Chapter 6 Emma
EMMA
It’s a bright, sunny Sunday, and Talia and I are walking lazy loops around the playground while Laddie chases a soccer ball with one of his school friends.
Every so often, his laughter cuts through the hum of the park.
We haven’t had much time to talk this week, not in any detail. We work opposite days, so Sundays are our one real chance to breathe.
“He asked why I left,” I say finally, eyes on Laddie instead of her. “And I just… left. Again.”
Talia glances at me, but doesn’t say anything right away. She’s always been good at letting silence do some of the talking.
I sigh. “I’ve been thinking about it all week. It doesn’t feel right, the way I walked out. I just— I don’t know how to bridge six years of silence.”
“I told you,” she says gently. “You don’t owe him anything, Em.”
“But I do,” I argue. “I broke his heart, Tal. I walked away without a word, and he deserves to know why.”
“But why reopen that can of worms?” Talia shoots back. “Liam was a lot back then, Em. Big, broody, always ready to throw a punch, and it sounds like that hasn’t changed. You don’t need that kind of chaos in your life, Em.”
“I know, it’s just…” I sigh, watching Laddie run across the grass. “He had it rough growing up. And it sounds like it never got better. He told me his dad killed himself last year.”
Talia’s lips press into a thin line. “That’s awful. But that’s not your problem, Em. You tried with him. You were always the one holding him together when his family blew up. But you’re not his savior, and you’re not his girlfriend anymore. You don’t have to be that for him.”
I nod slowly, even though her words sting. “He just… he seemed really sad,” I say softly. “Like he needs a friend.”
Talia lets out a short, sharp laugh. “A friend? Come on. You two were never built for that. You were combustible, Em. There’s no fuckin’ way you’re keeping him in the friend zone.”
I look away, pretending to focus on Laddie’s laughter, but her words hit home.
She softens. “Just think about it before you open that door again, okay? I know you. And he’d be all in and intense about you, always has been. You need to decide if you really want to pour gasoline on that fire again.”
Fire.
That’s how it felt to be with Liam back then.
Every time he looked at me.
Every time he touched me, even the accidental brush of our fingers in the hallway, it was like I was being set alight from the inside.
We were friends for a long time, but I wanted him before I knew what it meant. And once we crossed that line, it was all-consuming.
So yes, Talia’s right to remind me.
I’ve tried not to dwell on it. Most days, I managed.
But some nights… when the house was quiet, when Laddie was asleep, and my brain wouldn’t shut off… my thoughts turned traitor.
My hand slid beneath my panties almost on its own, finding my clit as muscle memory takes over.
And suddenly I was back with him, his big body over mine, his cock stretching me open, his mouth leaving heat along my throat and breasts.
I worked myself to the edge, trembling, biting back every sound, chasing the ghost of his touch.
And I know it would still be the same.
I saw the way his cock strained against the blanket when I blushed, when I smiled.
That old fire still flickered between us, waiting for a single spark to set it blazing again.
“I loved him, Tal,” I say. “I really, really loved him. It killed me to walk away.”
“I know,” my sister says softly. “I know you loved him, and I know why you walked away. I supported you then, and I’ve supported you every step since.”
This is true, of course.
My sister has always been overprotective, but she’s also the one who never leaves my corner.
Always there.
Always steady.
Sometimes I feel guilty for how much of her own life she’s set aside to help me hold mine together.
“Maybe I made the wrong choice,” I say quietly.
“I don’t think so.” Talia shakes her head.
“You were eighteen, Em. You did what felt right at the time. Honestly, I always thought it was kind of unfair that you gave up art school, and he still got to chase his dream. But I know that was a purposeful sacrifice on your part. You wanted him to have something good. He had such a crappy home life, and you wanted him to get free. And I get it.”
She exhales. “Still, it was a lot. You were barely out of high school, and raising a baby while he was off trying to go pro? It’s… yeah, it was imbalanced.”
“Yeah,” I admit, the word catching a little.
“But that was part of the choice. I was going to end the pregnancy. I went to the clinic and everything. But when it came down to it…” I swallow hard.
“I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it. And it didn’t seem fair to put that on him, to trap him in it when he was finally so close to getting out of that mess he called a family. ”
“It was selfless of you,” Talia says. “I understand it. I do.”
“I appreciate you so much,” I say, putting an arm around my sister’s back, laying my head on her shoulder as we walk. “You know that, right?”
“I do.”
“Do you think Liam has a right to meet his son?” I ask softly. “Or do you think Laddie deserves to meet his father?”
Talia tilts her head, thoughtful. “I’m inclined to remind you of that old saying — let sleeping dogs lie.” Her mouth curves wryly. “But I also know you, and you’re about to go wake the damn dog.”
We don’t say more after that.
We sit on a bench in the warm afternoon sun, watching Laddie race across the playground.
His laughter carries on the breeze while Talia scrolls through celebrity gossip on her phone, pretending not to keep an eye on me.
And me? I think about Liam. About what it felt like to be near him again, like lightning under my skin, alive and dangerous.
I’ve dated since Minnesota. I’ve had boyfriends. I’ve had lovers. But nothing ever lasted.
Nothing ever made me want to stay.
Because no one has ever made me feel the way Liam Callaghan did.
And after seeing him again, seeing that same spark still burning between us, I know the truth I’ve been trying not to admit.
No one ever will.
We let Laddie play until his face turns red and sweaty before I finally call out, “All right, champ, time to pack it in.”
He groans as I’ve just canceled Christmas. “Five more minutes!”
Talia snorts. “That’s what you said fifteen minutes ago.”
“But I was still playing fifteen minutes ago!” he insists, hands on his hips.
I try not to laugh. “How about this? If we leave now, you can get a hot dog from Mr. Eschelman.”
That gets him. His eyes go wide. “With mustard and ketchup?”
“Both,” I confirm solemnly. “Maybe even relish if you behave.”
“Deal!” He grabs his little backpack and takes off down the sidewalk, skipping every third step.
Talia watches him go and mutters, “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a kid bond with an eighty-year-old hot dog man quite like that.”
“They’re kindred spirits,” I say, smiling. “Both are stubborn. Both are obsessed with condiments.”
She chuckles. “So… what’s your excuse?”
I give her a look, but I’m half-distracted. Every time a tall, broad man with sandy-blond hair passes us, my pulse jumps before my brain catches up.
None of them is Liam, but tell that to my body.
“Earth to Emma,” Talia teases, waving a hand in front of my face. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I say quickly. “Just… thinking about hot dogs.”
“Sure you are,” she mutters.
By the time we finish chatting with Mr. Eschelman, which, of course, turns into a half-hour conversation about baseball and pickles, Laddie’s face is smeared with ketchup, and he’s declaring himself “officially stuffed.”
Back at the apartment, he collapses on the couch, Bluey blaring in the background.
Within minutes, he’s out cold, one hand still clutching a napkin.
Talia grabs her gym bag and says, “I’m off to work out some of my frustration with you, just so you know.”
“Love you too,” I call after her.
“Yeah, yeah. Try not to overthink your life while I’m gone.”
I laugh softly. “No promises.”
Alone at last, I open my laptop, meaning to pay bills. Somehow, ten minutes later, I’m typing Liam Callaghan into Google.
I review years of articles and photos, and by all accounts, he’s an elite player—a brutal defenseman, a brick wall on skates with zero hesitation about dropping the gloves when pushed.
The penalty box might as well have his name engraved on the seat.
None of it surprises me.
What does surprise me is what’s not there.
Where other players have photos of women draped over them, Liam’s are all solo shots, focused, unsmiling, alone.
No puck bunnies hanging off his arm, no gossip headlines linking him to models or actresses, no trace of a girlfriend on social media.
Something about it lifts my spirits.
I thought I’d prepared myself for the possibility that he’d moved on—maybe even married some perfect, put-together woman who fit the life he has now.
I told myself I’d be okay with that, that I didn’t expect him to be a monk.
But seeing that he hasn’t?
That he’s not out there living some glossy, Playboy life?
I can’t help that it makes me feel… happy.
Maybe he, like me, hasn’t found anything as good as what we had.
It’s ridiculous, I know. We were just kids—sixteen when we started, eighteen when I left.
At that age, every kiss, every promise, every heartbreak feels enormous.
I’ve spent years reminding myself we were too young, too intense, that what we had never would’ve survived once real life started pressing in.
I close the laptop and glance toward the couch. Laddie’s fast asleep, one arm flung over his head, completely wiped from the morning at the park. His hair curls against his forehead, cheeks still rosy from the sun.
I smile softly, then slip into the bathroom and turn on the shower. Steam fills the air as I undress, the hum of running water wrapping around me.
For a long moment, I just look at myself in the mirror.
I’m still young. I take care of myself. I look... fine. But my gaze catches on the thin scar that runs low across my abdomen — my reminder of how Laddie came into the world.
He’d been breech when they induced labor at forty weeks. They tried everything to turn him, but nothing worked.
I remember the blinding lights of the operating room, the cold air against my skin, the sound of him crying before I even saw his face.
I’d loved him long before that moment. From the first flutter, the first kick. And I’ve loved him every day since.
But love has a way of dividing you, of stretching your heart wider than you ever thought it could go.
Because I loved someone else once, too.
And, God help me, I think part of me still does.
Steam curls around me as I step beneath the spray; the water beats a steady rhythm against my shoulders—heat slides down my skin, loosening every muscle, melting away everything except the thought of him.
I close my eyes and let my hands wander, tracing the places he once touched.
My breath catches when my fingers skim over my sensitive nipples, when memory blurs into sensation.
It’s not just my body that aches—it’s something more profound, needier, impossible to silence.
And just like that, I feel Liam.
His hands.
His voice.
The way he looks at me like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted.
Every drop of water that hits my skin feels like a spark. I can almost feel his touch instead, tracing, claiming, remembering.
The water pulses against my clit, chasing away every thought until all that remains is the ache, the want, the quiet, desperate hunger that’s entirely his fault.
It builds deep inside, and I brace a hand against the tile, head tipped back, letting the heat take over until every muscle trembles and my breath shatters.
When I come, it’s with a short noise of satisfaction. It’s not just pleasure, it’s longing. His name escapes me like a prayer I can’t swallow.
When I finally breathe again, I stay there, forehead against the cool tile, water washing over me as if it could rinse away what I feel.
It can’t.
Whatever this is with Liam—it’s already too late to stop.