Chapter 9 Liam
The Spaghetti Palace wasn’t fancy. It sat on the edge of Ashford’s downtown—a few blocks past the brick storefronts, vintage bookshops, and overpriced cafes. Out here, it was weathered strip malls and family-owned restaurants.
But Emily loved the place, and tonight was “a celebration.”
I knew she was excited for the possibility of me becoming captain next year, but I was worried about this scrimmage with Alex.
She slid into the booth across from me and her denim jacket slipped off her shoulders. “You hit a personal record the other day. And Coach Hale told you that you’re captain material someday. I mean—Liam, that’s huge.”
I forced a smile. My chest was tight in that way I’d learned to hide. “It’s just a PR.”
“It is not ‘just a PR.’” She poked at the air between us. “I even told my mom. And my sister. They think you’re a rising campus legend.”
The word legend made my stomach twist. The scrimmage was this weekend. The secret race was still a live grenade in my brain. And Emily was glowing like she’d won the lottery.
Then, a waiter with a thick black mustache appeared beside us, smiling like he’d been waiting all night for us. Weird.
“Hello, I'm Carlo. What can I get the young lovers this evening?” he said with a wink.
Emily went bright red. “We’re—well—can we get the garlic knots?”
“Of course.” He turned to me. “And for you, sir? A glass of wine? Something romantic?”
I coughed. “Just water.”
He gave me a disappointed sigh and walked off.
“What a weirdo,” I said.
Emily covered her face. “I swear he does that on purpose.”
“Probably.”
She peeked at me with a grin. “But... lovers? That’s kind of cute, right?”
I looked down at the menu and cracked a smile. “Yeah. It is.”
“So... did you tell your mom about the race?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“She’ll want to come, Liam.”
“Maybe,” I said.
Emily gave me that gentle, patient look. “She really would.”
My jaw tightened. Mom already worked two jobs, double shifts whenever she could pick them up. The last thing she needed was to drive all the way out here just to watch me stress about Kingswell and lose a race.
She’d say yes if I asked—because she always said yes—but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t cost her sleep, money, and energy she didn’t have.
“It’s not a big deal. She’s got a lot going on,” I said.
Emily nodded, like she understood but didn’t agree. “Still... she’d be proud. I know that much.”
Carlo returned just in time. “And what will we have for entrées?”
“Spaghetti and meatballs,” I said.
“Same,” Emily added. “Extra meatballs for me. I deserve them.”
“You both deserve them,” Carlo declared before sweeping off.
When he left, Emily rested her chin in her hand, smiling at me with that special glint in here eyes. “Okay. Start talking. What’s going on in that big head of yours? You’re all broody and moody.”
“I’m not brooding. I’m just... excited and nervous.”
“Well, you should be. Not nervous. But excited. You’re at the start of a lot of good things.”
She meant well. She always did. But she only knew the good stuff—not that I’d be lining up with Alex at the scrimmage. The one person I couldn’t outrun, even after a year of pretending I had.
I opened my mouth to respond, but Emily’s hand brushed mine—a soft, grounding touch—and my brain went somewhere it shouldn’t have.
Straight back to Brackett Lake... to the night everything between me and Alex cracked open.
The music from the party had faded behind me, swallowed by the trees. I’d stormed off—furious, hurt in a way I had no name for. Then he found me by the water.
Go back to your friends. I said.
I don’t want to. The words sweet on his lips.
I told him I was done pretending. That he messed me up. That I couldn’t stop thinking about him. The words spilled out before I could stop them, and when I looked at him, he looked relieved. Like he’d been waiting for me to break first.
It’s just you and me. He said. And for some reason, that was enough.
I grabbed his shirt. He whispered. Do it.
“Liam?”
Her voice tugged me back hard.
I blinked, the lake dissolving, moonlight sinking away. I was back at the table with Emily, her brows pinched in that soft, worried way.
“Hey,” she said, leaning in. “You okay? You spaced out.”
“Yeah,” I lied. “Sorry. Long day.”
She smiled, but I could tell she didn’t buy it. And she was right—I wasn’t here, not fully. Part of me was still holding Alex’s shirt, moments from kissing him for the first time.
But I couldn’t let her see any of that. What she deserved was honesty, and all I had were half-truths.
I cleared my throat. “I found out who I’m racing in the scrimmage.”
Her face brightened. “Who? I was hoping you’d tell me.”
I forced the word out. “Harrington.”
“So Tyler was right.”
I nodded, but the weight in my chest didn’t budge because I could tell her I was racing Alex. But I couldn’t tell her the truth about us—about the night by the lake, about the kiss, about why just hearing his name made my heart beat faster.
“How do you feel about racing him?” Emily asked.
“Fine.”
“Fine?” She said, skeptical. “You’re telling me you feel nothing? Because the tension between you two... it’s like a bro crush.”
Heat rushed up my neck. “What?”
She watched me a beat too long before laughing. “Liam, relax. I’m kidding.”
Crush. A dangerous word when attached to Alex.
Why would she say that? Was it that obvious? Is that what everyone thought?
Emily grinned. “Don’t worry. You’re going to beat him. You’re like... a rowing dragon.”
“A what?”
“A dragon. With fire. And quads.”
I snorted before I could stop myself. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Thank you. It’s one of my better qualities.”
Our garlic knots arrived—glossy with butter, steaming—and Emily tore one in half and shoved it into my hand. “Eat. Champions need carbs.”
I took a bite. “These are good.”
“I love this place... or this palace. Get it?” She laughed at her own joke and I smirked while I grabbed another knot and dunked it in marinara sauce.
We talked, or she talked and I tried to keep up:
Her psych professor had tripped over a backpack today and cursed in front of class.
One of her friends got asked out at the smoothie bar by a guy who used the line “our hearts could blend.”
Her sister wanted to visit campus next month because “it feels like Liam is doing big things.”
Carlo returned with the plates the way a magician reveals the finale of a show—with drama, volume, and zero awareness of personal space.
He balanced two enormous bowls on one arm, steam curling upward like incense at a shrine dedicated to carbs. As he reached our table, he burst into song, full volume, full commitment:
“When the moon hits your eye like a big-a pizza pie, that’s amore—!”
Emily froze with her water glass halfway to her mouth. I choked on a breath I didn’t mean to inhale.
Carlo kept going. “When the stars make you drool just-a like pasta fazool—“ He twirled one of the plates with a flourish. “That’s amore!”
Then he placed Emily’s dish in front of her with a slow, theatrical bow.
“And for the lovely lady, extra meatballs! Just like she requested,” he said with an aggressive wink.
Emily went scarlet. “Oh—thank you.”
He placed my bowl in front of me with less fanfare, then gave the table a tap like he was blessing it.
“You two enjoy,” he said, finger-guns blazing. “And remember—!”
He paused, and we waited. Just then, a family a few booths down waved him over.
“Duty calls!” He said and spun away.
Emily exhaled all at once. “That... was exhausting.”
“He’s committed,” I said.
She stabbed a meatball with her fork. “He’s possessed.”
Emily took a bite, eyes widening. “Holy—this is so good. Okay. I forgive everything. I forgive the singing. I forgive the winking.”
I twirled some spaghetti around my fork, took a bite, and felt the warmth spread down my chest in a way that made my shoulders drop for the first time all day.
“Yeah,” I said as the buttery tomato sauce hit. “Yeah, okay. This was worth the weird.”
Emily grinned. “Told you.”
And for a moment everything in me eased. The weight of the scrimmage, the video, the pressure... it all quieted under a mountain of spaghetti and perfectly seasoned meatballs.
And it was nice.
The spaghetti, her hand brushing mine, the stupid dragon joke she kept circling back to.
It was all... safe. Normal.
Eventually, Carlo dropped off the bill and told us we were his “favorite couple of the night.” Emily giggled and squeezed my arm. I managed a smile that felt mostly real.
We boxed up the leftover garlic knots—her idea, of course—and stepped out into the cool night air.
Emily slipped her hand into mine.
I squeezed back.
Carlo had called us lovers. Emily had called Alex a crush.
Maybe it was just different feelings I could have for different people. Maybe relationships were a little more boring. Maybe crushes were like flings, not real, just temporary.
Not something anyone could lock down for good.
When we reached her building, Emily didn’t get out of the car right away. She lingered with her hand on the door handle, biting her lip the way she did when she was nervous.
“My roommate’s gone for the night, do you... maybe want to come up?” She asked.
There was a flutter of hope, excitement, and a little vulnerability in her eyes.
And I should’ve said no. I should’ve told her I had practice early tomorrow, or that I was too tired, or that my head wasn’t in the right place.
But a part of me thought: Yeah, maybe this’ll help. Maybe this will settle me down for the scrimmage. Maybe this will make everything feel normal again.
“Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”
She smiled in a way that made my chest warm in a soothing, comforting way. We climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor. The hall was quiet except for the hum of an old vending machine and some distant laughter from the common room.