Chapter 24
An hour after we arrived in Eugene, I stood in the quiet hallway outside Lewis’s hotel room. My hand hovered over the door, poised to knock. Part of me wanted to turn tail and run, to avoid the confrontation to come.
But I couldn’t.
He owed me answers and I owed it to myself to force them out of him. I couldn’t keep waiting, hoping that one day soon he’ll stop pretending it wasn’t the most real, visceral connection either of us had ever felt. Married or not, drunken Vegas decisions be damned, Lewis and I were meant to be together. And I was going to make him see that, even if it killed me.
I rapped my knuckles against the door, three sharp knocks that echoed in the stillness.
For a moment, nothing happened. I held my breath, anxiety coiling in my gut.
Maybe he wasn’t here. Maybe he’d gone out, avoiding me just like he’d been doing for days…
The door swung open, revealing a very startled Lewis. His eyes went wide when he saw me, a flash of something—Panic? Guilt?—flickering across his face before he could hide it.
“What are you doing here?”
I tried not to let his reaction sting but I failed. I crossed my arms, trying to project a confidence I didn’t really feel. “We need to talk. Can I come in?”
He hesitated for a split second.
“Yeah, of course.” Lewis stepped back, gesturing me inside with a tight smile.
I brushed past him, my skin prickling with awareness. The click of the door closing behind us sounded unnaturally loud, sealing us into our own private bubble.
“It’s like you can’t stand to be around me ever since…” I gestured vaguely to my left hand, to the slim band of silver on my finger. “Ever since Vegas.”
His eyes followed the movement, something unreadable flickering in their hazel depths. He was silent for a long moment, the tension stretching taut between us.
“How did you know which room I was in?”
I blinked, thrown by the sudden change in topic. “What?”
“My room number. How did you know?” There was an edge to his voice now, a hint of suspicion that made my hackles rise.
Heat crept up my neck. “Lily told me.”
His eyes went wide, alarm flashing across his features. “Lily knows? Fuck, Liv, did you tell her about Vegas?”
Anger flared hot in my chest, quick and bright as a struck match. I gaped at him, hurt and indignation warring for dominance.
“Unbelievable. You’re more concerned about who might know about us than you are about us.” I shook my head, a humourless laugh escaping my lips. “Do you even hear yourself right now? It’s like you’re ashamed of me. Of this.”
“I’m not ashamed. How could you even think that?” He took a step towards me, his hands coming up to grip my shoulders. His touch burned even through the fabric of my shirt. “I want to be with you. I lo?—”
“Don’t.” I cut him off, my voice shaking. “Don’t you dare say you love me when every action, every word out of your mouth since that morning screams the opposite.”
He flinched like I’d slapped him. “I do love you. More than… more than I even have words for.”
“Then why are you acting like this?” My voice rose, frustration and hurt bleeding into every syllable. “Hiding me away, avoiding me, treating me like some dirty little secret…”
I blinked back the hot sting of tears, refusing to let them fall. I wouldn’t cry. Not now, not in front of him.
“If you loved me—really, truly loved me—you wouldn’t be able to stay away. You wouldn’t want to.” I stared at him, willing him to contradict me, to offer some explanation that would make this all make sense.
But he just looked at me, his eyes anguished, his jaw working like he was physically biting back words. The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.
“Say something,” I whispered finally, hating the way my voice broke. “Please, Lewis. Just… tell me what’s going on in that head of yours. Make me understand.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face, a shuddering sigh escaping him. When he looked at me again, there was a raw, desperate edge to his expression that I’d never seen before.
“You want to know why I’m acting like this? Why I’m so fucking terrified of the world finding out about us?” His voice was low, rough with emotion. “It’s because I’ve seen firsthand what that kind of scrutiny can do to a person.”
I frowned, confusion and concern warring in my chest. “What are you talking about?”
He was silent for a long moment, his gaze distant, like he was looking at something I couldn’t see. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“My sister, Tegan… she was like you, once. Kind, talented and so fucking eager to take on the world.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips, there and gone in a flash. “But then The Brightside became a household name and the press and public were clamouring for more and more of us. They set their sights on our family, on my fifteen-year-old sister. They hounded her.”
My breath caught, my heart twisting painfully in my chest. “Lewis…” I reached for him, my fingers grazing his arm. He flinched but didn’t pull away.
“She was fifteen and they tore her apart for entertainment. Kids in school bullied her, the public bullied her. It shattered her in ways I didn’t even know a person could break.”
Tears burned the back of my throat, hot and bitter. I swallowed them down, forcing my voice to remain steady.
“I… I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
I vaguely remembered seeing interviews and press on his sister years and years ago.
He shook his head, his eyes finding mine. There was a plea in them, a raw, aching desperation.
“I can’t watch that happen to you. Can’t bear the thought of you getting caught in the crosshairs, of the media sinking their claws into you because of me.” His voice cracked, a single tear tracing down his cheek. “It would destroy me, Liv. Seeing you hurt like that… I couldn’t take it.”
And just like that, I understood. The distance, the avoidance, the desperate need for secrecy… it all clicked into place with a horrible sort of clarity.
He wasn’t ashamed of me. He was trying to protect me. Protect us.
I cupped his face in my hands, forcing him to meet my gaze. His skin was warm beneath my palms, his scruff rasping against my fingers.
“I understand your fear, but I’m not Tegan. I’m not a teenager.” I held his gaze, refusing to let him look away. “I know you’re scared. I know you want to protect me. And I love you for that, more than you can possibly imagine.”
His breath hitched. The words had slipped out unrehearsed, unplanned. But I didn’t regret them. Not even a little.
“But you have to trust me. Trust us.” I stroked my thumbs over his cheeks, wiping away the dampness. “I’m not some delicate flower. I’m an adult and I knew what I was getting into when I got into this business. I knew a relationship with you might put the spotlight on me, but that would have happened with or without you. I can handle the press, the scrutiny. It’s part of our job.”
I took a shaky breath, pouring every ounce of certainty, of love, into my next words.
“But I can’t handle you shutting me out. Can’t handle feeling like I’m alone in this, like you’re already half out the door.” My voice wavered but I pushed on, needing him to hear me. To really hear me. “I need you to be all in.”
For a long, suspended moment, he just stared at me. I could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes, the war raging between his fear and his love.
“You don’t understand, Liv. The media, they’re relentless.” His voice was strained, his fingers flexing against my hips like he didn’t know whether to pull me closer or push me away. “They tore my sister apart, and I can’t bear the thought of them doing the same to you.”
“So we don’t let them.” I slid my hands down to his chest, feeling the thunder of his heartbeat beneath my palm. “I know you’re scared. What happened to Tegan… it’s unimaginable. But she was just a kid. She wasn’t prepared for that kind of attention. We are. We control the narrative. We go public on our own terms, in our own way.”
“It’s not that easy,” he said, staring at me with a deep, hopeless sadness.
“Yes, it is,” I bit out, trying to temper my frustration. “I’m not saying it’ll be a walk in the park, but I’m an adult. I’ve been building my career, my public image, for years. I know how to handle myself.”
He bit his lip, still unconvinced.
An idea bloomed to life in my mind, bright and shining with possibility. “Tomorrow, we’ll go to the market together, just like we planned ages ago. We’ll act like any other couple. Hold hands, laugh at the terrible street acts… maybe even share an ice cream cone, if you’re feeling extra daring.”
A surprised laugh huffed out of him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “An ice cream cone? How daring.”
He closed his eyes, his forehead coming to rest against mine. For a moment, he just breathed, his chest rising and falling in tandem with my own.
“Okay,” he whispered finally. “Okay, you win. We’ll go to the market. We’ll let ourselves be seen.”
I smiled, relief and love flooding through me. “Thank you. Thank you for trusting me.”
He pulled back, his gaze searching mine with an intensity that made my heart stutter. “I do trust you. It’s the press I don’t…” He grimaced. “I’ll try to stop doing that. It’s just… the thought of losing you, of seeing you hurt…”
“You won’t lose me.”
I pressed a soft, reassuring kiss to his lips. He pulled me into his arms, hugging me close and I melted into his embrace, confident that he’d finally heard me.