51. Bailey
fifty-one
Bailey
The living room glows with soft light from a few floor lamps and the subtle light from the hallway. I take a sip of the can of crisp, cold sparkling water and let my shoulders fall.
My breathing has finally slowed down.
Warm tears still slowly cascade down my cheeks. Slower now, but steady.
Liam sits on the other end of the sofa, a throw pillow held snugly against his chest as he waits.
He doesn’t push, just sits quietly. Giving me space without letting me feel alone.
I grab a coaster and place my drink on the coffee table. Slow, intentional. My hands shake but I don’t spill.
I shift, uncomfortable, wiping my eyes before dragging damp fingers through my hair.
I risk a glance at Liam.
The concerned look on his face makes my chest tighten.
I clear my throat and fix my gaze to a spot on the floor in front of me.
Then I start talking.
I go back to the beginning, replaying my conversation with Peyton, holding nothing back. Every word. Every detail. I let it all spill out, laying it at his feet. Ignoring the fear clawing at my throat, threatening to silence me.
I tell him about Lolly. Apologize for not being honest with him.
I tell him that Nat knew. Told him that she had kept my secret for me and apologized for that too.
I don’t stop talking until I get it all out.
I finish with Peyton’s final, I’m so sorry, and my anger gives me the strength needed to meet his gaze.
“Liam, had I not been such a piece of shit…” My breath hitches.
I try again.
“If I had just been brave enough to come out—to be honest with you—with my parents—I would have never met Peyton."
My voice breaks.
“Liam,” I sob, “ if I hadn’t met her…”
The words barely make it past my lips.
“Nat would still be alive.”
Liam doesn’t react.
His eyes are dark with untapped fury.
His face frozen in a blank stare.
Is he blinking?
His jaw feathers, twitching rhythmically as he absorbs the weight of it.
“Liam?” I whisper.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t respond. Just sits there, eyes never leaving mine.
I focus on my breathing. In, one, two, three, four, five. Out, one, two, three, four, five.
Liam stands, movements foreign, robotic. He walks over to the kitchen counter and grabs something out of my line of sight.
“Liam,” I say again. An unanswered question and a prayer.
“Get in the car.”
“Do what?” I ask. Is he serious?
“Get. In. The. Fucking. Car. Bailey.”
My feet move of their own accord, forcing me to follow him out his front door.
He doesn’t even stop to lock it, just stomps toward his car.
Flashing lights.
But it’s just Liam unlocking his car.
“Get in,” he demands. His voice is cold, distant. Unrecognizable.
Chills run up my spine and descend both arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake as I open the passenger door as instructed.
I’m scared to look in his direction but I’m able to see his movements in my periphery. Controlled, eerily calm.
I jump as his seatbelt clicks into place. The finality too loud. A promise made on the night air.
He doesn’t speak. I wouldn’t believe he was breathing if he wasn’t driving the car. My nerves are live wires. A barrage of questions crowd my throat but I clamp my jaw shut.
The streets are quiet.
My thoughts are so loud it’s nearly unbearable.
Fucking please Liam. Say something. Turn some music on. I beg him silently. My pulse pounds in my throat, a constricting fear working its way up from deep within my gut.
“Liam?” I beg quietly. Barely audible but so loud in the moment. The deafening fear and anxiety nearly potent enough to drown me.
Pressure builds behind my eyes and a solid, hot tear escapes.
“I need to go somewhere public."
“Safe.” His tone is flat, quiet.
The streets become familiar, houses flying by at the same rapid pace of my heart. Memories. Plans. Lifetimes.
That’s when I see it.
The familiar yellow and black sign comes into view and I fight back a smile when I realize where we’re headed.
Fucking Waffle House.
He pulls to a stop in the nearly empty parking lot.
He doesn’t look at me.
“Bailey,” he says, calmly, “we’re going in, and we’re not leaving until everything is on the table.”
The air in the car is so thick I could place a pen mid air and it wouldn’t fall. I open the door as my stomach lurches, spewing what was left over from dinner all over the space next to ours. Oh, fuck.
“Rinse and spit, Bays,” Liam says, handing me a bottle of luke-warm water.
“Kay,” I manage to whisper. My hands tremble as I grab it from his hand.
I wipe my eyes with my sleeves when I’m finished rinsing my mouth out, dragging the fabric over my face until my tears are gone. I clear my throat.
“Okay,” I say with resolve.
My steps are unsteady as I follow Liam up the walkway, staying a few feet behind him. Safe in his shadow.
Nerves and curiosity war with each other. Unfortunately, the battefield is my fucking stomach.
I’ve had worse.
I force down another wave of nausea as he opens the outermost door. The smell of maple syrup, ass, and eggs hits as we enter the second door and its familiarity is calming.
Apprehension takes me by the throat, tightening its grip with every second that passes. Every scenario imaginable traipsing through my mind in a fucked up reel that shows no signs of stopping.
I squeeze my fists shut.
Open them.
Splay my fingers.
Again.
Inhale, squeeze.
Exhale, stretch.
Again. Focus on your breathing, Bailey.
“Welcome to Waffle House!” A thin woman bellows from behind the counter.
“Evening, ladies,” Liam says with a charming smile.
I give a polite wave and try to smile but do that weird nod instead.
God, I hate that shit.
I follow him to the booth farthest away from the kitchen and shudder when he motions for me to take a seat. He stands for a beat, towering over me, his large frame menacing but familiar.
Comforting.
“Surely there’s no confusion as to why we’re here,” he says.
It’s not a question. More of a finality.
My words are caught in my throat. All that comes out is a weak whimper so I just nod like the coward I am.
One of the staff members takes this opportunity to approach our booth, notepad and pen in hand. Apron dusted with batter and God-only-knows-what.
“How’re y’all doin’ tonight, boys?” Her smile is kind, but her eyes tell a story of exhaustion.
“What can I getcha?” She pulls the cap off her pen with her teeth and brings her hand to her notepad before she looks at us, patiently waiting for an answer.
“Honestly, Rhonda, it’s been a rough ass night, but my friend here?” He nods to me and then looks back to her, “He and I are going to figure it out before we leave here.”
“Well I’ll be damned. This is the perfect night for a serious conversation,” she replies, waving her hand holding the pen around, acknowledging that the place is currently empty.
“What can I get y’all to drink? I’ll come back for your food orders.
Give y’all a little more time to chat,” she says, winking.
“Black coffee and an ice water for both of us,” Liam answers, his quick glance in my direction an obvious dare to argue his order.
“Two coffees and two waters, coming right up, love.” She smiles and walks away, taking the lighter air she brought with her and leaving only a sense of impending doom.
Liam rests his arms on the table, clasping his hands together. His eyes meet mine and I’m thwarted back without warning to flashing lights.
Screaming.
Headlights.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a few seconds, and reopen them to find a softer look in his eyes. He knows where I went. It’s the same place he’s forced to visit sometimes too.
“Bays, I…” He clears his throat. “I don’t even know where to start. I’m so fucking angry I wanted to drive to her apartment. I had to force my car to make its way here instead.”
“Somewhere safe.”
“I know,” I say quietly, tears threatening to spill. Pressure builds behind my eyes matching the unforgiving force squeezing my chest.
“I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to wrap my hands around her throat and not let go,” I admit.
“That feeling scared me, Liam. It terrified me, so I ran.”
“I ran to my car and the rest was a blur. I don’t know how I made it to your house.”
“I’m glad you called me. You always can, no matter the time. This isn’t something for you to handle alone, but you do need to handle it.”
“I know,” I echo.
A tear escapes, trailing down my cheek.
“It’s so fucking unfair,” my voice cracks, breaths sharper between the now free flowing tears.
“It’s confusing and exhausting and so utterly fucked,” I say as I lay my head down on the table.
“It’s so fucked, Liam.”
“It is.” He’s still now, a pained look on his face.
Neither of us move.
We just sit, the sounds of clanking and people shuffling about rustling under the jukebox song.
I gather what courage I have left and raise my head up to meet his gaze. “This is surreal. I keep replaying the conversation in my mind and I still can’t believe it.”
“I thought I loved her. I’m so fucking sorry, Liam. I’m so sorry.”
My stomach turns as I wait for a response, the buzzing in my ears getting louder.
“I never want to see her again,” I whisper. “Ever.”
“Good.” He says it with finality.
With encouragement.
“You never have to see her again, Bays. And, if you want, I can go with you. You can sit in the car and I’ll grab your shit from her apartment."
Liam rubs his hands through his hair before continuing, “Honestly, I’m not sure I could be around the bitch without losing my shit, so maybe we can ask Jay and Oliver to get your things?”
My stomach flips at the idea, but he’s right.
They would do it.
He would do it.
“You owe her nothing. No explanation, no apologies.”
A small grin grows as he continues, “I can have her evicted,” he smirks. “Remember who owns that building.”
I laugh.
“And Bays?” He looks at me, gaze unwavering. “Don’t ever feel like there’s anything you can’t tell me. There is nothing you could tell me that would stop me from loving you. Okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper through tears and shaky breaths.
“This isn’t your fault, Bays. You can’t blame yourself. But I do hope you’ll reconsider loving all parts of you. It’s okay to be happy—even in her absence.”
“Even if that love doesn’t look the way you think it should. Or the way you imagine others want it to.”
I grab Liam’s keys from him as we head back to the car, noting his slumped shoulders and red-rimmed eyes.
Neither of us speak during the drive back to his place.
There’s nothing left to say. No words that would make our new reality any less horrific.
No reassurance that could outweigh the finality.
So we sit in silence. Lonely, but not alone.
Liam is slumped in his seat, broken and defeated.
“Hey,” I say gently. “We’re home.”
He huffs a noise, confirming he heard me, and shuffles out of the car.
I take a second, looking to the sky like the stars might point me in the right direction, disappointed when they don’t.
When I make it inside, I find him face down on the couch, both shoes on.
My heart is heavy, my head follows suit, feet leaden as I take a few steps toward him.
He doesn’t recoil from my touch. I’m careful as I pull his shoes off and place them on the floor beside him.