23. Liliana
23
LILIANA
Roman is tense. I can feel it in the air, can see it in the stiff way he transfers into the passenger seat, even though I’ve seen him do the move a million times and know it’s as natural for him as breathing by now.
So once I’ve loaded his wheelchair into the back of my car, I focus all my effort on making him feel as comfortable as possible.
I’m already humming to myself as I settle in the driver’s seat and start scrolling through the music on my phone. Based on Roman’s walkout song, I think I know what kind of music he likes, but that’s not the vibe I’m going for.
After a 2000s punk rock station starts playing through the speakers, I turn to Roman.
His mouth quirks with amusement. “Reliving our teenage years, are we? Should I be picturing you looking like Avril Lavigne in high school?”
I only press my lips together in answer. Which only makes a loud laugh burst out of him.
“Oh my God, you’re serious. I was totally kidding. Did you do the pink hair and everything?”
I press my lips harder, and his laugh becomes louder.
“Well, what did you look like?” I demand with a glare and shove at his shoulder. “What was your weird teenage phase? Because we all had one, so don’t you dare lie that you didn’t.”
He’s still chuckling as he responds. “I was a six-foot string bean the first half of high school. My eyesight’s also really bad, so until I got Lasik as a fighter, I had to wear glasses. I wasn’t exactly popular.”
I smile at the image that conjures in my mind. But then I latch on to one part of his answer and say, “Wait, you said first half of high school. What did you look like in the second half?”
His grin drips with arrogance. “That’s when I started training, remember, Liliana? By junior year, I was tall and jacked, contacts instead of glasses, and I had finally stood up to the guy who had bullied me since freshman year. Took his place as the most popular guy in school.”
For a moment, I only stare at him. Then I let out a heavy breath and grumble, “You are so annoying.” I shove my phone into his hands. “Put your address in before I channel my teenage hatred of the popular guys and leave you on the side of the road.”
He’s still laughing when we pull out of the parking lot.
The ride is just as easy as dinner was. Between surprising him with Trivia Night—something I had no idea how he would react to—and sitting down in a place where there were zero expectations or responsibilities for either of us, I wasn’t 100% sure how tonight would go. I could only hope I would get this version of Roman.
The version that’s relaxed, that makes jokes and lets himself be the witty, playful man that he naturally is.
The person he is outside of being a fighter.
By the time we near his neighborhood, my face muscles hurt from laughing at Roman’s out-of-tune rendition of whatever songs have come up on my playlist. I have to lower the volume to be able to focus on the houses we’re passing.
“This neighborhood is so cute,” I comment, looking around. “I’ve never been around here.”
“What kind of place do you live in?” he asks curiously.
“Two-bedroom apartment with Garfield and my best friend. It’s tiny, but I like the coziness.”
It’s at that moment that my GPS signals our arrival, and when I turn into the driveway, a cottage appears in my line of sight.
I frown as I lean over the steering wheel. “Is that part of your property?”
He nods and unbuckles his seatbelt as I put the car in park. “It’s my mom’s house.” He hesitates before adding, “Since she’s my only family, I obviously needed her help after my accident. But I didn’t want to completely blow up her life, so when I went house hunting, I only looked at houses with a pool house or in-law suite.”
My chest warms. “That’s so sweet,” I say softly. “I bet she really appreciated that.”
He hums a non-answer as he continues looking out at the cottage, clearly lost in his own thoughts.
I don’t think Roman knows how sweet that actually is. That even during the hardest, most painful time in his life, a time when anyone would understand him being selfish, he still put the needs of the people he cares about before his own.
I suddenly wish a mirror existed that I could put in front of Roman to show him see? This is the person you are. This observant, strong, caring, smart man. You may have been an incredible fighter, but you’re also so much more than that.
When I cover Roman’s hand with mine, he startles and turns his attention back to me. I give him a smile that hopefully doesn’t look as emotional as I feel and whisper, “Do you even realize how thoughtful you are? How good you are to the people you care about?”
His throat works on a rough swallow, and I wonder if maybe he doesn’t believe me.
I smile again, squeezing his hand before letting go. “I just thought someone should tell you that.,” I say softly.
When I lean back in my seat, he suddenly blurts out, “I lied at the restaurant.”
My eyes widen and my heart nervously skips a beat. “You lied? About what?”
I can’t read his face as he says, “About why I know so much about history.”
My surprise fades into confusion. “Okay…”
He pulls in a big breath. “I told you my dad passed away when I was a kid. What I didn’t tell you was that he was in the military.” Reaching up, he pulls a chain out from under his shirt. The chain I’ve noticed before and wondered about.
A chain with dog tags on it.
“He’s the reason I’m good at history,” he explains, looking down at the tags. “It was what we bonded over. And when he died…it became the only way I could hold on to him.”
My eyes prickle with tears, and I place my hand back on his. “I’m so sorry, Roman,” I whisper.
“I don’t want to make things sad or anything,” he rushes to explain. I feel his hand turn over on his thigh so he can grasp mine, and I wonder if he’s searching for comfort despite his words. “I just wanted to tell you, I guess. And to say…thank you. Because he would have loved tonight. I loved tonight.” He lets out a laugh, the sound cracking slightly. “He wouldn’t have missed whatever question I got wrong.”
Laughing lightly, I sniffle before saying, “I should have asked the guy what it was and then lorded it over you.”
An affectionate smile lifts his lips. “I’m a little surprised you didn’t, honestly.”
“A misstep on my part, for sure,” I say with a smile of my own.
A comfortable silence settles between us. He’s still holding my hand, clearly not in a rush to break our connection. And despite the tiny buzzing in the back of my head telling me this moment isn’t as perfect as it feels because I shouldn’t even be here, I make no move to take my hand back.
“It was nice being able to spend time with you outside of the clinic, too,” Roman says quietly.
Just like that, the air in the car stretches like a taut, just-plucked string. And that tiny buzzing becomes an even drone.
I’m not blind to the fact that we’ve been pushing boundaries at my job. Physical therapy is a unique healthcare profession in that it relies on building a relationship with clients. It’s not like a doctor/patient relationship, where it’s a short period of time, with an occasional checkup once or twice down the line. As a physical therapist, I spend hours with my patients, weeks and months, and I need to make them comfortable with me to build the trust that’s necessary for me to do my job. It’s not uncommon to develop friendships with patients, to joke and tease the way Roman and I do. To support them as a human, not just a professional. It’s how I gave him my phone number. Everything I’ve done with Roman has felt natural—maybe to the point of being oblivious to the implications.
This moment, right here, is the first time I’ve felt aware of them.
I know Roman feels it, too. Not just because of his comment that was clearly an opening, but also because his pupils have dilated, and his breaths are coming quicker.
He’s waiting for me to either acknowledge the dangerous territory we’re in or move us back to safer ground.
And in the end…
“I enjoyed that, too,” I whisper.
Because right now, being with him in a space like this, I feel a little crazed. Not quite out of body, but definitely beyond reality. Like I’m in a dream. And the world doesn’t exist outside of this car.
His gaze drops to my lips, which only makes my heart rate speed up. When he meets my eyes again, his pupils have blown black. And I’m powerless to everything else.
“Can you do me a favor?” he asks. Quietly. Maybe trying not to disturb the moment.
“Anything,” I breathe out.
My instant answer seems to have an effect on him. He swallows roughly, the movement calling attention to the pulse point in his neck that’s going wild.
“I’ve been thinking about the night we met…” he starts, shifting his body slightly. “About…how it ended.” The memory only makes the air thinner, and my breaths come quicker. “And regardless of what… could have happened, my biggest regret is that we weren’t allowed to finish that kiss.” Once more, his gaze drops to my lips, and his voice, impossibly, deepens, setting off flutters in my stomach. “Can we—just for a minute…pretend it’s the night we met and redo the ending?”
I don’t think I’m even breathing anymore. “You want to…pretend?”
He nods and leans closer, our faces now barely a breath apart. “Just pretend, Liliana.” With only a small moment of hesitation, he slowly reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, then lets his hand come to rest on the side of my neck in the lightest caress.
I’m already leaning in, eyes on his mouth, moving like my heart is in charge of my body. “Okay,” I breathe, so close now that my lips brush his with that one word. “Just for a second…”
The moment he kisses me, every warning bell in my head winks out, leaving a blissful silence.
I release a breathy sigh as his tongue slides along my bottom lip, opening my mouth to him without hesitation.
When his tongue finally touches mine, the kiss takes on a whole new level of urgency. Going from soft and tentative to desperate.
I moan, twisting so I can fist my hands in his shirt and his chain to pull him closer. I must not be the only one eager for less space, because Roman immediately tightens his grip in my hair and angles my head to deepen the kiss, consuming me in a way that tingles all the way down to my toes.
The taste of mint and berries on his tongue has flames dancing along my skin. I want to be closer, I want to touch him all over, I want… I want more .
But the center console and weird positioning makes it impossible. The only thing I can do is try to memorize every taste, every breath. I want to bottle this moment forever.
In the end, my only option is to either climb into his lap or stop the kiss. When I do finally pull back, we’re both breathing heavily, still holding tightly onto each other. Neither of us speaks, we just sit in the moment.
And I think maybe a little bit of reality slipped into the space between our lips, because I suddenly have enough self-awareness to know this bubble is going to pop as soon as I step out of the car to get Roman’s wheelchair for him.
But…I don’t care. Because just for a few blissful minutes, we weren’t patient and physical therapist.
We were Roman and Liliana, just two people who shared an earth-shattering kiss.