Chapter 14 #2
“Good question.” I crane my neck looking for her again, then call her, then fire off a text when she sends me to voicemail.
Had to scooch to the library! she replies.
You didn’t have your backpack with you??? I send back.
“Little wretch,” I mumble. “She’s already fled the scene.”
Liam jerks his head at the parking lot. “C’mon.”
I trail along beside him. “You don’t have plans right now? An after-party? A televised interview? Icing a few body parts?”
“You’re the plans right now.”
Liam is parked at the front of the lot. I climb into the passenger seat and ask, “Where are we going?”
“Yours. You’ve already had enough baseball education for one day, and I want to hear more of your songs.”
My throat tightens. “Hang on, I don’t know if—”
“Paige.” He shoots me a warning look, then turns his eyes back on the road. “I played for you. Now you play for me.”
While he was gone, we texted every spare second we had, and I let it slip that I’d written a few other songs, mostly about Evan. Liam asked me to send recordings but I’d stipulated (as a delay tactic) that they’d have to be played in person the first time.
“You looked great out there,” I say.
He’s quiet for a moment. “I may have been showing off. I’m not supposed to throw like that for easy games.”
Something tugs at the corner of my mind. “You said in the bookshop you might be too injured to go pro?”
Liam rubs at his elbow. “Yeah. I could’ve gotten drafted last summer—it’s the first eligible year for college players—but I injured my left elbow in the middle of the season.
Thankfully that was my nondominant side, so I’ve been focusing on my right for the past year, but there are still teams who aren’t looking at me anymore since I’m not as ambidextrous as I used to be. ”
“Wasn’t that around the time your…?”
“Dad died?” Liam fills in. “Yeah, it was the same month, actually. Bad year.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say quietly.
He reaches over, grabs my index finger, like the predecessor to hand-holding. His eyes graze mine with intention briefly before flicking back to the road. “This year’s been better.”
After a pause he adds, “It was probably dramatic, saying I could be too injured to go pro. I was nervous, deflecting. I just have to stay healthy from here on out.”
“You will,” I say softly.
We head upstairs to the second-floor landing, and Liam waits, a shoulder against the wall, while I fiddle with my keys. I have no idea how long Zara plans to stay at the “library,” but I assume it’ll be hours yet, especially if she’s scheming.
The living room is dark and cold when we walk inside. I disappear to my bedroom to grab a sweatshirt and my guitar and flick on a dimmer light when I head back. Liam is on the floor, legs out, ankles crossed, his back against the couch.
“I’m a mess,” he says. “I’ll just sit here.”
“You could shower if you want,” I offer. “I mean, I don’t mind how you—look.” I gulp. “Or smell. It’s up to you.”
His lips twitch. “What clothes would I change into, Paige?”
“I’ve got a couple of oversized Teletubbies onesies.”
“Ah,” he says. “So you’re the supplier.”
“For…?”
He rotates his baseball cap, so the back is facing front on his forehead. “The senior athletes who hazed me as a freshman.”
“I worried no one had told you.”
He smirks as I set the guitar on the couch, then dart to the kitchen to grab two waters and two beers. Liam accepts my offerings, chugging down the water quickly and then popping the tab of the beer can.
“I’m ready,” he proclaims.
I smile at him fondly, then pull the guitar off the couch and sit near him on the floor with my legs crossed. “I’ve been learning about different song structures,” I explain. “Trying to figure out what I like. So, these all sound completely different.”
He nods. “And they’re all about Evan?”
“Yes.”
He clears his throat, takes a sip of his beer. “Okay.”
Rip off the Band-Aid, I think, and start to play.
The dark in here makes this whole thing feel like an unexposed secret. Liam drops his head against the couch and lets his eyes fall closed, which somehow makes playing easier on me, and I think he knows that.
The first song is slow-paced. It’s called “Silent Words” and it’s about everything I regret holding back when Evan and I were together.
If our words had colors, mine would be blue
But you couldn’t see them from a different room
What does it feel like to speak on an exhale?
I’m holding my breath still, the words have gone long stale
When I’m finished playing, Liam lifts his head and smiles at me, his cheeks hitching toward his eyes.
“Beautiful.”
“You think?”
“And fucking depressing.”
I laugh, strumming once. “This one’s happier. It’s just about me, after we broke up.”
I play him “Fixed It,” a song with lyrics that mostly sound like a story.
We broke up on a Tuesday then I went for a run
Bought a concert ticket no regard for the money
Sad girls made him happy, but I hated the script, so
I finally fixed it, finally fixed it
And Liam says, “You’re right, that does sound totally different.”
“Yeah, that one has a pre-chorus.”
He smacks his forehead. “Of course, the pre-chorus.” I laugh. With his beer, he nudges my shoulder, smiling softly. “What’s next?”
I play him one more song, another variation of my breakup angst. Liam thoughtfully comments again, and I think my heart might be on Saturn.
Then he says, “That lyric, about your first date being on Halloween.”
“What about it?”
“Is it true?” he asks softly. “Or artistic license?”
“No, that was true,” I say. “We watched a movie at his place and handed out candy. Why?”
He frowns, looks at the ceiling. “I was under the impression you got together right when you moved to Knoxville.”
“No,” I say. “He didn’t start at Emilia until a month after I did.”
Liam nods, says nothing. I want to stop thinking about Evan, singing about him, and before I think twice, I say, “There’s one more. On the piano.”
“What’s it called?” he asks.
I shift the guitar off my lap and grab my beer can. “Um, it’s called ‘The Pitcher.’”
My throat is closing. Obviously, my voice box is rebelling, and I don’t blame it.
Liam stares, and stares, and stares. “Did you write a song about me, Paige?” His voice is low, throaty.
“No. About the other pitcher I know.”
He doesn’t laugh. Liam gets up, takes purposeful strides toward my bedroom.
Toward. My. Bedroom.
I follow him, scrambling, and take a massive chug of my beer. When I enter the room, Liam is pulling the chair back from my desk. He looks at me, then dips his chin at the chair.
I sit, turning on the keyboard. Liam walks away, giving me space.
My fingers flutter over the keys, shaking. I can’t see him, but I know his eyes are pinned to my back.
I actually don’t think I can do this, not tonight. I stand and turn back, an apology on the tip of my tongue for teasing him with this and then refusing to share the song.
“That’s okay,” he says first, his eyes patient. “I can wait.”
All of a sudden I’m panting. My chest feels like it’s been stuffed with a live jackrabbit.
“Another time,” I promise him.
Liam nods. “I should go. I actually am supposed to ice a few body parts.”
I grin, and so does he. “Okay.”
He hasn’t tried to kiss me, despite him verbalizing his desire to and me verbalizing my permission, and if I know Liam, it’s because he’s trying to set me at ease, disprove Maisy’s claim that as soon as I give in, he’ll give up.
We walk back to the living room. Liam scoops up his bag and I follow him out to the hallway. “I’ll see you soon,” he promises.
He shoots me a smoldering look, then gathers my body in a hug. I push against him, slipping my fingers between his back and bag, clinging like a koala. Liam smells of sun and earth and salt. Of the outdoors, of hard work.
His chin rubs back and forth over the top of my head. Neither of us loosens our grip.
Eventually Liam slides his nose toward my ear. “Jump,” he whispers.
In one smooth motion, he drops his bag and scoops me up when I launch into his arms. We hug tighter, more properly—improperly?—with far less space between our torsos. His hands are underneath me, practically palming my underside. I wrap my arms around his neck, settle my chin on his shoulder.
Now I’m actually clinging like a koala. “I missed you when you went to Texas,” I whisper.
“Missed you too, Bristol, baby.”
His low, throaty words cause my hips to roll involuntarily.
A few jerky steps, and my back is pressed against the hallway wall. I keep my head locked against his shoulder and neck. Liam pushes his waist into mine, exhaling deep in his throat when there’s no space left for us to erase. Barring clothes, our bodies are joined.
Every nerve ending burns. My brain feels like smoke.
We barely lasted an hour without going here.
“Should I take us back inside?” he rumbles by my ear.
“I don’t—Maybe?”
“Fuck, Paige, I’m filthy.” I know what he means, but I can’t help how my hips roll again, and this time, Liam laughs, but it sounds pained.
“I told you I don’t mind,” I whisper. “I like it.”
His teeth graze the lobe of my ear, and I emit a mortifying gasp.
A few seconds of quiet breathing. While we stand on the edge of a precipice.
“I think I want to hear the song first.”
Liam notices my shoulders stiffen and drops me, stepping back to give me space.
He won’t cross this line with me until I prove to him that he means something to me, and that is objectively terrifying—because then Liam will be holding all the cards, every one of them.
We could fuck now, and if we did, I’d be able to lie to him afterward about how long I’ve thought of it, about the emotion my brain has assigned to it since the beginning.
If we decide in the morning that being intimate is a mistake, we could blame our chemistry on the heat of the moment or exploring the unknown—but only if he hasn’t heard that song.
“Not tonight,” I say.
“Not tonight,” he repeats, our words meaning two things at once.
“You should go ice your body parts.” My eyes dart everywhere except his groin. I push my hair out of my face, take a deep breath. “To stay healthy.”
He stares at me, eyes hungry and quizzical. Eventually Liam stoops to grab his bag and slings it over his shoulder once more.
“See you soon,” he promises, and he walks away.