Chapter 10 Liam
Liam
My head feels like it’s about to explode. What time is it?
“Ugh,” I groan, squinting against the harsh morning light filtering through my bedroom window.
I sit up slowly, blinking my eyes into focus, and throw my arm out, reaching blindly across the nightstand for the ibuprofen in my top drawer.
I try to take a long pull from my water bottle.
Bloody empty. I toss it aside and dry-swallow the pills instead, grimacing at the powdery taste.
What the hell happened last night? I don’t remember drinking that much.
I freeze when the buzzer cuts through my apartment. Groaning, I roll over to check the time on my phone: too bleedin’ early.
“Fuck.” Pieces of last night come flooding back to me.
The Play It Forward charity gala. Danielle and the PR team’s idea of cleaning up my image.
The event itself was incredible: a black-tie fundraiser for underprivileged kids across London, helping provide sports gear, coaching, and access to facilities.
Some of the funds also went toward after-school programs and grants for families who can’t afford club fees. It’s a great cause.
I rack my brain, trying to remember what the hell happened. The red carpet. The photos. The interviews. The dinner. The drinks… the shots.
God, the shots. And, finally, Danielle dragging me onto the dance floor.
“Jesus,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes, trying to erase the image of her trying to bloody kiss me.
My phone hums in my hand and Danielle’s name flashes across the screen. Christ. I’d better get this awkward conversation out of the way. I swipe to answer, bringing the phone to my ear. “Morning.”
“Hey, babe.” Her voice is bright. “I’m downstairs.”
Babe? I blink. “What?”
“I said I’m downstairs. I wanted to catch you before you left for training… I thought we could talk.” She giggles. “Let me up.”
My stomach tightens. “Danielle, I don’t think—”
“It won’t take too long, I promise. Oh! Maybe I could make us both some coffee? You’re probably dying up there,” she says.
I know she’s not going to let me off, so I relent. “I’ll buzz you in.”
“See you soon!”
The line goes dead. What the hell? Why is she here? Maybe she wants to clear the air about the non-kiss last night? My head feels like someone’s taken a hammer to it. I’m really not in the mood.
I freeze for a second, worrying that Finn might be up, but then my shoulders loosen—Roman and Zoey took him for the night, Zoey’s taking him to school this morning.
I swing both legs over the side of my bed and wobble a little as I stand. Sucking in a breath, I snatch up my joggers and jumper, which I tossed on the floor last night, and hastily change.
The intercom buzzes again.
“I’m coming,” I mutter, dragging myself to buzz her in.
It doesn’t take long before I hear her footsteps approaching. I open the door, pulse in my throat.
She smiles when she sees me, her eyes roving over my rumpled clothes. “You just woke up? Poor thing.” She steps inside without waiting for an invitation. “Good thing I’m here to take care of you.”
Her eyes flick around the apartment as she makes her way to the kitchen. I trail behind her.
“Danielle, about last night—”
“I know, I know. You got a bit too drunk.” She grabs a couple of coffee pods from their holder.
“Yeah,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’m sorry about that, I shouldn’t have had that last whiskey.”
She drops the pods to the counter and whirls on her feet, closing the distance between us. “It’s totally okay. I’ve got you.”
Before I can react, she grabs a fistful of my jumper and rises on her toes. My body locks up, breath stalling as I realize she’s coming in for a bleedin’ kiss.
I grasp her wrist, halting her movements before jerking away. “Danielle, what the hell are you doing?”
She blinks at me and her eyes look wounded. “What do you mean? I thought… after you danced with me last night . . .”
My hands tremble as I drop her wrists, forcing myself to remain calm. That familiar tightness starts to coil in my gut. She isn’t a threat to you, I tell myself, it’s okay.
Taking a step back, I glare at her, waving a hand between us. “I told you last night this wasn’t happening.”
She scoffs before her face softens again. “Oh, Liam. We were both drunk. I know you didn’t mean that.”
“I did mean it. I do mean it.” I keep my voice as neutral as possible.
She arches a brow, smirking. “Come on. We both know what happened last time you drank. And it’s okay.” She waves me off. “I know how to handle you.”
It makes my skin crawl, thinking about our sleeping together. Not one of my proudest moments, I’ll admit. I tip my head to the ceiling, steadying my breath.
I’m going to have to spell this out, aren’t I?
I fix her with a pointed look. “Danielle, we work together. I’m not interested in you like that.”
She laughs me off, advancing on me again. “Liam.” Her voice drops to a low purr. “We’ve already seen each other naked, so you can cut the I’m being professional act. I think it’s time we stopped pretending and just accept that there’s something between us.”
She reaches for me again and I retreat another step. “That was a mistake, Danielle. I was drunk and going through a rough time. It shouldn’t have happened, and I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. That wasn’t my intention.”
All the sweetness drains from her face, replaced with hardness. “A mistake? That’s not what you said when you were inside me.”
Her words are like a bucket of ice water. Bile rises in my throat—not from the hangover, but from shame at how badly I screwed up.
“I barely remember that night, Danielle. I’m sorry, but I was too drunk to—”
The sweetness returns. “We were both drunk, that’s not your fault, Liam.” She straightens her shoulders. “How about I help you remember?”
I step back. “No, Danielle. I think you should leave.” I inhale deeply. One, two, three, four.
Her hands drop. Her sultry facade vanishes instantly, replaced by a fierce coldness. “You’re serious?”
I exhale. One, two, three, four. “I think you should go.”
“Wow.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “So that’s how this is going to be?”
“Danielle—”
“You used me. Didn’t you?” She jabs a pink-tipped finger at me. “You needed me to save your pathetic career, and now that I have, you think you can just do whatever you want with me? Play with my feelings?”
“I didn’t use you—”
“Yes, you did!” she screams. “You needed me, and the second you’re back on top, you think you can just toss me aside? Like I’m nothing?”
My head pounds and my patience wears thin. “Christ, Danielle. I’m not tossing you aside—you’re my agent. I never should have—”
“Never should have what?” Her eyes turn to slits. “Fucked me? Well, you seemed pretty enthusiastic at the time.”
“I was drunk and vulnerable. My life had just imploded. If I’d been sober, I wouldn’t have got in that Uber with you!”
Her mouth opens, fury blazing in her eyes, but before she can respond, an upbeat robot ringtone pulls us both to a stop. Danielle pulls her phone out, popping her hip. She’s actually going to answer it while I’m mid-trying to kick her out.
“WHAT?” she barks into the phone.
I can hear the meek voice on the other end—Stacey, her assistant.
“No! I don’t drink whole milk, I only have almond.
Jesus Christ, Stacey, it isn’t that bloody difficult.
You know what? Sometimes you’re completely useless.
I don’t know why I even bother. Yes… fine.
I’ll be there soon, and my coffee better be piping hot or I’ll have you reorganize my entire filing cabinet. ”
She taps the screen aggressively to hang up and takes a breath, turning back to me. “What were we saying?”
The whiplash nearly knocks me out. I stare at her and my jaw ticks. “You were leaving.”
She blinks then huffs a bitter laugh. “Right. Of course.” She steps closer and I instinctively move back. “Just remember something, Liam. I saved your career when it was hanging by a thread.” She snaps her fingers. “And I can take it away just as quickly.”
My voice drops low. “Are you threatening me?”
She holds up a hand. “You know what? You’re clearly not thinking straight right now. You’re hungover, you’re confused. We’ll talk about us another time when you’ve calmed down.”
Us? What the hell is she on about?
“There’s nothing to talk about, Danielle. There is no ‘us’.”
Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “We’ll see about that.”
She turns on her heel and storms out, slamming the door behind her.
The relief once she’s gone is immediate.
Dropping onto my sofa, I bury my face in my hands.
I try to piece last night together, try to remember if there was something I did or said that made her believe I was into her.
But all I can see are dark brown waves, deep chocolate eyes and soft, tanned skin.
All I can see is Anna. Those little breathy moans that drove me wild. Her small hands exploring every inch of me. The way she responded to my touch, like she was made just for me.
It’s been four weeks since I slept with her and she’s all I can bloody think about.
For the last four weeks I’ve scoured every corner of the internet trying to find her.
Instagram, Facebook, even bloody TikTok…
she’s a ghost. I can’t for the life of me remember her address.
I know she’s somewhere around Putney, but it was too dark to take note of which turns we took, let alone any street signs that would help me now.
Hoping to find someone when you’re working off a first name and the name of a bar is almost impossible.
I even went back to the Mayfair Lounge with the team the following Friday, hoping she’d show. She didn’t.
Eventually, I had to admit defeat. It wouldn’t have been right to keep in touch with Anna anyway, no matter how badly I wanted to. As much as I’d love to take her on a real date, I have to protect what matters most: Finn.
It was cowardly to bail on her, but I didn’t know how to tell her about the real me—Liam, not Cooper. How would she have looked at me? My life’s a mess. I’ve got a kid who depends on me, a club I have to prove myself to, tabloids that love to see me fail, and an agent who won’t leave me alone.
I check the time on my phone: 7 am.
Training starts in two hours, followed by a meeting with Finn’s teacher about “the incident.” Finn punched his bully yesterday—Josh, he tells me.
Right in the face during morning break. He’s been bullying Finn for weeks.
I should have seen it sooner. Finn barely touches his dinner, he shuts down when I try to talk to him, and was denying that anything was wrong. Just like I used to when I was a boy.
I let myself believe it was because of the move. That kind of overhaul is a lot for a kid. Hell, it’s a lot for anyone. But each time I asked Finn if he was okay, he would get the same hollow look in his eyes as when I told him his mother wasn’t coming home.
It wasn’t until he came back with a bruise on his arm that he finally told me about Josh. I rang the school immediately and demanded a meeting with his teacher. It was the very next day that “the incident” occurred.
The moment I saw that mark on his arm, everything went cold. My vision narrowed. I was seven years old again, watching my mother try to cover her bruises with makeup. Then came the rage. It flooded through me so quickly I had to grip the counter to stay steady.
Finn’s always been a quiet kid. He’s thoughtful, funny, never causes any trouble. And he sure as shit isn’t violent, which is why I can’t believe it came to this. But I know where he learned that response, and it makes me sick.
My jaw clenches just thinking about it.
I drag myself into the shower, letting my head hang under the stream of scalding water. The heat soothes my thumping headache just enough to think clearly, though I’m not sure I want to.
What on earth do I say to Finn? How do I tell my kid not to hit people when he’s learned it from me?
How am I meant to look into my seven-year-old’s eyes and tell him he can’t fight back with his fists without being a hypocrite?
What am I supposed to say? That he should have just stood there and taken it because he should be better than me?
I don’t have the answer.
I’m paying through the nose for one of the best schools in London and what’s he got to show for it? Coming home miserable with bruises because I can’t even protect him from an entitled classmate.
The worst part? Some dark, broken part of me doesn’t blame him for standing up for himself. A part of me feels like Josh deserved it. That I’m glad Finn protected himself when someone was hurting him. That he didn’t just take it like I did, for years.
And that makes me exactly like my father.
I’m supposed to be better. I’m supposed to be the one who breaks the cycle.
He deserves more than this. More than a father who’s still that scared, angry kid. More than a mother who decided he wasn’t worth staying for.
And now I’ve made a mess with Danielle too.
I shake my head. Yeah, I was right to stay far away from Anna.
The water runs down my face as the truth roots low into my gut: I’m a complete fucking failure.