Thirty-Two
THIRTY-TWO
SOPHIE
I t was supposed to be an innocent run. A simple workout. Not looking into each other’s eyes, no lingering touches. Just two people sharing the same stretch of road, pretending the tension between them doesn’t exist.
Instead, here we are, sharing a towering stack of pancakes drizzled with Biscoff sauce, avocado toast, and some of the fluffiest scrambled eggs I’ve ever tasted. And the worst part? I’m enjoying every single second of it. I’m mesmerized by him. Every glance, every laugh, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners—it’s like everything I was afraid of is unfolding right in front of me. And when this ends, I know I’ll be broken. Again. Yet, I don’t want to pull myself out of this situation. I don’t want to protect my heart as well as I should be.
“Try this bite,” Liam says in a soft voice, his smile warm and inviting. He leans forward, holding out a forkful of pancakes, and I lean in, opening my mouth to accept it, feeling the sweetness melt on my tongue.
He’s dressed in well-worn jeans, a fitted T-shirt that clings to his shoulders just right, and a dark leather jacket, looking effortlessly put-together. Him in a leather jacket is my every waking daydream—he just looks so ruggedly irresistible. But when his eyes lower and that serious expression crosses his face, there’s a danger to him, a smoldering intensity that makes him even more compelling. It’s the kind of look that steals my breath, no matter how hard I try to keep my cool.
“Mmmh, okay, this one is even better than the blueberry one.” I close my eyes, savoring the taste, and a little hum escapes my lips. This food is almost as good as an orgasm. I’ve probably moaned more times over this breakfast than I have all week. Or, no—that’s a lie. Liam has been keeping me busy. If this breakfast continues the way it’s going, I’ll probably make him keep me even more busy. Adeline is at her parent’s so I have the apartment all to myself. To do whatever I wish.
My mind drifts back to last night, to the way he’d pressed me against the cool tiles in the bathroom, his mouth on my neck, hands everywhere, his fingers working magic that left me trembling. Just the memory sends a spark down my spine. God, the things he can do with his mouth and his–
“You’re blushing,” he says, his voice teasing and warm, as if he can read every single filthy thought running through my mind. “What are you thinking about?” His dark eyes dance with amusement, but there’s something else there too—a knowing gleam that tells me he’s well aware of the memory he’s just dragged to the surface. “Are you thinking about me?”
I shift in my seat, feigning nonchalance as I reach for another bite, but my face betrays me, heating even more under his perusal. “Just…enjoying the pancakes,” I murmur, but we both know exactly where my mind wandered. What we were enjoying yesterday.
“If you say so,” he says, plopping a strawberry into his mouth. That sweet, sweet mouth. Get it together. If I keep this up, I’ll be a full-blown addict in no time.
I clear my throat, trying to shake off the heat creeping up my neck, but it’s no use—every glance, every word from him has me unraveling faster than I care to admit.
“So tell me,” he says, leaning back with that infuriatingly knowing smile, “why did you drag me all the way to the other side of town for breakfast when there are plenty of great places closer to us?”
I let out a deep breath. This is not the conversation I wanted to start this morning. It’s a discussion we’ve had too many times, and the outcome is always the same. “You know why, Liam.”
His gaze sharpens, and the teasing fades into something darker, something more daring. “No one would see us. New York is a big city,” he murmurs, each word wrapping around me like a challenge. “And would it be that awful?”
My stomach twists. He knows exactly what he’s doing—pulling at the threads I’ve worked so hard to keep together.
“Yes,” I reply firmly, my tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ve told you this before—I’m not risking my career more than I already am.”
Liam exhales sharply, his hand brushing over the back of his buzzed head in a gesture that feels more like habit than necessity. His jaw clenches as he leans back in his chair, fixing me with a look that’s equal parts frustration and restraint. “I’m not going to let anything happen to your career, Sophie. It’s just breakfast. We’re not having sex on the damn table.”
I cross my arms over my chest, my fingers gripping my elbows as if holding myself together. “That wouldn’t make a difference,” I snap, my voice rising slightly. “Sex on the table or breakfast, people would still assume I’m…” My words falter, my throat tightening as the weight of it presses down on me. I glance away, my fingers finding the ends of my hair, twisting them in an attempt to focus on anything but his piercing gaze. “You know exactly what they’d think,” I say.
He lets out a low sigh, his head tipping back as his eyes briefly close, as though he’s searching the ceiling for patience. When he looks at me again, his expression is harder, guarded. “That you’re sleeping with your boss?” His expression is harder now, as if the words are as bitter for him to say as they are for me to hear. “Isn’t that exactly what’s happening?”
I flinch, and he notices immediately. His expression shifts, softening as regret flickers across his face. Frustration burns in his eyes, but it’s not aimed at me. It’s the kind of frustration that wishes the world was different, that wishes, assumptions and whispers didn’t have the power to dismantle what we’ve built. I wish life was that simple, too. But it isn’t. Especially not for a woman.
His eyes narrow, but it’s not anger—it’s determination. “Let them assume what they want,” he says, his voice quieter now but no less firm. He leans closer, his presence impossible to ignore. “You’re here because you belong here—because you’re damn good at what you do. Anyone who can’t see that is blind.”
I shake my head slowly, looking down at the table, unable to meet his gaze. “But they won’t see that if I’m hooking up with you,” I murmur, my voice cracking under the weight of my fears. I force myself to lift my eyes to his, hoping he’ll understand. “They’ll just see someone using a relationship to get ahead, and I can’t accept that.”
The silence between us is deafening. He sits back, dragging a hand over his face and letting it rest over his mouth for a beat, as if holding back the words he’s dying to say. His leg bounces under the table—a rare crack in his composure—and it only deepens the knot in my chest.
He studies me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine for something I can’t seem to give him. “Is this a relationship?”
“A physical one,” I answer.
He looks away, leaning back in his chair as if creating distance will shield him. He reaches for his coffee, lifting the cup to his lips and taking a slow, deliberate sip.
“Hmm,” he murmurs, his voice noncommittal, his eyes fixed somewhere past my shoulder. It’s not dismissive, but it’s far from the Liam I know—the one who always meets me head-on, never hesitating to say what he thinks.
Guilt twists in my chest, sharp and unforgiving, knotting tighter with every second that passes. I hate that I couldn’t just say yes—that I couldn’t give him more than this half-truth we keep feeding ourselves. Because that’s all it is, isn’t it? Work and sex. That’s what we agreed to. That’s what I keep telling myself, over and over, like a mantra to keep from breaking.
But now, as he sits there, silent and guarded, the walls I swore I wouldn’t let him build again slowly rising between us, I hate every part of it. I hate that I can’t reach across this table, take his hand, and tell him the truth—the truth I’ve been too afraid to face.
I wish I could throw all my caution to the wind and let it be something more. But I can’t. It’s not a real relationship. It can’t be.
“Anything else I can get for you two?” The waitress asks, her bright, cheerful voice cutting through the tension like a knife. Oblivious to the charged atmosphere hanging over the table.
Liam looks up at her, his polite smile so practiced it almost fools me. Almost. “No, we’re good, thanks. Could we get the bill?”
“Of course!” She bustles away, leaving us in the heavy, suffocating silence we’ve built between us.
When she returns, Liam doesn’t hesitate. He pulls out his wallet, slipping his card into the folder without so much as a glance at me.
He settles the bill quickly, his movements efficient, detached. When he finally looks at me again, there’s no warmth in his eyes, only a shadow of the man I’ve been trying so hard not to fall for. But deep down, I know I already have.
The cab ride back is suffocating, the air between us thick with all the things we’re not saying. I glance at him a few times, hoping he’ll say something, but his gaze is fixed out the window, his profile as unreadable as ever.
Just as I’m about to reach out, to break the tension with something he speaks, his voice low and edged with the frustration I know he’s been holding back. “Careful,” he says, his tone rough, the words a quiet reprimand. “Wouldn’t want you confusing those feelings you’re trying so hard to ignore.”
My breath catches in my throat. My hand freezes mid-reach, and I pull it back to my lap, where my fingers twist together in a futile attempt to ground myself.
Before I can even think of a response, my phone lights up with Aliyah’s name. A surge of dread tightens my chest, and all the weight of the moment with Liam is shoved aside in an instant. A call from her usually means bad news. My mind immediately flashes to my father.
“Hello?”
“Hi, how are you, Sophie?”
My voice cracks under the weight of worry and everything that’s unraveled in the last fifteen minutes. “I’m fine. How are you? How’s Dad? Is everything okay? Did something happen? Please, just tell me everything’s alright.”
Aliyah’s warm, caring voice fills the line, a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. “Breathe, sweetheart. One in. One out. Everything’s fine with your dad.”
Relief rushes through me, flooding my veins, but it’s fleeting—too fleeting. Her next words make my chest tighten all over again. “I know you usually visit on Sundays, but… I think you should come by today,” she says softly, but then her voice changes and I can hear the smile in it. “He’s asked for his Petal.”
“What?” My voice wavers, the word slipping out as a whisper. From the corner of my eye, I catch Liam’s head turning toward me, his attention shifting fully in my direction. Tears instantly prick my eyes. “He asked about me?”
One tear slips down my cheek, and before it can fall, Liam’s hand gently catches it, his fingers brushing my skin with a tenderness I’m not prepared for. His eyes are on mine now, studying me with that quiet, worried look I’ve seen before.
For a moment, the tension between us fades into something else entirely—something raw and real.
I finish the call with Aliyah after she tells me to ‘ just get my little ass here’ . Floods of emotions threaten to overwhelm me, but I swallow them down.
I turn to Liam, my voice shaky. “I need to get to my dad.”
He doesn’t hesitate. His eyes soften, understanding written across his face, and with a sharp nod to the driver, the cab does a U-turn, speeding toward the facility.
When we pull up outside, my stomach is a tangled mess of nerves, and something else stirs beneath it all—hope. Fragile and terrifying hope. It’s the kind of hope I’m almost afraid to feel because I know how quickly it can be ripped away. What if I’m too late? What if he’s already drifted back into forgetting. Back into that place where I don’t exist?
Liam’s gaze remains fixed on me, his expression softening as he studies me. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice gentle and careful, like he already knows the answer but needs to hear it from me anyway.
I shake my head, feeling the fear thick in my throat, suffocating me. I want to rush inside, to throw my arms around my father and hold on tight. But I’m terrified that I’ll crumble into pieces that I’ll never be able to puzzle back together again.
“Sophie,” Liam murmurs, his fingers twitching before wrapping around mine. He squeezes once, twice, three times—grounding me with that touch. “Everything’s going to be okay. I’m here with you.”
His eyes hold none of the earlier disappointment, only a fierce presence that makes me feel, even if just for a small moment, like maybe I can handle this.
I swallow hard, my heart pounding painfully in my chest. “I don’t know. What if he was having a good morning, but by the time I get there…” My voice trails off as my mind spins with the fear of reliving past heartbreaks.
Liam’s brow furrows, “Why would it be bad?”
A bitter laugh escapes me. It wouldn’t be the first time I rushed over, thinking things were good, only to–” I shake my head, unable to finish. “It’s hard to believe in something when you know it could vanish in an instant.”
He nods, quiet for a moment, then surprises me by saying, “Do you want me to come with you?”
I don’t know why I’m shocked. This is Liam—of course he’d ask me. It’s who he is. He’s the kind of man who always steps in when you need him, even when you don’t know how to ask. “Would you really do that?”
He gives me a slight smile, one that feels like an unspoken promise. His hand squeezes mine a little tighter, “Of course. I’ll always be there for you, Sophie. No matter what.”
Something about the way he says it makes my heart stumble. It’s not just the words; it’s the way he says them like he’s already proven it in ways I don’t even realize yet. He’s everything I want and need, but there’s only one promise standing in the way of us—one I could never break. Yet, in holding onto it, I’m breaking myself and him in the process.
Emotions rise up inside me—gratitude, longing, a fierce desire to throw my arms around him and hold on tight. Instead, I nod and walk with him into the facility, the sound of my heartbeat filling my ears.
Liam’s hand is still in mine, and he gives it another gentle squeeze, his presence a steady pulse against my nerves.
I stop outside of my dad’s room. “Take a deep breath. Everything’s going to be alright.” Liam whispers and I do as he says. One deep breath and then I open the door.
Inside, the sight that greets me is almost surreal. I see Aliyah sitting in one of the chairs by the window, laughing with my dad. There’s a lightness in the room, an energy that’s entirely different from the last time I was here. It’s a good kind of different, the kind that fills the space with joy.
“Petal!” my dad’s voice booms, and for a moment, it’s as if the weight of the world lifts from my chest. I feel Liam’s hand slip from mine as I rush forward, my heart pounding, my breath catching in my throat.
“You’re here.” His eyes light up, bright and clear, and in that instant, I know—he remembers me. He knows who I am.
Something inside me cracks wide open, like a dam breaking free, and all the emotions I’ve kept bottled up—fear, relief, love—come flooding out. Tears blur my vision as I drop to my knees beside him, gripping his hand tightly like I’m afraid to let go. “Dad,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
He squeezes my hand, his eyes softening as if to anchor me in this clarity. “My Petal,” he says again, his voice thick with emotion, and I can’t hold back the sob that escapes.
“Oh, love. Why are you crying?” His solid arms wrap around me, and I cling to him, feeling a strength I thought had slipped away forever. He hasn’t held me like this in months, maybe longer.
It’s him—my dad. My world.
I pull back just enough to look into his warm, blue eyes, that matches my own. His hands cradle my face, and his gaze moves over me with that old, familiar love. He leans in, kissing my cheek, and more tears spill as I whisper, “I’ve missed you. So much.”
He laughs, a soft sound that fills the room and wraps around my heart. “I’ve missed you too.”
I laugh with him, my relief raw. “I didn’t think I’d see you like this.”
He grins, his face alight with a joy I haven’t seen in so long. “I thought you said you wouldn’t be back until the end of the semester.”
End of the semester? I don’t understand.
Confusion stirs within me, tugging me from the moment. I glance at Aliyah, who stands by the door, her smile small, her gaze shifting between us with a quiet caution that speaks louder than words.
“What do you mean, Dad?” I ask gently.
“You’re back early, aren’t you?”
I blink rapidly, my fingers curling and uncurling at my sides, fidgeting with the hem of my sweater as unease creeps up my spine. “Back from where?”
“Barcelona, of course,” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. His smile is open, innocent, proud, and it twists something deep inside me—a sharp ache I can’t ignore.
“B-Barcelona,” I stammer, the word barely audible as it stumbles out of my mouth. My hands twitch nervously, moving to the fabric of my tights, seeking something to grab onto. Damn these tight leggings.
I force myself to look back at Aliyah, desperation creeping into my eyes as I silently beg for answers. She steps forward, her expression softening as she reads the turmoil on my face.
“Yes, she wanted to surprise you,” Aliyah explains, her voice soft, almost hesitant, as though the words themselves are fragile. She looks at me like she’s holding back tears of her own. “Isn’t she the best daughter?”
My dad’s grin widens, his pride radiating like warmth. “Sure is. The best of the best, my Sophie.”
My Sophie.
Thoughts, memories, and a whirlwind of emotions crash through me, but I stay still, letting the moment wash over me, trying to hold onto this happiness of his, this clarity that feels so precious and fragile.
Why, then, is there a part of me that feels a pang of disappointment? He remembers. That’s what matters. He’s not afraid of me, not turning me away.
He remembers me.
And yet, it hurts because the Sophie he remembers is from another time, another place—a Sophie that exists only in his memory. The Sophie of today does not exist in his reality.
“And who is that gentleman?” he asks, suddenly noticing Liam by the door. His tone is casual, yet it has a strange twinge of formality to it.
Liam steps forward, his voice low, as he introduces himself. “Hello, sir. I’m Liam.”
For a moment, I almost forgot Liam was standing there, witnessing this tender, unraveling part of my life. “I’m a friend of Sophie’s,” he adds, glancing at me with a small, reassuring smile.
My dad tries to stand, his legs shaky but when he’s determined to do something there’s nothing stopping him.
“Dad, you don’t have to stand.”
“Oh, sir, please don’t—” Liam says at the same time, stepping forward, but my dad is stubborn. He stands and extends his hand, and Liam takes it with a respectful nod.
“Nice to meet you, son,” my dad says, his tone warm and approving, as if it’s been years since he’s had the chance to welcome someone new into his life.
“Likewise. It’s an honor to finally meet you. I’ve heard great things.”
We settle into the chairs, sipping coffee, and my dad and Liam ease into a conversation about soccer. Or football, as Liam calls it. It feels so natural, so normal, like a snapshot of a life untouched by time or pain.
My dad launches into an enthusiastic retelling of the FC Barcelona game he saw “last Saturday.” Last Saturday, ten years ago.
The excitement in his voice is so vivid, so real, as if he’s back in that stadium seat, watching Messi dominate the field.
He even recounts the infamous incident when Suárez got ‘a little too passionate’ and bit an opponent.
Liam listens with genuine interest, smiling and nodding, unfazed by the ten years that have slipped between then and now. He lets my dad relive every detail, laughing and chiming in as if they’re sharing an experience from just a week ago.
I watch them, a soft smile lifting the corners of my mouth, but beneath it, a heaviness settles in my chest. This is everything I used to dream of, back when I was actually in Barcelona, missing my dad with that fierce ache only distance and time can create. And here he is, fully himself, clear-eyed and laughing, remembering a different version of me. But also the longing of both the men I love finally meeting each other. Loved. Both the men I loved.
There’s joy in that, but there’s also an ache, like holding onto something precious yet knowing it will slip through my fingers the moment I blink. He remembers, and that should be enough. But the Sophie of today—the one standing right here—does not exist in his world. It's like I’m a ghost in my own life, caught between the sweetness of memory and the bittersweet ache of reality.
“Look at that. Time flies when you’re having fun. It’s already one o’clock, time for Lars’ therapy,” Aliyah says, casting me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, hun. You know how important these sessions are.”
“I know. Don’t worry.” My heart sinks a bit as reality sets in, the moment slipping away. “Thank you for calling me.”
“Any time.”
We both stand, and Liam reaches out to shake my dad’s hand again. But instead of taking it, my dad pulls him into an embrace—a strong, all-encompassing hug that seems to hold more than just a greeting. “Take care of my Sophie,” he says, his voice filled with emotion, each word laced with a quiet authority.
Liam hesitates for only a fraction of a second before his arms close around my father, holding him back just as firmly. I hear the deep, steady breath Liam releases, one that sounds like it’s been locked inside him for years, waiting for this exact moment to escape. His whole body softens, the tension in his shoulders melting away, as though he’s finally found the acceptance he didn’t even realize he was searching for.
I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from falling apart, my heart twisting at the sight. As much as I needed this moment, so did Liam. Maybe even more.
When it’s my turn, I step forward, but my dad stops me with a gentle hand on my arm. “Aliyah, Liam, would you mind giving me a moment alone with my daughter?”
As the door closes, he turns to me, his eyes filled with warmth and pride. His gaze rests on me, like I’m his entire world, like I’m exactly the person he’s always believed I could be.
“You did good,” he says, his voice soft but full of conviction.
My brows furrow. “I don’t understand.”
“Liam.” A knowing smile touches his lips. “He’s good for you.”
Instinctively, as if I’m back to being that twenty-year-old girl, I start to brush it off. “He’s just a friend.”
But he shakes his head gently. “No, he’s not. You told me about him yesterday, remember?” His voice lowers, eyes intent on mine. “He’s much more than a friend. He looks at you like he’d do anything to keep you safe. And you—you look so at ease around him.”
“I-I…” My voice catches, a feeling of vulnerability washing over me as if he’s peering straight into my heart.
“I can see it in his eyes, you know. He loves you,” he whispers, his voice faltering just slightly. “Do you love him?”
The question hits me like a wave, crashing over every wall I’ve built around my feelings. My heart hammers, my skin flushes, and my breath catches as though I’ve been waiting to speak this truth all my life.
“I do.” The words slip out, unguarded, and in that moment, I know they’re the truest thing I’ve ever said.
“I’m happy for you.” A soft smile spreads across his face, his eyes glistening with something I can’t name but feel deeply. “Promise me, you’ll let yourself be loved, Sophie. Fully. No holding back, no hiding.”
His hand gently lifts to caress my cheek, his touch grounding. Then, with a hint of playful sternness in his voice, he adds, “And no more tattoos.”
A laugh escapes me, a fragile but genuine sound that surprises us both. Tears prick my eyes for the millionth time, but I allow it. Because today feels like the first time in what feels like forever, they’re not from pain—they’re from love. Because today, I made him a new promise.
“I promise,” I whisper.
His smile widens, and his hand lingers for a moment longer, as if trying to say everything words can’t. “Good. That’s all I need to hear.”
It feels like a puzzle piece slipping into place. His hand lifts, rough and comforting, gently caressing the back of my head. For a fleeting moment, I feel safe, like a child again.
We stay like that for a few minutes, just breathing each other in.
When his hand lowers, pulling away from me, I slowly release him, my voice trembling as I whisper, “I love you, Dad.”
Our eyes meet, but what greets me isn’t the father I remember. His gaze is dull, confused, the clarity that was just there is now slipping away again.
His nose scrunches slightly as he studies me, his expression clouded with uncertainty. His voice is hesitant, distant, and it cuts deeper than anything ever has. “Who are you?”
The words hit me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. My chest tightens painfully, my throat constricting as new tears prick my eyes. Tears of pain are back.
I stagger back a step, my legs weak beneath me, my fingers trembling at my sides. It’s like my body doesn’t know how to hold the weight of what I’m feeling—the heartbreak, the loss, the ache for the man who’s still here but somehow so far away again.
I clutch at the edge of the chair behind me, trying to steady myself, but the crushing emptiness in his question steals every ounce of strength I have left.