Chapter 65
sixty-five
Liana
The apartment is quieter than it should be.
Not silent.
Just… heavy.
Like everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours is still sitting in the air, unseen but pressing in from all sides.
Jackson’s pacing again. Not fast. Not frantic.
But restless enough that I can feel it from where I’m sitting, curled into the corner of the couch with my legs tucked beneath me. His phone is in his hand, lighting up every few seconds, the screen flashing with notifications he keeps checking, even though I know he wishes he wouldn’t.
Zach is in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter, watching him with that calm, measured focus he always has when things start to spiral. He’s not intervening yet. Just observing. Waiting.
Elijah is standing near the window.
Still.
Completely still.
But I know him well enough now to feel the tension in that stillness. It’s not calm. It’s control. It’s him holding everything in place by sheer force.
I sit there for a moment, watching them.
Feeling them.
The way each of them is reacting to this in their own way.
The pressure. The exposure. The fact that there is no going back now. And something inside me shifts.
Because I know, deep down, they’re not backing down.
Not one of them. Not from me. Not from us. Not from this. And for the first time since everything started to unravel… I realize something else.
Neither am I.
I let out a slow breath, my fingers tightening slightly in the fabric of the couch as I lean back, letting my head rest against it.
I’m tired.
Not physically.
Not even emotionally in the way I was before.
Just… tired of hiding. Of flinching. Of feeling like I need to stay small to survive something that’s already happened.
Because it did happen. And I lived through it.
I survived it and I’m still here. Stronger than I was. Stronger than I ever thought I could be. Because of them.
Because they didn’t let me disappear into it. Because they pulled me back. Because they’re still here, still choosing me, still standing beside me.
Jackson mutters something under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair as he turns back toward us, his jaw tight.
“This is getting out of control,” he says.
“It was always going to,” Zach replies quietly.
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“You don’t,” Elijah says without turning from the window. “You just have to handle it.”
Jackson exhales sharply, like he wants to argue but doesn’t have the energy to push it further right now.
They start talking again.
PR.
Media.
What’s next. What they need to do. What they should do. The words blur together after a moment. Not because they don’t matter. But because something else rises up inside me, clearer. Stronger. More certain.
I push up from the couch before I can overthink it.
“Stop.”
The word cuts through them cleanly. All three of them go still and turn to me.
I can feel the weight of their attention instantly, the way it settles over me, sharp and focused and ready.
“I think I should come to the home game this weekend.”
The words land. Hard. Immediate.
Elijah turns fully toward me now, and I see it, that instinctive reaction, that immediate, absolute no forming in his eyes before he even says it.
I don’t let him.
“Don’t you say no to me.”
My voice is steady, stronger than I expect it to be.
His jaw tightens slightly.
“Lia...”
“Think about it,” I cut in, stepping closer to him. “This is the perfect opportunity.”
Jackson’s attention sharpens. Zach straightens slightly. I keep going.
“It’s a home game,” I say. “Everyone’s already watching. Everyone’s already talking. This isn’t going to go away if I hide.”
My pulse is racing now. But I don’t stop.
“I need to show my face,” I continue. “I need to prove to myself that I can do this. That I’m not afraid anymore.”
The words feel bigger than I expect. Heavier. But right.
“I’ve got nothing to hide,” I add quietly.
Silence. Thick. Loaded.
“I want to come back to the arena,” I say, softer now, but no less certain. “I like being there. I like watching you play. I like supporting you.”
My gaze flicks to Jackson.
Then to Zach.
Then back to Elijah.
“And I’m not going to keep sitting on the sidelines while all of you keep moving forward,” I finish. “You support me. You’ve never once asked me to stop what I love.”
My throat tightens slightly.
“So I’m not going to do that to you.”
Something shifts between us, I can feel it.
Jackson’s expression softens first.
“If that’s what you want…” he says slowly.
Zach nods.
“We’ll make it work.”
And then they both look at Elijah. Of course they do. Because this is his line. His threshold. His decision.
I watch him, watch the way he processes it.
The way his eyes move over me, assessing, calculating, weighing every possible outcome, every possible risk.
I can see the no still there, still sitting right beneath the surface.
And I hold my ground. I don’t step back. I don’t soften it. Because I mean it. Every word, every part of this.
Finally he exhales.
“Okay.”
The word lands heavier than anything else that’s been said.
“If we do this,” he continues, his voice steady but firm, “we do it the right way.”
Relief flickers in my chest, but I don’t interrupt.
“You don’t sit in the public stands,” he says. “You stay in the family section. Controlled access. Limited exposure.”
I nod slightly.
“That’s fine.”
“We have extra security,” he adds. “Not just venue security. Ours.”
“Elijah...”
“Lia.”
His tone softens just slightly.
“Let me do what I need to do to keep you safe,” he says. “And to make sure I know you’re safe.”
I hold his gaze for a moment. Then I nod.
“Okay.”
It’s a compromise. But not a limitation.
“I’m still going,” I add quietly.
His mouth twitches faintly.
“I know.”
Jackson steps in first, his hands finding my waist as he leans down and presses a firm, grounding kiss to my lips.
“Of course we want you there,” he murmurs. “You’re who we’re playing for.”
My chest tightens.
Zach steps in next, his hand sliding to the back of my neck as he pulls me into a slower, deeper kiss.
“Always,” he says softly against my mouth.
I turn to him, my hand brushing over his chest.
“You’re retiring,” I say quietly. “These are your last games.”
His expression shifts slightly. Softens.
“I want to see you play,” I add. “At least one more time.”
His thumb brushes over my jaw.
“Then you will.”
I glance at Jackson.
“This is just the beginning for you,” I say. “And I want to be there for that. Every step.”
His eyes hold mine.
“I know you do,” he says quietly. “And I love you for it.”
Elijah doesn’t step in the same way. He doesn’t need to. His presence is already there, surrounding me, anchoring me, and when his hand settles at the back of my neck, firm and grounding, I feel it just as strongly.
“Then we’re doing this,” he says.
There’s no hesitation in it now.
I let out a slow breath.
And for the first time since everything started to spiral, I feel it.
Not fear.
Not panic.
Not that crushing weight of being watched and judged and exposed.
Something else. Something steadier. Stronger. Like I’m stepping into something instead of running from it. Like I’m choosing this. Like I’m choosing my life. My future. Myself.
Because I’m not the girl I was before.
And I’m not standing alone anymore.
As the conversation shifts into logistics, security, timing, entry points, I let myself sink into the feeling of it. The nerves are still there, but they don’t control me. Because underneath them, there’s something else now. Something solid. Something unshakable.
And as I glance between the three men who love me...
I know exactly where it came from.