Chapter 13
Avery
“He's fine,” Jake says quickly, stepping aside. “Just some bruises. Come in.”
I push past him into the apartment, and there's Liam, lying on the couch like nothing happened. Like my entire world didn't just tilt on its axis. He's got a cut on his forehead, butterfly bandages holding it closed.
But he's alive. He's here. He's okay.
Relief surges through me.
“Hey,” he says, looking surprised to see me.
There's another man standing near the window, tall and imposing with steel-blue eyes that assess me. Cole Maddox. The Renegades captain.
“You haven't met Cole, have you?” Liam says. “Cole, this is Avery. My publicist.” Cole nods. “Avery, Cole Maddox. Our fearless captain. Also known as Robot, because according to him, having discipline and focus makes you less human.”
Jake snorts.
I barely register the exchange. All I can see is the butterfly bandage on Liam's forehead, the way he's holding himself stiffly, and the slight swelling on his left cheekbone. “You scared me,” I say in a shaky voice.
Liam’s expression grows serious as he trains those dark eyes on me. “Yeah?”
“Jake,” Cole says quietly. “Let's give them some privacy.”
“Good call, Cap.” Jake grabs his jacket. “We'll check on you tomorrow before the game.”
I turn to Jake. “Can he play tomorrow?”
“Yeah, team doctor cleared him,” Cole says. “It’s just minor injuries.”
Then they're gone, the door clicking shut behind them, and I'm alone with Liam. I sink onto the edge of the couch beside him, my hands hovering over his face, not quite touching. “You scared the hell out of me. You weren’t answering the phone.”
“Sorry.” He doesn't sound sorry.
“What happened?”
“Some guy ran a red light. He T-boned me on the driver's side.” He says it so casually, like he's describing a minor inconvenience. “Airbags deployed, car's totaled, but I'm fine.”
My hands are still shaking. I reach up and gently touch the bandage on his forehead, then trace down to his cheekbone. “You have a cut. And bruising.”
“Avery.” His hand comes up to catch mine, holding it against his face. “I'm okay. Really.”
“What were you thinking?” The fear is morphing into anger now. “Buying that car? Hours after we talked about your image, about being responsible.”
“I know.”
I pull my hand away. “From where I'm sitting, it looks like you went out and proved every single thing I said about you was right. That you're impulsive and reckless and—”
“I was hurt,” he interrupts. “You hurt me, and I didn't know what to do with that, so I did something stupid. Is that what you want to hear?”
The honesty stops me cold.
“I thought if I could just, I don't know, do something big and stupid and Nova-like, maybe I'd stop feeling like you'd ripped my fucking heart out.” He laughs, but there's no humor in it.
“It didn't work, by the way. Then some asshole ran a red light and now I'm here, bruised and car-less, and you're acting like you give a damn.”
“I do give a damn.”
“Why?” His eyes bore into mine, intense and demanding. “I thought I was just a client. I thought Sunday night was meaningless. So why do you care if I wrapped a car around a pole?”
“I just do.”
“Not good enough, Avery.”
We stare at each other, the air crackling between us. I should leave. I should protect what's left of my professional integrity.
But I'm so tired of running.
“I had a boyfriend in college,” I say. “His name was Kai. He was a star quarterback. Charming, devoted, made me feel like I was the center of his world.” My voice goes flat.
“Until the spotlight got brighter. Then suddenly I wasn't enough.
One person's love couldn't compete with thousands of people screaming his name.”
Liam goes very still, his eyes never leaving my face.
“I watched him choose fame over me. He chose other women because he could, because they were there, because athletes like him need constant validation.” I force myself to meet his gaze. “So when I saw that photo of your car, when I thought you might be hurt or worse, I panicked.”
I shift closer to him. “But despite everything I know, despite every lesson Kai taught me about athletes and their egos and their inability to choose one person over the crowd, I care about you. And that terrifies me.”
“Avery.”
“You asked why I care. That's why. Because I'm apparently a glutton for punishment. Because I let myself fall for another athlete who's going to choose his image, his reputation, his need for public approval over me.”
“Kai was a fool,” Liam interrupts, his voice fierce. He closes the distance between us, his hands finding my face. “A complete fucking fool. And I am not him.”
“You don't understand.”
“I understand perfectly. He had you, and he threw it away for what? Applause? Attention? That's not love. That's insecurity.” His thumbs stroke my cheeks. “I would never do that to you. Never.”
“You say that now.”
“I mean it.” His eyes are blazing with intensity.
“You think I don't know what it's like to need validation?
To crave approval because you're trying to fill a hole that someone else left?
I've been doing that my whole life. But you—” His voice cracks slightly.
“You make me want to be better than that. Better than the guy who needs strangers to tell him he matters.”
Tears stream down my face. “I'm scared you'll hurt me. That you'll prove I was right about athletes. About men like you.”
“I'm not Kai. I'm not going to choose fame over you. I'm not going to choose anyone over you.” He rests his forehead against mine. “Let me prove it. Please. Just give me a chance to show you I'm different.”
“I thought you were seriously hurt,” I say, tears streaming down my face. “I saw that photo and I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I could see was you trapped in that car, and all I could think about was what if the worst had happened.”
“Come here,” he says, and pulls me onto his lap.
I go. My legs bracket his hips, and when his mouth meets mine. The kiss is desperate and hungry.
Liam kisses me like he's been starving for it, like I'm oxygen and he's been drowning. I kiss him back the same way, needing to feel him alive and whole beneath my hands. My fingers thread through his hair, careful of the cut on his forehead, and he groans into my mouth.
“Wait,” I gasp, pulling back. “Your ribs.”
“Are fine.”
“Liam.”
“Avery, I was just in a car accident. I could have died. The least you can do is let me enjoy being alive with a beautiful woman in my lap.”
I laugh. “That's emotional manipulation.”
“Is it working?”
“Maybe.” I touch his face again, mapping the damage. “Where are the puppies?”
“Seriously?” He looks at me incredulously. “That's what you're thinking about right now?”
“I just want to make sure they're okay.”
“They're fine. Olivia set them up in one of the spare bedrooms with food and water and toys. They're probably asleep.” His hands slide up my thighs and he grips my hips. “Forget about the puppies.”
He kisses me again, silencing my protests, and I forget why I was resisting. His hands are everywhere. My hips, my waist and then under my t-shirt. I arch into his touch, gasping when his thumbs graze the undersides of my breasts.
“No bra,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Were you planning to seduce me, Ms. Carter?”
“I was panicking about you dying and in a rush, actually.”
“Hot.”
I laugh and smack his shoulder lightly. “You're ridiculous.”
“You like it.” His hands cup my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples. “Tell me you like it.”
“I love…” The words die when he pinches lightly, sending heat straight between my legs. “Liam.”
“That's what I thought.”
We shouldn't be doing this. But his hands feel so good, and he's alive, and I was so scared.
“Bedroom,” I breathe.
“I can’t wait,” he says. “I need you now.” He reached for the hem of my t-shirt, pulling it over my head. Then his mouth is on my breast, and I stop caring about logistics.
I fumble with his sweatpants, trying to be careful of his injuries while also desperately needing to touch him. He helps me, lifting his hips so I can push the fabric down. Then he's freeing himself, and I'm lifting up, positioning myself over him.
“Wait,” he gasps. “Condom—”
“I'm on birth control,” I say, because I've already forgotten every reason this is a bad idea.
“Thank God.” He grips my hips, guides me down, and we both groan as I take him in.
For a moment, we just stay like that, joined and breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.
“You came,” he says again, voice filled with wonder.
“Of course I came.” I start to move, slow and deep. “I thought I lost you.”
His hands guide my movements, and it's different from Sunday night. Less desperate, more tender. Like we're confirming something beyond just physical need.
“Ride me, Avery,” he urges.
I rise up on my knees until he’s almost to the tip, feeling the exquisite, stretching fullness begin to recede, a silent protest from my body. Then, I sink back down, taking every inch of him back inside.
A groan sound escapes him, his hips twitching upward to meet my descent.
“Fuck, Avery.” Liam’s eyes are dark with a need so raw, it frightens me.
I set the rhythm again, a slow undulation of my hips that isn’t just about friction. It’s about feeling him. The thick, hard length of him buried to the hilt, the way my body clenches around him.
I rock forward, changing the angle. Liam’s head falls back on the couch pillow, tendons standing out in his neck. “Don’t fucking stop.”
A sense of power surges through me. This is what he does to me. This is what I do to him. As my orgasm builds, Liam grips my hips and slams me on his cock. Over and over again, until we come within seconds of each other.
I collapse on top of him, and he wraps his hands around me. We stay like that for a while, catching our breath. Then Liam shifts, wincing.
“Okay, maybe the couch wasn't the best idea.”
“Your ribs?”
“Are reminding me they're bruised.” He cups my face. “Worth it though.”
I climb off him carefully, suddenly aware that I'm completely naked in his living room. “I should go.”
“Don't.” His hand catches my wrist. “Don't run this time, Avery. Please.”
“I'm not running.”
“You're already looking for the exit.” He stands, wincing again, then holds out his hand. “Stay. Let me hold you.”
I take his hand. I’m beyond caring about consequences now. “Okay. But you need to rest. You have a game tomorrow.”
“Yes, Coach.” He grins, then sobers. “I'm sorry about the car. You're right, it was stupid and reckless. I bought it because I was angry and hurt, and that's not an excuse, but it's the truth.”
“It was incredibly stupid,” I agree. “And risky. You could have been killed.”
“I know.” He leads me toward his bedroom.
“Buying a four-hundred-thousand-dollar car because you were upset is not healthy coping, Liam.”
“I know that too.” We reach his bedroom, and he closes the door behind us. “I'm not saying I'm perfect, Avery. I'm saying I'm trying.”
He pulls back the covers and we climb into bed, and when he pulls me against his chest, careful of his bruised ribs, it feels achingly right.
“Tell me about your family,” he says after a moment.
The change of subject throws me. “My family?”
“Yeah. I want to know you. The real you.”
I settle more comfortably against him, my head on his shoulder. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. Start with the basics. Parents, siblings, childhood trauma.” He's teasing, but there's curiosity in his voice.
“Well, there's my mother, my father, and my sister Sadie. She's an artist.”
“What kind of art?”
“Painting mostly. Abstract stuff that I don't always understand but that sells for ridiculous amounts of money.” I trace patterns on his chest with my finger. “My mother runs a nonprofit for environmental advocacy.”
“And your dad?”
“He’s a lawyer,” I say.
“Oh shit.” Liam shifts to look at me, mock alarm on his face. “Note to self. Don't piss off Avery. Her dad will sue me into the next century.”
I laugh. “He's a corporate lawyer, not a trial attorney. He spends his days closing mergers and reviewing contracts, not defending wronged daughters.”
“You sound like you had the perfect family,” Liam says, a wistful tone in his voice.
“I wouldn’t say that, but we were generally happy.” I pause, contemplating my next words. “My parents are good people, but they are too focused on success.” I turn to Liam. “Do you know what I mean?”
He shakes his head and lets out a bitter laugh. “Can’t say that I do. I’ve never had anyone particularly care whether I was successful or not.”
“Tell me about family,” I say, my heart already breaking at hearing him say that no one cared whether he was successful or not.
He shrugs. “Not much to tell. There's my mom, my stepdad, and two half-brothers.”
“Are you close?”
“Define close.” His tone is casual, but I feel him tense beneath me. “My mom is great. Remarried when I was twelve.”
“And your dad?”
“Not in the picture.” The words are clipped, final. “Look, it's late. We should sleep. Game day tomorrow.” He kissed me, cutting off what I was about to say.
I get it. We all have our walls.
And as I drift off in his arms, surrounded by Liam’s warmth, I let myself stop planning for just one night.
Tomorrow I'll deal with Jennifer, with the media fallout, and with all the professional complications we've created.
Tonight, I'm just a woman falling asleep with the man who scared her half to death and who somehow, impossibly, is becoming more important to her, every day.