7. Ava
7
AVA
L iam steps away, phone pressed to his ear, his expression darkening with every word Tyler feeds him on the other end. I watch from the porch, arms crossed, pretending I'm not dying to know what he's hearing.
The Bennett back yard is still buzzing with the last bits of the barbecue—lazy laughter, the clink of beer bottles, Nate and Ryan squabbling over something ridiculous, voices rising and falling like a well-worn routine.
Rows of string lights drape the porch in a soft, golden glow, flickering gently in the warm evening air.
Everything feels easy, like the night itself is sighing in contentment. It's cozy in that effortless way, the kind of moment that tucks itself into your heart, warm and familiar, like the scent of grilled food and the sound of people you love never quite shutting up. For the unbothered, it's perfectly cozy, straight out of a picture book.
We aren't the unbothered, Liam and me. Not with the way his shoulders have gone rigid.
Not with the way my stomach twists when he finally turns back to me, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable.
I push off the railing as he pockets his phone. "Well?"
Liam sighs wearily. "Tyler traced the texts."
My pulse kicks up. "And?"
His gaze moves over my shoulder briefly, checking our surroundings before locking onto mine. "The sender used a burner."
Disappointment settles in my chest. "So, nothing?"
He shakes his head. "Not exactly. Tyler managed to pin down the general location where the messages were sent from." A pause. "They're coming from Vanessa's neighborhood."
My stomach drops so hard I nearly hear the crash.
Vanessa Chase.
I know that name. Everyone in Willow Creek does. The infamous ex-girlfriend. The one who tore through Liam's life like a wrecking ball, leaving nothing but speculation and sharp whispers in her wake.
I meet Liam's gaze, my throat suddenly dry. "As in your Vanessa?"
His expression hardens. "She's not mine."
I ignore the simmering of something in my chest at the way he says it. "But you think it's her?"
Liam lets out a slow breath, eyes flicking away for the briefest second before landing back on me. "I don't know."
I narrow my eyes. "That's not a no."
"It's also not a yes," he counters, his voice smooth, but there's something guarded about it.
I cross my arms. "So you're telling me that some mysterious sender, who has a weirdly personal interest in my life, just happens to be sending messages from the same neighborhood as the woman you used to date?"
Liam's jaw clenches. "I'm saying it could be a coincidence."
I press my lips together. "Right. And I suppose next, you'll tell me the sky is green and that Nate doesn't secretly cry at Pixar movies."
Liam exhales through his nose, clearly already tired of this conversation, but too bad. He's the one who just dropped Vanessa Chase into it like a grenade and expected me not to go digging through the wreckage.
Because of course, I know who she is.
Everyone in Willow Creek does.
Vanessa Chase isn't just the ex. She's the Vanessa Chase—the former high-society darling who used to strut around town like she owned it. The kind of woman who looked at you like she was calculating your worth in real time, her smiles as sharp as the stilettos she never seemed to take off.
And she had been everywhere with Liam back in the day.
I remember seeing them at fundraisers when I was younger, back when I used to tag along with my brothers to the kind of fancy events I had no real business attending. Vanessa had been perfect in the way that makes your stomach turn—polished, poised, always draped over Liam like she was claiming him. I didn't know Liam well back then, but even at seventeen, I could tell he was different with her. Quieter. Tenser.
And my brothers?
Oh, they had opinions.
Dean had hated her. Ryan had tolerated her at best. Even Nate, who got along with everyone, had once muttered I don't trust that woman under his breath after one too many scathing looks from her across a dinner table.
Not that it had mattered. Because Liam had stayed with her. For years. Long enough for Vanessa to sink her claws in. Long enough for the breakup to be as public as it was messy.
I don't know all the details—no one does, except Liam and Vanessa themselves—but I remember the whispers. The rumors about how she had tried to control everything in his life, how she hated when things didn't go her way, how she wasn't the kind of woman who let go easily.
And now, somehow, she's tied to this.
I cross my arms, tilting my head. "Tell me something, Carter. When you finally broke up with Vanessa, was it amicable?"
Liam lets out a humorless laugh. "What do you think?"
I study him, his sharp profile silhouetted against the soft glow of the porch light. There's something in his expression—something dark and unreadable.
I know Liam. I know how quick he is with a smirk, how easily he can turn any situation into a joke. But right now?
Right now, he looks like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Liam," I say carefully, shifting closer. "What aren't you telling me?"
His gaze snaps to mine, something steely locking into place. "Leave it alone, Ava."
The words land between us, sharp and final, and all they do is make me more determined.
Liam's tone wasn't just dismissive—it was a wall, one slammed between us with enough force to knock the breath out of me. I shouldn't care about that, shouldn't feel the sharp edge of it like a blade sliding between my ribs.
But I do.
And when I step back, letting the space stretch between us, I know he notices.
Because his face shifts immediately, like he didn't mean to let it slip, like he's already regretting it. "Ava." His voice is softer now, almost careful.
I force a shrug, even though my stomach is twisting. "No, I get it."
He exhales, raking a hand through his hair before stepping closer, voice lower now. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Seemed like you did."
His gaze locks onto mine, and for a second, I think he's going to argue. But then, instead of some sarcastic retort or a half-assed deflection, he just sighs. "I'm sorry."
That throws me off more than anything else.
Liam Carter doesn't apologize. Not easily. And definitely not when he thinks he's right.
But this? This sounds real.
I swallow. "You don't have to?—"
"I do." He watches me for a beat, something unreadable in his expression. "I just… I don't want you caught up in this."
Something tightens in my chest. "Too late for that."
His jaw tics, like he knows I'm right but hates it anyway. "Just… there are things you're better off not knowing, Bennett."
And then, he takes a slow step back.
"Do you want me to drop you home?"
Suddenly, my throat hurts from holding back all the words I want to say to him. But all I manage is a tiny shake of my head. "No," I say, tearing my gaze away from him to stare at the grass like it's the most interesting thing in the world. "I'm fine. You go. I'll see you tomorrow."
He stays in place for a second, and then he turns away from me. I don't think I can handle further scrutiny from my brothers, so I do the best thing I can—I leave and go home.
Of course, this doesn't feel like the best thing when I notice the six missed calls from Dean or the voice note from Ryan.
I ignore everything and sit on my bed, cross-legged, my laptop balanced on my thighs as I scroll through every article, social media post, and whisper of information I can find on Vanessa Chase.
And it's… a lot.
Nothing about her is subtle. Her Instagram is a curated masterpiece of high fashion, exclusive art exhibits, and power lunches with people whose net worths could probably fund small countries. If you didn't know better, you'd think she was nothing more than a glamorous, successful woman with an enviable lifestyle.
But I do know better.
And if you look hard enough, the cracks are there.
Rumors about ex-business partners she's burned. Whispers about clients who left her agency under mysterious circumstances. Lawsuits that never made it to court.
She's careful. Meticulous. But not untouchable.
And now, apparently, she has a reason to come after me.
I just don't know why.
If she's the anonymous sender—and my gut instincts are screaming that it's her—she's threatening my family.
And I don't know what she wants.
I shut my laptop, exhaling hard. My nerves are frayed, my chest too tight, my thoughts a tangled mess. I need a distraction.
Movies. Movies are good.
I drag myself off the bed and into the living room, flipping through streaming options until I land on something familiar. Light. No emotional damage. The Princess Bride it is.
I've barely pressed play when there's a knock at my door.
I don't have to ask who it is.
Liam.
With takeout.
Like we're just two people who casually eat dinner together after he spends a whole hour avoiding my questions about his villainous ex.
I sigh, opening the door to find him standing there, a bag of food in one hand, an eyebrow raised. "Did you even lock your door?"
"I wasn't expecting intruders."
He steps inside, brushing past me. "I have food."
"I'm not hungry."
"You ate nothing at the barbecue." He sets the food on the coffee table and turns to me, smirking. "I'm not about to let you sleep with a belly full of beer."
Damn it.
Liam settles onto the couch like he owns the place, pulling out containers of noodles and dumplings. "You eating, or am I about to impress you by consuming all of this myself?"
"You already impress yourself enough."
"But it's justified."
I huff, sinking onto the couch beside him. "You are so?—"
The words die in my throat when he suddenly reaches out, fingers brushing against my cheek as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
I freeze.
So does he.
His hand lingers for half a second too long, his fingertips grazing my skin, and suddenly, the room feels too small.
Too quiet.
Too charged.
I swallow hard, pulse skittering. He's close.
His gaze flickers to my lips.
I forget how to breathe.
The air shifts, the space between us disappearing, and?—
"I found out Vanessa's hosting a gala in two weeks."
The words fall out of my mouth like a car crash.
Liam blinks.
I blink.
His hand drops, and he leans back, eyes narrowing. "What?"
I clear my throat, trying to ignore the fact that my entire body feels like it just short-circuited. "Vanessa. Gala. Two days."
Liam watches me for a beat, then exhales. "Of course she is."
I would have told him, although my timing could not have been worse. But I have a feeling we just found our next move—if I can get Liam on board.
There's no other choice. Vanessa's name keeps circling in my head like a neon sign, flashing in warning, in invitation. If we want answers, if we want to put an end to this ridiculous game, we need to go straight to the source. And we need to do it now.
"You do see what we need to do, right?" I look pointedly at him. "We have to get in."
Liam, however, does not see it that way. He gets up and walks to the kitchen counter, leaning against it. I remain seated on the couch.
"No." His voice is flat, immovable. Like he isn't even entertaining the idea. "Not happening."
I knit my brows together. "Not happening?"
"Not. Happening."
I cross my arms. "You don't get to decide that."
He lets out a sharp breath, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. "Ava, no."
I get up from the couch and approach him, ignoring the way his entire body is wound tight, like he's ready to argue. "Liam, yes."
His head tilts, blue eyes flashing. "That's not how this works."
"Really? Because last I checked, I don't take orders from you."
He exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders like he's physically resisting the urge to grab me by the arms and shake some sense into me. "You have no idea what you're walking into."
I lift my chin. "Then tell me."
Silence.
Liam looks away, his fingers flexing at his sides.
That's it. That's the whole problem, isn't it? He won't talk about Vanessa, won't tell me what she did to him, why even her name makes something cold settle in his eyes.
"You're still protecting her." A hint of accusation seeps into my voice.
His head snaps back to me, eyes blazing. "Are you serious?"
Shaking my head, I step closer, ignoring the way the space between us seems to thrum with heat. Great. Now even proximity is an issue.
I do my best to pretend I don't notice. That I don't feel it. That Liam Carter standing there, doing absolutely nothing, isn't somehow the most aggravating thing in the world.
Because, honestly? He is.
Infuriatingly, unfairly attractive and irritating, the man is a menace.
I grimace. "You won't talk about her. You won't tell me what she's capable of. And now, when she's literally sending threats, you're still trying to keep me away." I take another step forward, ignoring the way my pulse kicks up as I invade his space. "So yeah, Liam. I think a part of you is still protecting her."
He breathes in sharply, nostrils flaring. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
I tilt my head, letting my voice drop just enough to needle him. "Then explain it to me."
Anger flickers across his face, but instead of answering, he pushes off from the counter and moves away.
I almost stagger at the loss of heat between us.
"I'm not protecting her," he says briefly. "I'm protecting you."
Well, that's an incredibly manly thing to say, but that's also what most men say when they have nothing else to offer. It's not you, it’s me. I'm doing this for your safety. If it's going to hurt you, let's not do it.
The question is, is Liam one of those men?
Liam shakes his head, gaze flickering over my face like he's willing me to understand. "You think this is about avoiding her? Keeping secrets? It's not. It's about the fact that Vanessa doesn't play fair. And she doesn't lose."
The words settle between us, thick and suffocating.
For a moment, I hesitate.
Because I hear the truth in them. The warning. The way his voice dips with something like experience.
But then I think about my brothers. About the text messages. About how someone has already decided I'm a pawn in this.
I shake my head. "I'm not backing down."
Liam lets out a dry, almost bitter laugh. "Of course you're not."
I cross my arms, locking eyes with him. "Then stop wasting time and put on a suit, Carter. We've got a gala to crash."
He exhales slowly, long and heavy, like he's regretting every life choice that led him to this moment.
Then, after a long beat, he mutters, "You're gonna be the death of me, Bennett."
At this point, I scrape together a smile. "Then at least you'll go out looking good."