Chapter 23 Roxy
I woke before Liam did. It had become something of a habit these last few days. I lay there a moment, watching the pale early light filter through the curtains, listening to the soft, even sound of his breathing beside me.
We hadn't discussed the sleeping arrangements. It had just happened, that first night here, both of us too exhausted and shaken to argue. His shoulder needed monitoring through the night, and my own nerves were too frayed to sleep alone. Every night since had followed the same unspoken logic.
I studied him in the soft light, careful not to wake him. Sleep smoothed something out in his face, stripped away the careful control he wore like armor everywhere else. Only asleep did he look like the boy from the bonfire again, unguarded and achingly familiar.
I thought about last night. We'd talked about nothing important and everything important, the way we used to before the marriage got complicated.
I'd forgotten what it felt like, being genuinely happy in his company.
It terrified me more than Declan did, if I was being honest.
Liam stirred beside me, eyes blinking open slowly, and caught me watching him before I could pretend otherwise.
"Morning," he said, voice rough with sleep, a slow smile spreading across his face that did something unfair to my chest. "You're staring."
"I'm allowed to stare. I'm the one who has to change your bandages."
"Excellent bedside manner, doctor."
"I try." I sat up, putting some distance between us before I did something we'd both regret, or, worse, something neither of us would regret at all, which felt even more dangerous. "How's the shoulder?"
"Better." He rolled it experimentally, wincing only slightly. "Might even manage that shower today. If someone's willing to help."
The words hung between us, deliberately casual, though I caught the careful way he watched for my reaction.
"I thought that was inappropriate," I said, echoing his own words back at him. "Us being on the verge of divorce and all."
"Yeah, well." He shrugged his good shoulder, something rueful and honest flickering across his face. "I've been thinking maybe I was using that as an excuse. For a lot of things, lately."
I didn't have a ready response for that, so I said nothing, letting the quiet stretch between us.
"I'll heat up the water," I said finally, because it was easier than examining exactly what I felt hearing him admit something so uncharacteristically vulnerable.
The bathroom was large and gorgeous, just like the rest of the cabin. There was a huge marble tub and a shower encased in glass. While the water ran, I found a stool in the linen closet and put it under the showerhead as Liam stepped in, naked except for the boxers he insisted on wearing.
He sat with his bad shoulder angled carefully away from the spray, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite name as I rolled up my sleeves.
"This is weird," he said.
"I know."
"You don't have to—"
"Liam. Hold still." I worked shampoo through his hair, fingers working against his scalp, and felt him go quiet and pliant under my hands.
He closed his eyes, head tipping back slightly into my touch.
For a long moment neither of us said anything at all, just the sound of running water and his slow, contented exhale filling the small, steamy room.
"I missed this," he said quietly, eyes still closed. "Not the circumstances, obviously. Just you taking care of me. I forgot what that felt like."
"You could've called me. Anytime these last three years." I kept my voice light, though the words carried more weight than I meant them to. "I would've come. If you'd really needed me."
His eyes opened, finding mine in the steam-fogged mirror. "Would you have?"
I didn't have a ready answer for that either, so I rinsed the shampoo from his hair instead, my fingers lingering a beat too long against his scalp.
By the time I'd helped him dry off and change into a clean shirt, careful of the bandage, something had changed in the space between us. Some old wall had finally worn down after days of forced proximity and careful honesty.
He caught my wrist gently as I turned to leave, his thumb tracing slow, absent circles against my pulse point.
"Roxy." His voice had gone low, careful, none of his usual easy confidence in it.
"I know we're not...I know there's still a lot unresolved between us.
The divorce, everything. But I need you to know that these last few days, being here with you, it's been the best I've felt in three years. Maybe longer."
"Liam—"
"I'm not asking for anything," he said quickly, though his eyes said otherwise, warm and open and achingly familiar. "I just needed you to know."
I stood there a long moment, his hand still warm around my wrist, three years of hurt warring against something darker, unfurling slowly in the pit of my stomach, a threatening yet exhilarating presence.
"I feel it too," I admitted quietly, the words costing me more than I expected. "This. Whatever this is. I feel it too."
His smile, when it came, was the same one from the bonfire all those years ago, unguarded and hopeful and utterly undone. For one blissful, quiet moment, none of the danger outside these cabin walls seemed to matter at all.