10. Liam
10
LIAM
A va Bennett is avoiding me.
Not subtly, either. Not in the way most people would—by taking a little longer to respond to texts, missing a call or two, pretending they're too busy. No, she's gone for the nuclear option. Straight-up radio silence.
Which is exactly how I know she's up to something.
Which also explains why I'm here, pulling up outside her apartment.
I kill the engine and grip the steering wheel like it owes me answers. I'd call this a detour, but that would imply that I had a real plan. I didn't. The second she stopped answering, my night narrowed to one objective. Track her down and figure out what ridiculous mess she's landed in this time.
And judging by the tight knot in my gut, I already know I'm about to regret it.
Traffic crawls by, headlights flashing in my periphery. A burst of laughter from the bar up the street. A siren somewhere, distant but creeping closer. The city moves on, indifferent. Meanwhile, I'm about to walk straight into God knows what.
I run a hand through my hair, roll my shoulders, and step out of the car. The autumn air has that crisp, knife's-edge chill that should sharpen my focus, but I'm already running too hot for it to matter.
No point in stalling. I take the stairs two at a time, bracing for impact. Whatever chaos is waiting on the other side, I doubt it's in the mood to go easy on me.
By the time I'm knocking—pounding, really—I have exactly two thoughts.
If she doesn't answer, I'll kick the damn door in.
If she does answer, I might still kick something.
The lock clicks. The door swings open.
And there she is.
Ava blinks up at me, all wide-eyed innocence, like she didn't just spend the entire day skillfully dodging my calls. As if my sudden appearance is some wild coincidence and not the inevitable result of her terrible stealth skills. Her hair is piled into a messy bun, a sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder in that effortlessly casual way that somehow still looks unfairly good on her. For half a second, I catch the glimmer of surprise in her eyes—then, like magic, she smooths out every damn trace of emotion and levels me with a look that suggests I've personally ruined her evening.
"Liam." Her voice is wary. "What are you?—"
I step inside, shutting the door behind me. "You're avoiding me."
She crosses her arms, tilting her head like she's considering denying it. Then she sighs. "I needed some space."
"Bullshit." My voice comes out rough, but I don't care. I'm done with whatever game she thinks she's playing. "You don't need space, Bennett. You need to explain why you thought it was a good idea to go to Vanessa's gallery alone."
The way her lower lip trembles confirms it. I'd known, the second Vanessa called me, laughing about Ava being in her gallery, that this was a mistake.
For a solid second, I just… process the stupidity of it. I knew she was reckless, but this? This is a new level of self-destructive curiosity.
She presses her lips together, then lifts her chin. "How did you?—"
"I know you." My voice is low, edged with frustration. "And I know the exact look you get when you decide you don't need backup."
Ava shifts, glancing away. "I handled it."
I let out a snort. "You handled it?" My hands find my hips, fingers digging into my sides as I try—really try—not to snap. "You walked straight into her territory, and you think that's handling it?"
She falters for half a second, just long enough to give me hope that maybe, maybe, she realizes how completely unhinged this is. But nope. It's Ava. And when she sets her mind on something, she digs in like a raccoon with a stolen snack.
"I needed answers."
"So you went to her?" I stare at her, waiting for the inevitable punchline that will make this make sense. It never comes. "Are you insane?"
Because honestly, at this point, that's the only explanation left. Either she's lost it or I have. And given the fact that I'm standing here, watching her double down on the worst decision possible, I'm starting to think it's contagious.
She glares at me now, stepping closer, poking a finger into my chest. "Oh, I'm sorry, were you planning on actually telling me those answers? Because from where I'm standing, you've been more than happy to keep me in the dark."
"That's because I don't want you anywhere near her!"
"Well, too late for that."
I curse under my breath and rub my jaw wearily. I need to shave and sleep for ten hours straight. "Ava, you don't know what Vanessa's capable of."
Her scowl just deepens. "Then why don't you tell me?"
I stare at her. She stares back, breath coming faster, chest rising and falling in sync with mine. The pull between us is stretched to breaking, and maybe—just maybe—some part of me knows it was always going to come to this.
I take a slow step back. Exhale. Then, finally, I tell her.
"She sabotaged me," I say, voice steady but low. "A few years ago. A deal, one of the biggest I'd ever worked on. We were supposed to be partners, but the entire time, she was using me. Playing me. Positioning herself so that when it all fell apart, she'd walk away untouched and I'd be the one left bleeding."
Ava's eyes widen slightly, but she says nothing.
I keep going. "It cost me millions. Set my company back years. But she didn't care. Because she got what she wanted." My voice dips, and I have to swallow before I can keep going. "That's who she is, Bennett. She doesn't forgive, and she sure as hell doesn't forget. And now you've walked right into her crosshairs."
Silence.
For the first time tonight, Ava doesn't have a sharp retort, doesn't immediately fire back. Instead, she just watches me, her eyes searching my face like she's seeing something new, something different.
And maybe she is.
Finally, she sighs. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Because I didn't want you to look at me the way you are now. Like you pity me.
I roll my shoulders, flexing my fingers like that might do something about the pressure building behind my ribs. "Because I was trying to keep you out of this."
Ava huffs out something that technically qualifies as a laugh but has all the warmth of a winter breeze. "Right. That worked out brilliantly."
I don't answer. Mostly because she's right. But also because she's looking at me like I'm a particularly disappointing plot twist, and I hate that I don't know what's going through her head.
She tilts her chin, just slightly. A move I've learned is the precursor to either an argument or an execution. "You really thought keeping this from me was the best option?"
I drag a hand down my face like that'll somehow stop the incoming headache. "I thought keeping you safe was the best option. Digging up the past doesn't do anyone any favors."
Her lips press together, eyes narrowing like she's debating whether or not to throw something at me. "Right. Except when the past comes waltzing back in stilettos with a personal vendetta."
I glance toward the counter and rub my eyes. "Do you have any whiskey?"
That catches Ava off guard. It takes her a minute to compose herself before she manages, "Of course."
I rub my temple. "Tequila?"
"Depends. Are we celebrating or commiserating?"
I shake my head with a quiet huff, leaning back against the couch. "Figures. You have everything, but I bet you're about to hand me something else, aren't you?"
She doesn't answer, just tilts her head, studying me like I'm a particularly stubborn math problem, then stands and disappears into the kitchen. I hear the rustle of cabinets, the quiet clatter of a mug being set down, the faint hiss of a kettle heating.
Not exactly the sounds of a stiff drink being poured.
When she returns, she hands me a glass of something golden, cloudy, and deeply suspicious.
I frown at it. "Bennett."
She drops onto the couch beside me, one knee tucked under her. "What?"
I lift the glass slightly, like changing the angle might somehow reveal a hidden shot of bourbon. "Chamomile tea."
Her expression stays infuriatingly neutral. "It's supposed to be calming."
I scoff, eyeing the mug like it personally offends me. "I just admitted that my ex nearly destroyed me, and your response is tea?"
"Do you want me to spike it with something?"
I take the mug with a muttered curse and bring it to my lips. The first sip is warm, slightly sweet, and entirely unhelpful. I lower it, leveling her with a look. "I hate this."
Ava curls up on the opposite end of the couch. "I know."
I take another sip, despite myself.
Ava watches me carefully, her fingers tracing the seam of a pillow. "She really hurt you."
It's not a question.
I swallow hard, setting the mug down. "Yeah."
She nods slightly. "I'm sorry."
I don't know what to do with that. With the quiet way she says it, like she actually means it. Like she's trying to understand the parts of me I don't want her to see.
So I do the only thing I know how to do.
I deflect.
"You're not going to let this go, are you?"
Ava snorts through her nose, a half-laugh that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "No."
I cast a sideways glance at her, letting my gaze trace the sharp determination in her expression, the way she sits—poised, unshaken, despite everything.
And that's when it really hits me.
I could lose her.
Vanessa isn't just playing games. She's warning Ava, circling her like prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And I know—God, I know—that if I don't put a stop to this, it won't end here.
Because Vanessa doesn't forgive.
And she sure as hell doesn't forget.
I shift forward, setting my elbows on my knees, trying to ignore the way my chest tightens at the thought of Ava being dragged into this any more than she already is.
She notices.
Her voice is softer when she speaks. "Liam."
I glance up. And for the second time tonight, I realize I'm completely gone.
Because she's not just under my skin anymore.
She's in my blood.
I let something slip tonight. I let her see me break—just for a second. I gave her pieces of the truth, laid them bare between us, and now she's looking at me like she wants to pick them up and put them back together.
Like I'm something that can be fixed.
I should back off, should say something sarcastic, smirk my way out of this. But I don't because she's too damn close.
Even though it's useless, I try to ignore the way my pulse kicks up. "Ava?—"
"I'm befuddled," she says with a tiny little shake of her head. She sounds miserable, and God help me, it takes everything to not pull her into my arms. "I don't know how this happened. You were supposed to be a problem. A complication. And now…" She trails off.
I swallow hard, every part of me screaming to cut her off, to throw up the usual walls. But I don't move.
Because I know exactly what she's saying.
And I know exactly what she means.
The space between us is practically vibrating with tension. It's better for both of us if I get up and get out.
But instead, I do the opposite.
I reach for her.
My fingers brush against her jaw, my thumb grazing the edge of her cheek. Her breath catches, but she doesn't pull away.
And that's all the invitation I need.
I tilt her chin up and kiss her.
No pretense. No hesitation. No pretending this is part of some fake relationship we've built to keep everyone else out.
Ava's hands curl into my shirt, gripping tight, like she's steadying herself or maybe trying to pull me closer. I don't know, and I don't care, because all that matters is the way she leans into me, the way she meets me head-on, like she's just as hungry as I am.
Because I've wanted this for too long, and so has she. I slip one hand around the nape of her neck, threading my fingers through her hair, while the other stays firm at her waist, holding her to me.
Ava lets out a quiet noise against my lips, and something inside me snaps.
I pull her closer, letting myself drown in her, in the way she fits against me, the way she responds without hesitation.
Nothing about this is careful.
Nothing about this is fake.
And then—too soon—she pulls back just enough to breathe, her forehead resting against mine, her hands still fisted in my shirt.
We're both breathing hard.
And then, I murmur the words that have been clawing at the edges of my mind for weeks now.
"This can't just be fake anymore, Ava."