Chapter 32 #2
“But then she died. And instead of trying to be there for Cassandra, instead of pulling her closer, I pushed her away. I was too busy being angry, too busy grieving, too busy pretending I didn’t need anyone.
” He swallowed hard. “And then years later, when I finally tried to fix it, I was still failing. I didn’t try hard enough.
I kept falling back into old habits—pushing her away instead of just being there. ”
He took a breath. “That’s my failure, Dad. That’s on me. I’ll work on it. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it right if she lets me.”
He leaned forward, his hands braced on the edge of the desk.
“But you know what your failure is?”
Michael’s eyes had gone cold. He didn’t speak.
“Your failure is that you have two kids, and none of them actually like you.”
Michael’s hands curled into fists on the desk.
Liam didn’t stop. “We love you. Of course we do. You’re our father. That’s the deal, isn’t it? That’s what you’re supposed to do. But like you? Want to be around you? Respect you? Feel safe in your presence?” He shook his head slowly. “No, Dad. That’s never been on the table.”
Michael’s hands were shaking. I could see it from across the room.
“I pushed my sister away when I should’ve been there for her.” Liam straightened, his eyes never leaving his father’s face. “But you? You were supposed to raise her. Like a kid. Like a person. Not like a product you wanted to perfect, tie a nice little bow on and sell to the highest bidder.”
Michael shot up from his chair, his face red, his mouth opening—
“Shut up.”
Liam didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t shout. Just said the words, quiet and final, and Michael froze.
Behind me, Cassandra gasped. I heard her stumble back, Mrs. Morris’s arm catching her before she could fall. I didn’t turn around. Neither did Liam.
His eyes stayed on his father. His father, who was standing there, mouth half-open, silenced by the son he’d never bothered to know.
“I thought she was your favourite.” Liam’s voice was softer now, almost sad.
“I thought you loved her more than you ever loved me. But I was wrong, wasn’t I?
” His voice cracked. “You don’t love her.
I don’t think you can love anyone. You just wanted to use her.
For your plans, your legacy, your precious name.
You never cared how it affected her. You didn’t care what it cost her.
What it was doing to her while you were polishing her into some perfect little trophy for a man who never wanted her. ”
He let out a laugh—short, humorless, broken.
“You’re so selfish.” He shook his head. “I’m ashamed to call you my father. But what can I do?” He spread his hands, helplessly. “I have to. I have to call you my father.”
He took a step back, putting some distance between them. “So I’ll say it.” His mouth twisted. “But in my head, every time I do, there’s going to be a word in front of it. Just for me.”
He looked straight at Michael.
“Worthless.”
The room was silent. Michael stood frozen behind his desk, his face pale, his hands gripping the edge of the wood.
Liam glanced one last time at Michael. “Turns out I have a lot of free time now, Dad. And guess what all my energy is going to go into? Bringing you down. And I swear—on every time you looked at me like I wasn’t good enough, on every moment you made me feel like I didn’t belong in my own family—I will not let you down this time. ”
He turned back to Cassandra.
She was still standing where she’d been, one hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide and wet. He crossed to her slowly, like he was approaching something that might spook.
“I’m not going to make you come with me,” he said quietly. “I’m not going to drag you out of this house. But I am going to keep showing up. Every day. Until you’re ready.”
He held her gaze.
“I wasn’t there before. I should have been. I’m sorry, Cass.” His voice softened. “I’m so sorry. But I’m here now.”
He turned and walked toward the door.
Michael’s voice stopped him. “Instead of wasting your time with these stupid shenanigans, why don’t you convince your friend that marrying your sister would be good for all of you?”
The words hung in the air. Stale. Repetitive. Michael was a broken record, playing the same note over and over, unable to hear anything else.
Liam’s shoulders tensed. He started to turn.
I moved.
I was in front of Michael before Liam could say another word. Close. Close enough that he had to look up to meet my eyes. Close enough that the rest of the room disappeared.
“There’s construction happening on your street.” My voice was low, meant only for him. “They dug a hole. Pretty deep.” I leaned in, just slightly. “People slip all the time. Fall in. Break their necks. Die alone in the dark before anyone finds them.”
His eyes widened. Just a fraction.
“So the next time you even think about calling my wife names—” I let the pause stretch, let the words settle into his bones. “Remember that hole is still there.”
I straightened, held his gaze for one more beat, and turned. Liam was already moving toward the door. I followed. We didn’t look back.
Liam got into the driver’s seat. I slid into the passenger’s side.
He stared straight ahead, both hands resting on the wheel, but he didn’t start the engine.
The house was still there in the rearview mirror, but he wasn’t looking at it.
He wasn’t really looking at anything. He was somewhere else entirely.
The silence stretched between us. I knew better than to break it. Liam would speak when he was ready. So I waited.
Then, after a while, he said, “My kids will like me.”
I turned my head toward him.
He was still staring straight ahead, his voice quiet, almost to himself. “My kids won’t just tolerate me. They’ll love me. They’ll want to spend time with me. They won’t be scared of me.” He swallowed. “I’ll make sure of that.”
I kept looking at him.
Liam didn’t do quiet. He didn’t do still. He was a person who laughed too loud, moved too fast, filled every room he walked into as if silence were something he had to outrun.
And yet, after his mom died, he’d sat on my couch for three hours without saying a word. Just sat there, staring at nothing, until finally he said, “She used to make pancakes on Sundays.”
That was it. We’d gone out and gotten pancakes and never talked about it again.
The last few weeks, he’d been like this more often. It was because of Cassandra. He missed her. He kept reaching for her, and she kept pulling away, and he didn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t know how to be her brother.
I let the silence hold for another moment. Then, because I knew him, because I knew what he needed, because saying anything real right now would probably drown us both in it, I spoke.
“Kids?” I let my voice go dry. “Don’t you need to find the mother first? When was your last date? And I’m counting things that actually happened, not dreams you had.”
He stared at me for a second, his brain clearly still somewhere in the study, still with Cassandra, still with his father. Then the words caught up with him. His eyebrows went up. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
Then his face cracked. A laugh burst out of him—loud, surprised, real. He shook his head, still laughing, and finally turned the key in the ignition.
“Whose fault do you think it is that I’m not married yet?” He pulled away from the curb, the house shrinking in the side mirror. “Your wife.”
I frowned. “How is Alessia at fault for you being single?”
“She was supposed to throw the bouquet at me. Properly. With intention. Instead she just passed it to me aggressively and walked away.” He shook his head mournfully. “I would have been married years ago if not for her.”
I stared at him. “If this car wasn’t moving, I’d jump out right now.”
He glanced at me, completely serious. “Do it. I’ll make sure Alessia doesn’t cry too much at the funeral.”
I nodded slowly. “Maybe she’ll finally throw the bouquet at you correctly there.”
He turned to glare at me, outraged. I burst out laughing. He shook his head, muttering something about “unbelievable” and “betrayed by my own best friend,” but the corners of his mouth were twitching.
He still looked wrecked. I could see it in the lines around his eyes, the tension that hadn’t fully left his shoulders. But he didn’t look lost anymore.
He looked like he knew where he was going.