Chapter 38
Now
We went back and forth trying to decide what should be our first dance song.
Liam wanted an eighties ballad, while I wanted something more classic.
What’s more classic than Bonnie Tyler? Liam argued.
We debated it until one night we were over at my mom’s for dinner and she started singing along to the Mamas & the Papas’ soulful version of “Dream a Little Dream of Me.” Liam and I looked at each other and just knew.
It was the song that played at the bar the night we met and we couldn’t think of anything more perfect to dance to. But tonight, not so much.
My first instinct is to make an excuse, some reason why Liam and I can’t dance right now, but before I can come up with anything, Liam’s taking me by the hand and leading me out onto the dance floor.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m acting.” Then he puts his hands on my waist, pulling me into his chest. “Is this okay?” he asks brusquely.
No. It’s not fucking okay. None of this is, I want to scream, but what choice do we have when my entire family is watching, so I nod and wind my hands around his neck.
As we sway back and forth like a pendulum, I try to hold on to my anger, to remind myself of all the ways he let me down and that overdue explanations don’t fix things.
But Liam’s words pinwheel inside my brain.
Every time I tried to make things better, I only made everything worse, and I can’t help the collision of regret and loss surging inside me.
The realization that our marriage didn’t fail because he didn’t care. Or because he didn’t love me enough.
He always loved me—maybe even still does—he just didn’t know how to show it. And maybe I didn’t know how to either. Maybe we both hurt each other in different ways because we were scarred by old wounds that still haven’t healed. Because we were both broken.
I think about what he’d said. It felt like a confirmation of everything I’d worried about, that sex was all I could offer you, all you wanted from me.
The words cut like jagged glass against my ribs.
But hadn’t that been exactly what I’d worried about too?
That he couldn’t give me anything more than just sex?
And hadn’t I confirmed that for him by telling him I wanted an expiration date?
By not telling him how I felt because I, too, was afraid I wasn’t worthy of more?
Because I was afraid of the exact same thing he was?
The realization pulls me apart and pins me down until I’m suffocating, crushed by the weight of it.
Liam must feel it, too, because our dancing turns less angry rocking and more mournful swaying as he draws me closer, until we’re body to body, and it’s all I can do to fight the rush of tears swarming my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I choke. “I’m sorry for pushing you away, for expecting you to be the one to fix the problems between us when they were mine to fix too. I know I hurt you and I’m sorry.”
The tears are falling now, hot and fast. “I wanted so much more than sex from you, Liam. I always have. I still do. But I thought I was asking you for something you didn’t want to give me because…
” My bottom lip quivers, the avalanche of feelings inside me finally breaking loose. “Because I wasn’t worth it to you.”
“Ros,” he whispers, his voice so tender, it’s like he’s found a way to crawl inside me and peel back every last protective layer surrounding my heart. “You were always worth it. Every day. Every moment. Even when I didn’t know how to show it. You will always be worth it to me.”
As he gathers me into his chest, I feel like I’m being untangled, thread by thread. All my poorly stitched wounds unraveling before him.
“I never wanted space,” I tell him. “I didn’t want you to go.
I didn’t want it to be over. But I was broken and hurting, and I felt like I was losing you, like I wasn’t yours anymore.
” Tears blur my vision, breath clogging in my throat.
“We were supposed to make it,” I choke. “I was supposed to be yours. I wanted to be yours.”
He cups my chin, commanding my gaze. “You are mine,” he says, his voice gritty with fresh determination. “Still mine. Always mine.” Then he leans down, angling his mouth, and kisses me, rough and possessive, like he’s trying to prove what he just said. That I’m still his.
“Mine,” he whispers into my mouth, the word puncturing my skin, all the way to the deepest parts of my soul. He says it again and again. Mine, as his hands mold around my hips, pulling our bodies flush. Mine. Mine. Mine.
Salty tears mix with hot breath and wet lips as he kisses me over and over, needy and seeking.
When my tears turn to inelegant sobs, Liam takes my hand and leads me off the dance floor, out of the view of my family.
In the shadows, under the glare of the moon, our bodies slot together, close enough that I can feel the tap, tap, tap of his heart beating in time with mine.
We’re two misshapen, jagged-edged shards of glass. We’ve cut each other before. But here, in his arms, I feel my sharpest edges dull.
“Do you think there’s a world where we get it right?” I ask. “Where we’re okay?”
His eyes catch mine, heavy and determined. “This one, baby,” he says, tilting his mouth to mine. “I promise, it’s this one.” He kisses me harder, fingers digging into my waist. “We’re okay.”
Want sears in my chest, but it’s more than just physical. I’m greedy for this moment, to make it last, to lock it in the safe house of my mind where I can remember what it feels like to be in his arms, safe and warm. Where I can remember the feeling of being his. Of being okay.
His mouth chases mine, tongue parting my lips, and my spine bends, arching into him, desperate to ruin him, to be ruined by him. The only thing keeping me from climbing him here and now is the knowledge that my family is right around the corner.
“Take me back to the room,” I gasp.
He pulls back, tongue swiping across his swollen lips. “Let me tell the family you aren’t feeling well and turning in for the night, okay?”
I nod and he gives my hand a squeeze.
When he returns, we move like we’re in a trance, drifting through space like thick taffy. By the time we shut the door to our room behind us, we’re both on edge.
Liam flattens me against the wall and I let out a sharp gasp.
“Is this what you want?” he murmurs, planting rough, greedy kisses along my neck.
I don’t know what this is. If it’s sex, or him, or all of it, but the answer’s yes. I want it all.
“Yes,” I say in a voice empty of air. “I want this.”
I want you.
He pushes one strap of my dress off my shoulder, then the other, letting the bodice fall to my waist. “The dress,” he whispers, his mouth hot and fast on my neck. “The one you wore to the airport. Was it for me?”
“Yes,” I tell him, my voice straining as my hips press forward, arching into his touch.
It was for you, all for you.
“What about the beard?” I ask, running my fingers through the coarse bristles. “Was it for me?”
He cups my face, his gaze stripping me down to skin and bones. “Yes,” he whispers. “Everything was for you.”
“Even the—?”
“Yes,” he answers, swallowing the end of my question with a kiss. “All of it was for you.”
His mouth sinks against mine, his hands roaming the length of my spine. Mine, mine, mine, the staccato of his breath whispers against my lips. Yours, yours, yours, my tongue says back as he walks us toward the bed.
He peels the rest of my clothes away until we’re both naked and bare. Until there are no more walls. No more rules. No more pretending. No more secrets. No more distractions. It’s just us. Him and me. Stripped down, exposed.
“God, Ros.” His voice is a soft hum against my throat. “You fucking ruin me. You always have.”
And in that moment, looking like the fraying end of a tapestry, I believe him.
In the nine years I’ve known Liam, he’s always been the calm and collected one.
The one who holds his emotions close to his chest, away from scrutiny.
Who thought his hurt was something to hide.
But here, with his breath turning ragged, hands firmly on my waist like he’s afraid I might slip out from under him, I feel like I’m looking into a room whose doors were previously locked.
Like I’m seeing all of him. Every sharp corner and broken edge.
Parts that are already familiar, ones I know as well as my own, and ones he’s hidden away, out of reach. Parts I want to spend the rest of my life learning, memorizing, knowing.
Loving, I think with a jolt.
The thought unravels me as I reach out, tracing the lines of his jaw with the pad of my thumb. His gaze travels from my eyes to my mouth, then back again, expression drawn with need.
When he speaks, the sound is ripped from his chest. “Ros, I—” He pauses, a shallow breath pulsing between us. “I love you.” Then lower, firmer, more determined, “I’ve always loved you, Ros. I never stopped.”
Everything around us blurs. Every sound. Every sensation. Even the ever-present hum of the ship’s engine fades away until all that’s left are those three little words. Three little words that change everything.
I try to remember when I first knew I loved him.
Was it the night we met? When I tried so very hard not to fall for him?
Or maybe the first time he took care of me when I was sick?
Or was it that first Christmas when he met my family and I saw how well he fit in, how much they loved him, and it made me love him too?
Or was it a million small moments in between, each one so indistinguishable from the next that I can’t quite pull them apart?
Or maybe, in some impossible-to-understand sort of way, I’ve always loved him. Maybe in every world, every timeline, every version of this life, there was space in my heart carved out for him and only him.
Maybe there always would be.
“I love you too,” I breathe back.
Our eyes catch and my nerve endings flare. It’s an accord, an acknowledgment that we mean what we’ve said. It wasn’t a mistake or a slip of the tongue. It wasn’t pretend or words spoken in the heat of passion. They were real and we meant them.
A heavy, pulse-pounding beat passes, then his hands are cupping my cheeks, drawing his forehead to mine, our shaky breaths comingling in the narrow space between my mouth and his.
When he kisses me, it’s like being swept up in the ocean. I’m powerless against the waves of his touch, the swell of his mouth on mine. He’s a force so intense, so profound, I fear I might drown right here in his arms.
His hands travel up my back and into my hair, pulling me into the familiar scaffolding of his body. A body I was made for. To love and be loved by.
“Mine,” he says as his teeth sink into the delicate skin of my neck, hard enough that I know he’ll leave a mark.
“Yours,” I whisper back as he hoists me up, wrapping my legs around his waist, and carries me to the bed.
Normally Liam would take his time, teasing me until I beg, but we’re both too needy, too desperate, and he spreads my thighs, entering me with a long, drawn-out thrust that wrenches a quiet sob out of me.
He moves slowly at first—a deliberate exercise in restraint—then faster, like he can’t quite help himself, until his hands brace against my thighs, sweat dripping down his neck and onto my throat.
Until we’re both unraveling at the seams.
“Don’t let go,” he whispers, his fingers tangling with mine, hips rolling in perfect synchronization.
“I won’t, I promise,” I choke out, something between a gasp and a sob. “I’m here.”
I’m yours.
His mouth slants over mine, his spine arching to bring himself deeper, both of us moving together, performing choreography we both know by heart.
I love you, his fingers whisper as they comb through my hair.
I need you, my teeth say back as they nip at his earlobe.
Don’t let go, we say together as we tip toward the edge, falling apart slowly, then all at once.
Tomorrow, we’ll have to talk. About what it means. About what’s next. About everything. But for now, in between tender kisses and whispered chants of I love you, I lose myself in him. In the curves and ridges of his body. In this moment with the man I’ve always loved.