16. Ava
16
AVA
I tell Liam to take me home, and the second the words leave my lips, regret grips me like a vise.
I don't look at him as he drives. A desolate silence falls and stretches in the little space between us, and it's full of everything I want to say but can't. I suspect he feels the same way.
The car is dark except for the faint glow of passing streetlights, each one flickering across his face in fleeting glimpses. His jaw is set, his hands clutching the wheel like if he lets go, he's going to drown.
I could break the quiet. I could joke about how this fake dating arrangement has officially spiraled into a Shakespearean tragedy. Maybe tell him that if I had a dollar for every time we make a mess out of our lives, I could buy a plane ticket to somewhere far away, where none of this matters.
But I don't say anything.
Because for the first time in a long time, I don't want to make light of the situation.
I let Vanessa's words sink in. I let my insecurities take root, twist, and warp the way I see Liam—the way I see us. And now I'm sitting in this car, retreating like a coward, when I should be fighting for him. For us.
A slow, aching weight unfurls in my chest, creeping beneath my ribs, settling deep. But the doubt—the insufferable, relentless doubt—refuses to let go.
Because Liam… Liam is everything, almost a decade older, and a man—steady where I waver, certain where I second-guess. The kind of man who feels like a daydream, too perfect to ever be real in my world. And yet, somehow, impossibly, he is.
I exhale, pressing a hand lightly to my ribs, as if I can soothe the quiet unraveling inside me. But it doesn't stop the truth from sinking in. Now that this is happening, now that it's no longer just a thought I could tuck away, all I can see are the edges where I fray—my inexperience, my immaturity, the ways I fall short.
And the thought tightens around me like a whisper I don't want to hear.
What if he sees it too?
I've always been the kind of person who runs straight into the fire, no hesitation. I don't stop to weigh the risks, to think about what happens when the flames catch up to me. But I'm starting to understand the price of that recklessness.
Because tonight, I got burned.
I was so quick to believe that Liam had been keeping things from me, so quick to doubt him because the idea of him choosing me—really choosing me—felt too impossible. And maybe that's the worst part of all. That I didn't need much convincing. That deep down, some part of me already believed that love—real love—isn't meant for me.
And if that's true… if I can't even trust it when it's right in front of me…
Then maybe I'm the one who isn't ready for this.
The thought makes my throat tighten. I press my forehead against the window, watching the city blur past. The neon glow of a bar sign flickers against the wet pavement. A couple walks down the sidewalk, laughing, oblivious to the storm unraveling in my chest.
I wonder what it would be like to love someone without fear. Without questioning whether they'd still be there in the morning.
The car slows to a stop in front of my building, but Liam doesn't shift into park right away. His hands stay locked around the steering wheel, fingers flexing once, twice, before tightening again. His jaw is still tense, his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the windshield.
He hasn't looked at me. Not once.
I unclip my seatbelt, waiting for him to say something—to do something—but he just sits there, silent and unmoving. The weight of it presses down on me, suffocating.
I don't think I can take this.
The distance. The quiet. The way he's shutting me out like I don't deserve to know what's going on inside his head.
Like I haven't spent the last few weeks trusting him with everything.
Vanessa's words slither back into my mind. Do you actually believe he'll choose you in the end?
I swallow hard, forcing myself to push past the doubt clawing at my ribs. And I need them now.
"Come inside."
Liam finally turns his head, his eyes snapping to mine. "Ava?—"
"I'm not asking." My voice comes out stronger than I expect, even as my fingers tighten around the strap of my purse to keep them from shaking. "I need to talk to you. And I don't want to do it out here."
For a long moment, he doesn't say anything. He just studies me, his expression unreadable.
Then, with a sharp exhale, he shifts into park.
I push the door open before he can change his mind, stepping out onto the sidewalk. The night air is cool against my overheated skin, but I barely feel it as I make my way toward the entrance. My pulse is hammering, my body taut with too many emotions to name.
Liam follows a few steps behind, his presence like a storm at my back. He doesn't touch me, doesn't speak, just moves with me, silent and heavy, until we reach my apartment.
Inside, the familiar scents of vanilla and something citrusy cling to the air—comforting, grounding—but it does nothing to ease the tension coiled tight inside my chest. I toss my purse onto the kitchen counter, turning just as Liam shuts the door behind him.
He stands near it for a moment, his posture stiff, like he's already preparing for a fight.
Good.
Because I am so fucking ready for one. None of this is his fault, which makes me the bad person for starting what I'm about to. But I can't… I can't control it, not when the words are just at the tip of my lips.
I cross my arms, leaning back against the counter. "What did Vanessa mean?"
Liam closes his eyes and sighs. "Ava?—"
"No." I shake my head, heart pounding. "Don't do that. Don't shut me out. She said I didn't know the whole story, so tell me. What am I missing?"
"She's just trying to mess with you."
"And it's working." My voice cracks on the last word, and I hate it, but I don't back down. "Because you're letting it work. You're acting like she didn't say something that clearly rattled you. Like she didn't just—" I break off, sucking in a sharp breath. "If she's lying, tell me. If she's playing some game, say that. But don't stand there and expect me to pretend it didn't mean anything when you won't even look at me."
Liam's eyes snap up to mine then, sharp and stormy and furious.
"You really want to know?" His voice is low, dangerous.
"Yes."
His nostrils flare, but he doesn't move, doesn't speak, just stares at me like I'm the problem. Like I'm the one making this harder than it needs to be.
And that—that—is the last fucking straw.
I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. "God, I'm so stupid."
Liam's brows pull together. "Ava?—"
"This whole thing," I cut in, waving between us, "was supposed to be simple. Fake dating. A cover story. No feelings, no complications." I laugh again, but it's brittle now, fraying at the edges. "But guess what? I did catch feelings. And instead of running from it, I let myself believe—" My throat tightens. "I let myself believe you might feel the same way."
The words land between us, shattering the space like glass.
Liam flinches, just barely, but I see it.
And maybe that should feel like a victory. Maybe I should take it as proof that I'm not alone in this, that whatever I'm feeling is real, that I'm not crazy for thinking we've been inching toward something inevitable.
But all I feel is tired.
Tired of waiting for him to meet me halfway.
Tired of pretending I don't care when I do.
Tired of wanting him when I don't even know if I have him.
I exhale shakily, gripping the edge of the counter. "I'm scared, Liam. Okay? I'm scared that I let myself fall for you just to end up being another mistake you regret."
Liam's entire body goes still.
A muscle tics in his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
Then, in one sharp, measured movement, he closes the distance between us.
Not touching. Not quite. But close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. Close enough that my breath catches.
"Don't," he says quietly.
My brows furrow. "Don't what?"
"Don't put words in my mouth. Don't stand there and act like I regret anything about you." His voice is rough, raw. "You think this is easy for me? You think I don't—" He cuts himself off, exhaling sharply, and for the first time tonight, I see it.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
Fear.
The same fear that's been clawing at my chest since Vanessa's words took root.
I swallow hard. "Then tell me, Liam." My voice drops, barely above a murmur. "Tell me what this is."
His eyes darken, and then there is a shift.
The weight of his stare, the sharp edge of his breathing, the way his entire body tightens like he's barely holding himself together. Like whatever battle he's been waging with himself is finally—finally—cracking at the seams.
I should push him for an answer. Demand the truth. Make him say something to pull me out of this free fall.
But I don't.
Because right now, with the way he's looking at me—like I'm the one thing he can't afford to lose—I already know.
I see it in the way his fists slowly unclench, in the way his breathing turns shallow, ragged. In the way his gaze flickers between my eyes and my mouth, like he's standing on the edge of a cliff and deciding whether or not to jump.
I don't move.
I don't dare move, even though I want to close the distance, to reach for him, to demand that he stop fighting this, that he stop fighting me.
And then, as if he hears the thought before I can say it, he moves first.
One second, we're standing inches apart, locked in some silent, desperate standoff. The next, his hands are on my face, his fingers threading into my hair, and his mouth is crashing into mine like he's been starving for this—like I'm the only thing that can save him.
The kiss is hard. It is a culmination of everything we've been holding back from each other, a slow, burning unraveling.
His lips part against mine, his breath ragged as he tilts my head back, deepening the kiss, consuming me. His body presses against mine, pinning me between him and the counter, the heat of him searing through my dress, through my skin, through everything.
I gasp into his mouth, my hands flying to his shoulders, gripping tightly.
He growls—actually growls—and kisses me harder, his tongue sliding against mine, slow and devastating. His hands are everywhere—cupping my jaw, skimming down my sides, gripping my hips like he can't bear the thought of letting me go.
And God, I don't want him to.
I don't want to think, don't want to question, don't want to hold on to all the fear clawing at my chest.
I just want this.
Want him.
Liam breaks the kiss, but only long enough to mutter, "Fuck, Ava," before his lips find my throat, dragging a hot, open-mouthed kiss down the side of my neck.
I shudder, my nails digging into his back as his teeth scrape against my pulse point, as his tongue soothes the sting.
He does it again, like he likes the way I shiver against him, like he's memorizing every little sound I make.
And then his hands—his big, rough, dangerous hands—are skimming beneath the hem of my dress, gripping my thighs, pulling me against him so I can feel how wrecked he is.
A strangled gasp escapes me, my fingers tightening in his hair.
Jesus Christ.
The kiss turns frantic, messy, our bodies tangling together in a frenzy of heat and need.
Liam grips my waist and lifts me onto the counter like I weigh nothing, stepping between my legs, fitting himself against me in a way that makes me ache.
My dress rides up, the cool air kissing my bare skin, but I don't care. Not when his hands are trailing fire along my thighs, not when his mouth is moving lower, lower, his breath hot against my collarbone.
I tilt my head back, giving him more access, and he takes it, dragging his lips down my chest, his fingers gripping my hips, his thumbs pressing into my skin like he's trying to brand me.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs against my skin, his voice strained.
I grab his face and pull him back up, crashing my mouth against his.
"Don't you dare."
He groans, his hands tightening on me, his control hanging by a thread.
And God, I want to unravel it.
I want him undone. Desperate. Gone.
For me.
His fingers skim up my thighs, teasing, exploring, slipping under the lace of my panties, and I gasp into his mouth, arching against him.
"Liam."
He curses, his breath shuddering against my lips, his fingers pressing, circling, ruining me.
"You feel this?" he rasps, his forehead pressing against mine. "How fucking wet you are for me?"
A broken moan slips out of me, my fingers clutching his shirt, holding on for dear life.
And then he moves his fingers in slow, teasing strokes, drawing me higher, unraveling me with every deliberate touch.
My head falls back against the cabinet, my breaths coming in sharp, desperate gasps.
"Look at you," Liam murmurs, his voice dark, reverent. "Falling apart for me."
I am.
God, I am.
And I don't care.
I don't care about Vanessa. About the threats. About the mess we've made.
All I care about is this.
The way he touches me like he's never wanted anything more.
The way he kisses me like he's trying to drown in me.
I shatter against his hand.
The pleasure slams into me like a breaking wave, stealing my breath, leaving me trembling, wrecked, gasping his name like it's the only thing anchoring me to the earth. My fingers grip his shoulders, nails biting into fabric, into him as my body tenses, then dissolves, as heat pulses low and deep and endless.
Liam groans, his mouth at my jaw, his breaths ragged and uneven. He strokes me through it, dragging every last aftershock from my body until I can barely sit upright, until I'm slack against him, my thighs shaking around his hips.
Then he lifts his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.
Good heavens.
I barely recover from the sight before he's gripping my thighs, dragging me to the edge of the counter, pressing the hard length of him against my core.
"You're fucking soaked, Ava," he mutters, his voice dark and hungry. "I need to feel you."
My breath catches as he reaches between us, undoing his belt with a flick of his wrist, the sound of the buckle hitting the floor sending a sharp thrill through me.
"Take off your dress," he orders, voice low, rough.
I swallow, pulse hammering, but don't hesitate. My hands find the straps, push them down my shoulders, let the fabric slip from my body until I'm bare before him, the cool air raising goosebumps along my skin.
Liam groans, his hands skimming up my waist, over my ribs, his thumbs brushing the peaks of my breasts.
"Perfect," he rasps. "Every inch of you, fucking perfect."
His praise sets fire to my skin.
Then he grips himself, teasing the head of his cock against my slick heat, rubbing, pressing, but not giving me what I need.
I whimper, shifting against him, trying to take him in, but his hands clamp down on my hips, keeping me still.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his eyes molten as he watches me squirm. "Already desperate for me again."
"Liam," I plead, my voice reduced to nothing more than a whimper.
His control snaps.
With one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushes inside me, stretching me open, filling me inch by devastating inch.
I cry out, my back arching, my fingers gripping his forearms as he buries himself to the hilt, seating himself so deep, I feel him everywhere.
Liam curses under his breath, his head dropping against my shoulder as he struggles for control.
"Fuck, Ava," he groans. "You're so tight."
I loose myself to the pleasure, the slow ascent. The stretch. The overwhelming fullness of him inside me.
Then he moves.
Slow at first, dragging his cock out of me inch by inch before sliding back in deep, setting a punishing rhythm that has my head falling back against the cabinet, my mouth open in a silent gasp.
"Look at me," Liam demands.
I force my eyes open, meeting his, and the intensity in his gaze wrecks me.
"You take me so well," he murmurs, thrusting deeper. "Like you were fucking made for me."
I moan, my nails scraping down his back, my legs tightening around his waist, urging him on, more, faster, harder.
Liam grits his teeth, his grip bruising as he pounds into me, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure shooting through my veins. The counter shakes beneath us, my bare skin sliding against the cool marble, the obscene sound of our bodies colliding filling the kitchen.
"Tell me," he growls, voice rough. "Tell me you need me."
"I need you," I gasp, back arching as he angles his hips, hitting that spot inside me that has my vision going white.
His fingers find my clit, rubbing tight, ruthless circles.
I shatter.
Pleasure detonates, my entire body locking up, my orgasm slamming into me so hard that I sob his name.
Liam follows with a raw groan, his thrusts turning erratic as he buries himself deep one final time, spilling inside me, his entire body trembling.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
Our breathing is ragged, the only sound in the quiet apartment. His forehead presses against mine, his hands still gripping my hips like he's afraid I'll disappear if he lets go.
We don't talk for a while.
Liam carries me to the couch after cleaning us both up, pressing a kiss to my forehead before vanishing into the kitchen. I sit curled up in the corner, wearing nothing but his shirt, staring at the muted glow of the city lights outside my window. My body is warm, sated, aching in a way that feels good—but my mind won't stop spinning.
This was supposed to be fake.
It was supposed to be a performance. A way to control the narrative, keep the threats from spiraling, protect both of us.
But nothing about tonight felt fake.
I hear Liam's voice in the kitchen, low and steady, and when he returns, he flops onto the couch beside me, stretching an arm across the backrest like he owns the space. His sleeves are rolled up, his hair is mussed from my fingers, and he looks as wrecked as I feel.
"I ordered pizza," he says simply.
I blink, thrown by the normalcy of it. "What kind?"
"The good kind."
A slow smile tugs at the corner of my lips. "So, pepperoni and jalapeno?"
He smiles and nods. "Obviously."
I shake my head, settling into the cushions. The tension that had been buzzing between us since we left the gala has faded into something quieter, something less sharp. We're both too exhausted to keep fighting.
For the first time in hours, my heartbeat feels steady.
We don't speak while we wait for the delivery, but it's not uncomfortable. I stretch out on the couch, my legs across his lap, and he absently traces patterns on my bare thigh. Every now and then, I catch him looking at me, but he doesn't say anything, and I don't press.
Because if I do, I'll start asking questions.
Questions like What happens now? and Are we still pretending?
And I'm not sure I'm ready for the answers.
The knock at the door startles me from my thoughts.
Liam stands, stretches, and grabs his wallet from the counter before opening the door. A minute later, he's carrying a pizza box back into the living room, the smells of melted cheese and spice curling into the air.
He sets the box on the coffee table, grabs two plates from the kitchen, and flops down beside me again, nudging my knee with his own.
"Eat," he says.
I do.
And holy hell, it's good.
The first bite is everything I need. The crispy crust, the gooey cheese, the perfect heat of jalapeno mixed with salty pepperoni. I groan, closing my eyes as I chew, savoring it.
Liam watches me, amused. "That good?"
"Shut up," I mumble around my next bite.
We eat in silence for a while, letting the stress of the night melt away. The pizza is absurdly delicious, and between the warmth of Liam beside me and the sheer relief of food after everything, I finally start to feel human again.
Halfway through my second slice, Liam glances at me. "So, are we going to talk about it?"
"Talk about what?"
He gives me a knowing look. "The fact that you were two seconds away from starting an all-out war with Vanessa Chase in the middle of the most exclusive gala in the city."
I roll my eyes. "She started it."
He snorts. "Yeah, but you were ready to finish it."
I sigh, setting my plate down. "I don't know what I was thinking."
Liam leans back, stretching his arms along the couch. "You were thinking that Vanessa's a manipulative piece of?—"
I lift a hand. "We both know what she is. But she got in my head tonight, Liam. I let her get in my head."
He exhales slowly, like he wants to argue but knows I'm right. "She plays dirty."
"She wins dirty," I mutter. "And I let her make me doubt you."
His expression flickers.
I swallow, picking at the crust of my pizza. "She said I didn't really know you."
Liam doesn't respond immediately, and I force myself to keep talking before I lose my nerve.
"It just… it made me realize how impulsive I am," I admit. "I throw myself into things without thinking, and I want to believe I trust my instincts, but what if she's right? What if I don't know you the way I think I do?"
Liam is silent for a long time. Then, quietly, he says, "I don't want you to doubt me, Ava."
Something shifts in the space between us.
I look at him, at the man who has spent weeks protecting me, challenging me, teasing me, wanting me. And I realize I don't want to doubt him, either.
I take a breath. "Then don't give me a reason to."
Liam's lips press into a thin line, like he wants to say more, but instead, he just nods. It's not a promise, but it's something.
We fall back into easy conversation, talking about everything except the arrangement, except what happens after tonight. I tell him about Ryan almost setting the house on fire the first time he tried to grill steaks, and he tells me about the time Dean had to bail him out of trouble when they were nineteen. We laugh, we eat, we exist in this strange, comfortable bubble, and for a little while, it's enough.
But then…
My phone buzzes.
I almost ignore it, almost let it sit there on the table while I stay tucked up against Liam, warm and full and pretending that this whole thing is real.
But the second I glance at the screen, my blood turns to ice.
A text, and of course, its from an unknown number.
Tick tock, Ava. The clock's running out.
Attached is a photo of my brothers.
Dean, Ryan, and Nate, sitting in a booth at The Riverwalk Café, laughing over their coffee, completely oblivious to the fact that someone is watching them.
My hands go numb.
Liam sees my face and sits up immediately. "Ava? What?—"
I turn the phone toward him, my stomach twisting. "They're watching my family."