. "On the team group chat. And the sorority chat."
"What photo?" Liam asked, his voice sharp.
"Is that Vanner?" Mia asked. "Hi, Liam. Congrats on the knee surgery."
"The photo, Mia," I snapped.
"It's from the game," Mia said. "After the game. In the tunnel."
My blood ran cold.
"What does it show?" I whispered.
"It shows you," Mia said. "Carrying him. Basically. You have your arm around him. He's leaning on you. And you guys are looking at each other like... well, like you're about to rip each other's clothes off."
"It was dark," I argued weakly. "We were just... he was hurt."
"Sof," Mia sighed. "His hand is on your ass. Like, fully gripping it. It's not a 'buddy carry' photo. It's a 'that's my girlfriend' photo."
Silence filled the room. Liam looked pale.
"Who took it?" Liam asked.
"Anonymous," Mia said. "But the caption is: Asset Management or Ass Management?"
"Brad," I hissed. "It has to be Brad. He was sniffing around."
"Look," Mia said. "It's just gossip right now. But if your dad sees it..."
"He won't see a team group chat," I said, trying to convince myself.