6. Liam
6
LIAM
T he couch is a joke.
I don't sleep. I lie here, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft drone of the white noise machine coming from Ava's bedroom, and trying not to think about the fact that she's just a few feet away. That if I got up, if I walked down the hall, if I pushed open that door?—
Nope. Not going there.
I run a hand over my face and shift onto my back, the couch springs protesting beneath me. It's not uncomfortable, exactly. Ava's apartment is too charming for that. The throw blanket she gave me is soft, the pillow smells faintly of whatever shampoo she uses, and there's something about the quiet of this space that should be peaceful.
Unfortunately, peace isn't in the room with me tonight because all I can think about is the way she looked at me before she went to bed.
Like she didn't want me to leave. Like she almost—almost—asked me to stay.
And I would have.
God help me, I would have.
Damn it, I need a distraction. Coffee. Coffee will do.
I groan as I push up from the couch, my spine crackling like a bonfire. Terrible idea. My neck is stiff, my back feels like I spent the night in a cement mixer, and every joint in my body is staging a quiet rebellion. I rub a hand over my face, yawn so hard my jaw pops, and figure I might as well admit defeat. Sleep isn't happening.
Barefoot, I make my way to the window, pressing a palm to the glass, cool against my skin. Outside, the city is caught in that strange, weightless moment before dawn—deep indigo fading into sleepy purples, the streets empty, the world hushed. It's the kind of sky that makes you feel like you should be thinking about something profound. I try.
Nothing comes.
I sigh, watching my breath cloud faintly on the glass. It's too early for philosophy. Too early for anything, really—except maybe coffee and regret.
Still, the quiet is nice. The kind of nice I don't often get. The kind that settles in my bones, makes me feel like, for just a second, I don't have to be anywhere else.
The place suits her—small but warm, colorful in a way that feels effortless. There are fairy lights strung along the bookshelves, an old record player in the corner, and a mess of notebooks scattered across the coffee table. Lived-in. Comfortable.
The kind of place that doesn't have room for someone like me. Although… with the right person…
I shake off the thought as I find the coffee maker, rifling through cabinets until I track down the beans. Grinding them by hand gives me something to focus on, something to keep my mind from straying to the sound of her shifting under the covers in the other room.
A door creaks open.
I glance over my shoulder just as Ava stumbles into the kitchen, looking like she fought a war in her sleep and lost.
Her hair is a mess, her pajama shorts are riding up one thigh, and the oversized T-shirt she's wearing is slipping off one shoulder, exposing a stretch of bare skin that makes my already sleepless night feel like a terrible idea.
She squints at me, voice thick with sleep. "What… Why are you awake?"
I smirk, turning back to the coffee machine. "Because some of us don't sleep like the dead, Bennett."
She groans, running a hand through her hair as she leans against the counter. "That's unfortunate for you."
I chuckle, pouring hot water into the machine. "You're a menace in the morning, aren't you?"
Ava stretches, letting out a contented sigh that I shouldn't find as distracting as I do, then leans her cheek against the fridge. "I require caffeine before I can properly function."
I nudge a mug toward her. "Lucky for you, I anticipated your weaknesses."
She blinks at the cup, then at me. "You made coffee?"
"Shocking, I know."
She takes the mug, wrapping both hands around it like I just handed her the meaning of life. She takes a slow sip, her eyes fluttering shut for half a second, and I force myself to look away before I do something stupid like wonder what it would be like to wake up next to her every morning.
No. Nope. We are not going there.
"So," I say, clearing my throat, "feeling any better about last night's text?"
Ava's expression sobers instantly, her fingers tightening around the mug. She glances down, studying the coffee like it holds all the answers. "Not really."
I lean against the counter, watching her carefully. "We'll figure out who's behind it."
She exhales through her nose, lifting her gaze to mine. "You sound so sure."
"I am."
She stares at me with those sleep-soaked eyes of hers, her hair mussed like a wild animal, her cheeks rosy. Then she huffs, taking another sip of coffee. "That's very cocky of you."
I raise my mug at her. "It's one of my better qualities."
She snorts, shaking her head, but there's something lighter in her expression now. Something a little less weighed down by last night's panic.
And that, at least, feels like a win.
Ava takes another slow sip, then glances up at me. "So, what's the plan?"
"First," I say, tapping the counter, "you finish that coffee before your brain fully reboots and you remember how much you allegedly hate having me around."
She mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like, "it's getting harder," but I pretend not to hear it.
"Then," I continue, "we wait for Tyler's update. He'll track the number, figure out whether we're dealing with a run-of-the-mill creep or something more serious."
Ava nods, but I can see the hesitation in her eyes. "And until then?"
I tilt my head, studying her. "Until then, I stick around."
She lifts a brow. "You're not leaving?"
I take a slow sip of my own coffee before smirking. "You say that like you don't want me here."
She takes a big gulp of her coffee. "I never said that."
I set my mug down, watching her for a beat longer. And maybe it's the lack of sleep or the way she looks standing there, wrapped up in the warmth left behind by the coffee and the approaching morning, but for a second—just one reckless second—I let myself imagine it.
Waking up here. Cooking her breakfast. Pulling her in by the waist before she can pour herself a second cup of coffee.
Like I belong here.
Like she wants me here.
I shake the thought off before it settles, before it becomes something I can't push away.
"Hope you've got another blanket, Bennett," I say, stretching out my arms, "because I think I'll be your problem for a little while longer."
Ava rolls her eyes, but there's something soft in the way she says, "Of course you will, Carter."
And I don't know what the hell to do with that.
So I do what I always do—I focus on what I can control.
Ava's still watching me, her expression unreadable, like she's trying to figure me out. I don't let her. Instead, I push off the counter, grab my phone, and dial Tyler.
"You're up early." He answers after one ring, his voice rough with sleep. "Or haven't you slept?"
"Not important," I say, pacing toward the window. "Got anything for me yet?"
A rustling sound on the other end—probably him sitting up, reaching for whatever half-dismantled gadget he fell asleep working on. "Depends. You asking if I have magic powers, or do you actually understand how tracking works?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Tyler."
He sighs. "Yeah, yeah. I ran the number through the usual databases. It's a burner, which means whoever sent that text isn't an idiot. If they used encryption tools, it's gonna take time to crack."
Not what I want to hear, but not unexpected.
"And if they didn't?"
"Then I'll have a location by the end of the day."
I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair. Ava shifts in my periphery, frowning slightly, but I keep my focus on the call. "Keep me posted."
"Of course." There's a beat of silence, then, "Liam… Whoever this is, don't underestimate them."
I glance at Ava, at the way she's holding her mug a little too tightly.
"I won't," I say and hang up.
Ava watches me, her green eyes narrowed. "You don't look too pleased."
I slip my phone into my pocket and lean against the counter, arms crossed. "Didn't realize I was in the business of making people feel reassured."
She gives me a flat look. "I mean it, Liam. What did Tyler say?"
"That he's working on it," I say, pushing off the counter. "That whoever sent that text isn't stupid." I pause. "That I shouldn't underestimate them."
Ava exhales slowly, nodding. "Great. That's comforting."
I can only offer her a sigh. "Told you I'm not in that business."
She doesn't argue. Instead, she leans a hip against the counter, her gaze flicking to her phone. It vibrates before she even picks it up.
Her face tightens. "Ryan."
I arch a brow. "You gonna answer?"
She presses her lips together, hesitating, then sighs and picks up. "Hey," she says, forcing a lightness into her tone.
I hear Ryan's voice on the other end, loud and easy, but I can't make out the words. Ava listens, her expression shifting from wary to mildly alarmed.
"Wait, what barbecue?"
Ryan says something else, and she closes her eyes briefly, muttering a curse under her breath.
I observe her with interest. "Something wrong?"
She shoots me a look, covering the receiver. "Family barbecue, scheduled today, and I'm supposed to be there in an hour, helping out. Apparently, everyone's expecting me."
"Perfect," I say, snatching my keys off the counter.
Her brows pull together. "Perfect?"
"We're going."
Ava stares at me like I've just suggested skydiving without a parachute. "That's a terrible idea."
I open the door, waiting. "Too bad."
She grumbles something under her breath but grabs her bag, clearly knowing she's lost this battle before it even starts.
By the time we pull up to the Bennett house, I'm fully prepared to die.
Not in a dramatic way—just in a Dean Bennett is going to murder me and bury my body under this perfectly manicured lawn way.
The backyard is already buzzing with people—Bennett family, friends, a few familiar faces from around Willow Creek. Ryan is by the grill, flipping burgers. Dean is standing near the back porch, beer in hand, deep in conversation with someone. And Nate—well, Nate spots us first.
A slow grin spreads across his face as he nudges Ryan with his elbow.
Ryan turns. Sees Ava. Sees me.
His eyes narrow.
Fantastic.
Ava mutters something I don't catch before plastering on a bright, too-innocent smile and making her way toward her brothers. I follow, rolling my shoulders, preparing for impact.
Dean's conversation halts the second he notices us. His jaw tightens.
"So," Ryan says, dragging out the word, watching us like a cat watches a mouse. "You two just show up together now?"
Ava clears her throat. "Uh. Yeah?"
Ryan glances at Dean. "Did you know about this?"
Dean doesn't answer immediately, just takes a slow sip of his beer, gaze locked onto me like he's trying to assess the best way to skin me alive.
"I saw an article in the paper," he finally says, because that's honestly how Dean finds out everything. Guilt snakes up my spine at the way he looks at me, because I should have been the one to tell him. I'm his best friend. Or was, at any rate, before this.
Ryan raises a brow. "And you're… okay with it?"
Dean's silence is louder than any answer.
Ava shifts beside me, clearly uncomfortable. "Okay, can we not make this an interrogation?"
Ryan exhales, running a hand through his hair before pointing his spatula at me. "Just saying, man, this is a surprise. You and Ava?"
"Hard to believe?" I ask dryly.
"More like hard to process." He squints at Ava. "You sure you're not just using him to piss us off?"
Nate snickers. "Wouldn't blame her."
Dean finally speaks. "As long as he treats you right."
I know Dean well enough to understand that this isn't him giving us his approval. It's a warning.
Ava swallows. I squeeze her hand, grounding her, but for the first time, I wonder if it's actually her brothers' reaction that's affecting her most.
She loves them. And they love her. But this—this us—is a lie.
And they're trusting me with her.
It sits uneasily in my chest.
Ryan sighs, clearly deciding he's done with this conversation. "Well, if you hurt her, we'll make sure you regret it."
Dean mutters something under his breath that sounds an awful lot like consider that a promise .
"Great," I say, nodding at all of them. "Now that the threats are out of the way, where's the beer?"
Nate snorts. Ryan shakes his head. And Dean? Dean just watches me.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of uncomfortable conversation. The food is great and the beer is chilled—the Bennetts are pretty good with their barbecue, but the unsaid things make it very, very difficult for any of us to enjoy ourselves.
Ava escapes halfway through the evening.
I extricate myself from Emily, who's probably the only one actually excited about our being in a relationship, and find her in the back yard, sitting on the old wooden swing, her fingers wrapped around the chain, staring at the sky like it has the answers.
I don't announce myself. I just walk up, take the chain beside her in one hand, and lean against it. "You planning your escape?"
She lets out a short laugh. "Something like that."
I nudge the swing slightly with my foot, watching the way she lets herself sway. "You okay?"
She doesn't answer right away, just exhales slowly. "It's just… a lot."
I nod, waiting.
She swallows. "They love me, you know?"
"I know."
She bites her lip, gaze flicking to me. "It's not that I don't appreciate it. It's just…" She exhales again, shaking her head. "Sometimes, it feels like I have to be this version of me they've decided on. The baby sister. The one they need to protect. And if I step outside that, if I want something different, it's like I'm letting them down."
I watch her, feeling a soft, dull pain settle in my chest.
Because I get it.
I get the weight of expectations. The pressure to be who people think you are instead of who you want to be.
I look back at the house, at the laughter and warmth spilling from the windows. Then I look at her.
"They just want to protect you," I say quietly. "Because you're worth it."
Ava stills.
Her fingers tighten around the chain as she looks up at me. Her lips part slightly, like she's about to say something, but then she doesn't.
I don't look away.
And neither does she.
The swing creaks slightly beneath her as the balmy summer night wraps around us, thick and slow.
And it takes everything in me not to reach for her.
But then, just when I think she might say something, might do something…
Her phone buzzes in her lap.
She blinks, startled, like she forgot she was holding it. The spell shatters, and I exhale through my nose, dragging a hand through my hair as she glances down at the screen.
"It's Emily," she murmurs, reading the message.
I nod, pushing off the swing, trying to shake off whatever that was. "We should head back."
Ava doesn't answer right away. Her fingers toy with the chain, like she's debating something. But after a second, she inhales, straightens her shoulders, and stands.
"Yeah," she says. "Okay."
We start walking back toward the house.
I don't touch her.
But I want to.
I want to reach for her hand, press my palm against the small of her back, let my fingers skim over the exposed skin at her shoulder. It's ridiculous. Reckless.
And I have no business wanting anything at all.
So I keep my hands to myself.
We're halfway across the lawn when my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I pull it out, glance at the screen, and immediately slow my steps because it's from Tyler. I click the message open.
This just got interesting. Call me ASAP.