21. Tell Me Tomorrow
TELL ME TOMORROW
LIAM
“Yup, June was right, her dad fucking hates me,” Brennan says between deep drinks of whiskey.
He’s watching June’s father move around the room.
At first, I thought it was just in Brennan’s head, but Gregory does keep glaring over here, his broad smile used to greet guests fading the moment his eyes find his daughter’s date for the evening.
Brennan turns to the bartender, who tops off his glass. This is at least his fourth glass, and he’s showing no signs of slowing down any time soon. I get that he has every right to be nervous, but I can’t help but think that his getting drunk isn’t going to help his situation at all.
I mean, why does it matter if her dad doesn’t like him, anyway—hell, half the time, I’m not convinced Brennan is even that serious about June.
“Fuck, I wish Reid hadn’t bailed,” Brennan murmurs from beside me. “This party is boring as shit.” He clears his throat, quickly adding, “No offense, dude.”
“None taken,” I add in a dry tone.
Brennan might be missing Reid. But I’m sure as hell not. He was supposed to be Reese’s escort for the night. Leave it to him to ghost her in the middle of the night without so much as an explanation.
Heartless prick.
But that sounds about right for him. Just when Reese was starting to get too close…He hits the panic button and runs.
The bartender goes to refill my glass, but halts when she sees it’s still full.
It’s more of a decoration than anything else.
I haven’t actually taken a sip of it. I know I could if I wanted; Jasmine and I have talked about that possibility.
Drinking wasn’t the problem—chasing the feeling of numbness, the silence was.
And alcohol, enough of it, can silence the thoughts.
So I choose to avoid it in all forms.
There is only one vice I’ll allow now.
Aubrey.
Just one taste of her in that fucking hotel last night has my mind spinning. Since I dropped her off at her parents’ house so she could get ready for tonight, I’ve spent the whole day pacing around the cabin, trying to get a grip on myself.
But I can’t stop thinking about her. About how much I want her—not just physically, but in every way.
We still haven’t talked about the past. And I know I’m missing something. A final piece of the puzzle she’s refusing to give me.
Just as I’m about to try to talk to Brennan about it, something catches his attention behind me. I don’t need to turn around to know what has him hooked—the Vaughns have a way of doing that to a man.
Not wanting to miss her entrance, I turn and watch as Aubrey shrugs out of her fur coat, hands it to the server, murmuring her thanks.
Longing twists through me, my mouth dry as she glides across the room, her eyes locked on me, tracing me from head to toe.
I hate suits.
But I’d wear one every day if it meant she’d keep looking at me like this.
I grin as I take my turn studying her. She’s wearing makeup—something she only does on occasion. Her eyes are painted dark, deepening the brown to near-black. Her whole look is dark and sultry: the black dress, barely more than scraps, the almost see-through bodice.
Beside me, Brennan coughs, choking on his whiskey as Reese approaches us. But my attention is anywhere but on them.
As Aubrey and I close the distance to one another, my hands fidget at my sides.
How can she still make me this nervous, after all this time?
Do I pull her into a hug?
Press a kiss to her cheek?
I want to claim her in front of the whole room—though I know Aubrey Vaughn could never truly belong to anyone but herself. She’s far too independent.
I’m still figuring out what to do with my hands when she reaches me, taking one in hers. I exhale as our fingers intertwine.
We really need to have that conversation sooner rather than later, because I’m falling almost as fast as the snow outside.
A fucking blizzard. So in love that I’m lost, unable to see the ground beneath the white layers.
Part of me rejoices that, for the first time, dark thoughts don’t trail me like a shadow, like they did last year. I laugh. I joke. I smile.
But the part of me that clawed myself out of that hole—the part that spent hours in therapy, working through my shit—is screaming at me to take it slow, to demand answers, not to let her back into the place she once occupied.
We move around the room, hands still joined.
“Liam Anderson,” a voice announces behind us. I take a breath as Aubrey’s fingers brush the back of my hand in a way of comfort.
I suppose it’s best to get this over with.
But before I know what’s happening, a thin figure is crashing into me, taking the breath from my lungs and squeezing me tightly. “Am I happy to see you!” Aubrey’s mother, Christina, takes my face in her hands and pinches my cheeks.
Chrissy always loved me. I would be lying if I said she was ever anything but welcoming when I joined her family. But I also think I could have been a total loser, and she’d still have found something admirable in me. She’s warm and understanding in that way.
I chuckle as she looks at me, reaching to put Aubrey’s hands back in mine.
Chrissy tears up, dapping her fingers over her eyes.
“I just knew you two would figure everything out. I’m so relieved that Aubrey finally told you—” she clears her throat, but my chest heaves, as I’m pretty sure I stop breathing.
“It was so hard for us all. But especially my Aubrey, watching her mourn without you—Aubrey tells me that your mom is doing well. I’m so happy to hear that. ”
My heart skips several beats. Did I hear her right? Did she say mourning?
Mourning what?
Me?
Though I often felt like a part of me had died that night, I didn’t. I’m here. I’m better.
I’m healing. Why would she say that?
“Mom,” Aubrey grits, pulling me from my trance. Side eyeing her, I see she’s gone rigid.
Chrissy’s mouth drops open, as if she realizes that I have absolutely no idea what she’s talking about.
And if it could get any worse, it does.
Someone slaps a hand on my shoulder, with a grip far too complicated and forceful to truly be taken as a welcoming gesture.
“My almost son-in-law!” Aubrey’s father declares as he moves around me, moving to place his arm over his wife’s shoulders.
Is there an edge to his tone, or am I imagining it?
Almost son-in-law? I can’t help but narrow my brows. What the hell is going on? I look at Aubrey again—she’s staring at me, her face white.
I want her sunshine back, her warm skin—her freckles, her glow.
Then she bolts.
“Richard!” Her mother exclaims, shoving his arm away from her shoulders as she steps forward, clearly considering going after her daughter.
She takes a step forward and then stops herself. Her head cranes to the side, “I think you’re the one she really needs to talk to.”
Without another thought, I’m sprinting out the door, chasing her.
The gala is at the Grand Lodge overlooking the slopes. Golden-orange sunset casts across the snow, lights lining the hills twinkling like stars. Guests are still arriving, cars pulling up to the valet, people filing inside.
I shove through the crowd, spotting Aubrey’s fur coat. I spin someone around—and curse.
“Shit—sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
I look up, thankful for my height.
Over the heads, I see her walking down the hill. I push harder, desperate to get to her.
“AUbrEY!” I call, running, snow crunching underfoot.
She glances back, then drops her head, keeping pace, her long dress dragging behind her. Snow clings to the fabric, soaking its length.
I know she has to be freezing.
“Aubs,” I pant, right behind her. She ignores me, tracing the path that leads to our cabin.
Cars slow, guests watch, recognizing Aubrey Vaughn, alone, without a coat, while a strange man follows her.
Not a great look.
But she doesn’t seem to care as she keeps on, turning left, heading up the vast hill. Fuck. I need to pick up my pace, but I’m worried I’ll eat it in this snow. My leg is fine, thanks to rehab, but balance?
Balance sucks. Especially on snow.
While I struggle, Aubrey walks the uphill pathway in four-inch heels like it’s nothing.
She never fails to amaze me.
I sprint—and immediately regret it. Because I fall, cursing, ass-first into the snow.
She hears the commotion I caused behind her and turns around, her face full of worry. “Damn it, Liam—are you okay?”
She steps to help me—and slips, sliding down beside me.
A soft chuckle vibrates my chest as she lays sprawled out next to me. Snow now covers every inch of us, but we don’t seem to notice.
Fingers numb, wet seeping into my suit, cold to the bone, I fling myself back, my body now laid out in the thick layers. I spread my arms out, legs following.
And I begin to swipe up and down.
Snow angels.
Aubrey’s quiet sobs turn into laughter—growing louder and louder as I look over and see her doing the same.
I know so many truths separate us. That there is something significant and threatening enough to split us apart again, something she was running from.
But right now I don’t want to know.
Right now, I want her.
Just a little while longer, just one last time.
I take her hand, pulling us to our feet. Her skin is cold from the snow, our bodies wet as I pull her into me. I press my lips on hers. They are chilled at first, but as I deepen the kiss, the heat of want warms them through.
She pulls back, just slightly. “Liam—” she begins, and I know that if I don’t stop her, she’ll finally tell me what I need to know.
The final piece keeping us apart.
I’ve waited a whole year for answers. To understand why she left me. Why, after months standing by my side…what was the final straw that made her leave?
But I don’t want to know. Not tonight.
“Liam, I-I—”
I pull her close, reclaiming her lips, crashing into her as I say against them, “Tell me tomorrow. Tonight—tonight, I don’t want to talk.”
Then I scoop her into my arms and pray my balance holds as I carry her up the rest of the hill. Our kisses are wild as I breathlessly make it up the steep incline.
When I get to the cabin door, I drop her to her feet, sucking in sharp breaths that burn my lungs from the frigid air. Aubrey pins the code to the front door and steps inside.
Her exposed skin is reddened from the cold, but she seems wholly unconcerned as she moves her hair aside, looking over her shoulder.
But she keeps her promise and doesn’t say anything; she doesn’t need to.
I close the door and hastily reach for the laces of her corset.