Chapter 11 #3
"It’s not just that," Liam said, frustration cracking his voice. "Chase was already planning the wedding, and your sister—she’s perfectly professional. She’s guarded.
I didn’t think she felt the same way. I thought she was just…
flattered. I didn’t want to see him destroyed when the novelty wore off. "
"You thought she was indifferent?" Libby stared at him. "She’s not indifferent, Liam. She’s shy. She’s professional. She’s terrified of ruining his career."
"It's not that simple—"
"It's exactly that simple," Libby interrupted. "Unless, of course, the real complication is that Jane doesn't come from the right family. Doesn't have the appropriate pedigree for your friend."
Color rose in Liam's cheeks. "That's not what this is about."
"Isn't it?" Libby stepped closer, her hurt crystallizing into clarity. "Jane's just a physical therapist from Springfield. No trust fund, no family connections, no dynasty to unite. She's not Anne Davenport."
"This has nothing to do with Anne," Liam said sharply.
"Doesn't it? Kate seems to think Anne's return is imminent. That your little rebellion with the inappropriate journalist is just a phase before you return to your appropriate match."
"You don't understand the situation," Liam said, his composure cracking.
"I understand perfectly," Libby shot back. "You can play at dating me because it's controlled, temporary, serves a purpose. But Chase and Jane? That's real, and messy, and might actually mean something. And we can't have that disrupting the precious team dynamics."
"You're being dramatic," Liam said, but his hands had clenched at his sides.
"Dramatic?" Libby's voice went dangerously quiet.
"You manipulated my sister's relationship, made her doubt her own judgment, and I'm being dramatic?
" Her voice rose with each word. "How dare you.
How dare you stand there and call me dramatic when you've been playing puppet master with people's lives. "
"That's not what I—"
"Then explain it," she cut him off, stepping closer, fury making her reckless. "Make me understand why you'd hurt two people who've done nothing but support you and this team."
Liam opened his mouth, closed it, something warring behind his eyes. For a moment, she thought he might actually tell her something real. Then his expression shuttered again.
"When the season is over—" he started.
"When the season is over?" Libby interrupted, incredulous. "You told them to put their lives on hold for hockey? Who made you the arbiter of when people are allowed to have feelings?"
"That's not what I—"
"That's exactly what you did!" Libby's voice cracked with frustration. "You're so terrified of anything that doesn't fit your perfect plan that you're poisoning it for everyone around you. God forbid someone from the wrong side of Boston might actually matter to someone in your precious circle."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I? You've kept me at arm's length since Portland. The second things got complicated—the moment your family got involved—you pulled back. And now you're making Chase do the same thing."
"It's not the same—"
"It's exactly the same!" Libby's voice cracked with frustration. "You're so terrified of anything that doesn't fit your perfect plan that you're poisoning it for everyone around you. God forbid someone from the wrong side of Boston might actually matter to someone in your precious circle."
They were standing too close now, both breathing hard, the air between them electric with anger and something else entirely.
"You think I care about that?" Liam's control finally snapped, his voice rough. "You think any of that matters to me?"
"Your actions suggest otherwise," Libby said, the words hanging between them like a challenge. "Poor Jane, not good enough for a D'Arcy adjacent. Poor Libby, only suitable for a fake relationship with clear boundaries."
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "Careful."
"Why? Afraid I might say something inappropriate? Upset your perfect professional boundaries?" She was deliberately pushing now, wanting to crack his perfect composure, to make him feel something. "Heaven forbid anyone in your world actually feel—"
Liam moved so suddenly she didn't have time to react. Her back hit the wall as he crowded into her space, one hand bracing against the wall by her head, the other cupping her jaw.
"You want to know what I feel?" His voice was low, intense, his thumb stroking along her jawline.
"I feel like I'm losing my mind. Like everything I've built, every wall I've maintained, means nothing when you're near me.
Like I want things I can't have, things that would destroy everything. Is that real enough for you?"
Libby's breath caught, her anger transmuting into something else entirely. "Liam—"
"You think this is about class?" His hand slid from her jaw to tangle in her hair, gripping just firmly enough to tilt her head back.
"You think I give a damn about pedigrees and trust funds?
I've spent weeks trying to forget how you looked that night in Portland, trying not to think about you in that dress at the gala, trying to maintain some semblance of control when all I want—"
"What?" Libby breathed, her hands coming up to rest against his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath her palms. "What do you want?"
Instead of answering, Liam closed the distance between them, his mouth claiming hers with none of the careful control that characterized everything else he did. This kiss was desperate, demanding, full of weeks of suppressed want and frustrated desire.
Libby responded instantly, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer.
The kiss deepened, Liam's hand tightening in her hair while his other arm wrapped around her waist, pressing their bodies together.
Every careful boundary they'd maintained shattered as the kiss turned hungry, almost desperate, saying everything they'd been unable to voice.
The world disappeared—the argument, the team celebration beyond the hallway, the complicated professional entanglements.
There was only the surprising softness of his lips contrasted with the demanding pressure, the strength of his hand cradling her head, the solid heat of his body pressed against hers.
Libby rose onto her tiptoes, bringing their bodies into better alignment, a gasp escaping her as the new angle shot electricity through every nerve.
Her hands moved to his shoulders, his neck, finally threading through his hair and tugging gently.
The action drew a deep groan from his throat that she felt vibrating through her chest.
This was nothing like the careful public performances they'd shared for cameras—this was real and raw and demanding, a conversation without words that said everything they'd been avoiding for weeks.
"Liam, they want you for—oh."
They broke apart at Chase's voice, both breathing hard. Chase stood frozen in the doorway, his expression cycling rapidly through surprise, embarrassment, and something like resignation.
"Sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't—the team is looking for you, Liam. Captain's toast."
"Of course," Liam replied, his voice rough. He stepped back from Libby, though his eyes remained locked on hers for another heartbeat. "I'll be right there."
Chase hesitated, his eyes moving between them with obvious discomfort. "Should I tell them you're... delayed?"
"No need," Liam said, his public persona sliding partially back into place, though Libby could still see the slight flush on his cheekbones, the dishevelment of his hair where her fingers had been. "I'm coming."
After Chase disappeared, an excruciating silence fell between them.
The intimacy of moments ago had been replaced by the crushing weight of everything unresolved—Jane and Chase, the ESPN interview, Anne Davenport's impending arrival, the vast gulf between their worlds that no amount of kissing could bridge.
"Did you see Anne in Paris this summer?" The question escaped before Libby could stop it, her voice barely above a whisper.
Liam's jaw clenched, his entire body going rigid. The silence stretched between them, his non-answer more damning than any explanation.
He hesitated, clearly struggling with what to say. His hand lifted slightly, as if to touch her again, then fell back to his side. "Libby—"
"You should go," she said quietly, unable to bear whatever he was about to say. Not when she could still taste him on her lips, still feel the phantom pressure of his body against hers.
Something flickered across his face—hurt, maybe, or frustration. But he simply nodded once, straightened his tie with hands that weren't quite steady, and walked toward the door.
"Liam," she called out before she could stop herself.
He paused, looking back.
"This doesn't change anything," she said, needing to establish some boundary, some protection for her heart. "About Jane and Chase. About... us."
His expression shuttered completely then, the captain's mask sliding fully into place. "No," he agreed quietly. "I suppose it doesn't."
He left then, and Libby stood alone in the dim hallway, her back still against the wall where he'd pressed her, her lips still swollen from his kiss.
She could hear the distant sound of celebration, knew that in moments Liam would deliver whatever toast was expected, would play the perfect captain, the perfect D'Arcy heir.
But she'd felt his control shatter. She'd tasted his desperation, felt the tremor in his hands as he'd held her. Whatever carefully constructed walls he maintained, she'd broken through them, if only for those few devastating minutes.
As she slipped out through a side entrance into the cool Boston night, Libby tried to process what had just happened.
The kiss changed everything and nothing simultaneously.
Liam had still interfered with Jane's happiness.
He still thought maintaining boundaries was more important than authentic connection.
He still lived in a world where people like Kate Davenport could casually threaten careers and relationships like pieces on a chess board.
But he'd also kissed her like none of that mattered. Like she mattered more than all of it.
Her phone buzzed.
Clara
Where did you disappear to? Liam just gave the world's most distracted captain's toast. He kept looking around like he'd lost something.
Libby turned off her phone without responding.
Tomorrow, she'd have to face the aftermath—the ESPN interview, Liam, the ongoing fake relationship that felt less fake with every passing day.
But tonight, she just wanted to go home, pour a large glass of wine, and try to forget the way Liam D'Arcy kissed when his perfect control finally, inevitably shattered.
The problem was, she was fairly certain she'd never forget it. The feel of him was already branded into her memory, into her skin, into the stupid, traitorous heart that had no business falling for someone so absolutely wrong for her.
"Well," she whispered to the empty street, touching her fingers to her still-sensitive lips, "that definitely wasn't in the PR agreement."