46. Liam
46
LIAM
“ M an, you really are pathetic.”
Darius is joking, but he’s not wrong. This is my fifth letter I’ve written to Whitney with not a single response. I pacify myself by thinking that she hasn’t read them. It hurts to think she’ll never know the true depth of my feelings, but it’s worse to imagine that she read all of my confessions and still wants nothing to do with me.
It’s been almost two weeks since I saw my wife’s face. Two weeks since she asked me to leave her alone. Two weeks of utter silence.
“It’s not pathetic. It’s romantic,” I argue, shoving Darius’s shoulder.
He shoves me back, laughing. “Nah, you’re a total simp.”
I roll my eyes and put my pen down, distracted by his ribbing. He’s not exactly helping me get into the right mindset with his mocking tone. I’ve been struggling to keep up with the letters, starting to feel, as Darius quite eloquently puts it, pretty damn pathetic. I’ve never tried this hard with a woman in my entire life, but with Whitney, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get her back.
“I don’t care if I am a simp,” I tell him. “I’m a man on a mission.”
“I’m just fucking with you. I believe in you. You’re probably the most determined person I’ve ever met.”
“Seriously?”
He nods, his face serious. “Yeah. You totally weaseled your way into our lives.”
I shove him again, chuckling. Jackson comes bounding into the room, his backpack hanging off his shoulder. He’s finished almost all of his college applications, so now we’re just waiting to hear back. Columbia is his first choice, and I’m hoping he ends up there, too. It would be great if I could return to grad school with him.
“Has she written you back yet? Or texted?” Jackson asks, glancing over my shoulder.
I shake my head. “Still nothing.”
He clasps my shoulder and smiles. “She’ll come around. I know she will.”
His confidence in me feels like a salve on my wound, but I wish I could share in his assuredness. Jackson and Darius make coffee in the kitchen while I finish the last few sentences of my latest letter with a sigh. I fiddle with my phone, debating. Before I can back out, I dial Abbi’s number again, tapping my foot in anticipation. She picks up on the third ring, her annoyance immediately clear.
“I gotta give you credit for persistence, but you do know I have a life, right?”
“Please don’t hang up,” I beg her. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Another one? You’re starting to get pathetic, Liam.”
I smirk, rubbing the back of my neck. “So I’ve heard.”
She sighs. “What do you want?”
“You’re coming back to the city for Whitney’s opening tomorrow night, right?”
“Of course. You think I’d miss my best friend’s big night?” she snaps.
Jackson waves goodbye from the doorway, coffee in hand, and I wave back. I cross the room towards the hallway, hoping for a semblance of privacy.
“I wasn’t insinuating that. I just?—”
“Make your point, Liam. I already helped you out once by convincing Whitney to go home and talk to you. I’m not on your side, so stop trying to loop me into whatever grand gesture you have planned.”
“We want the same thing, which is Whitney’s happiness, right?”
She clicks her tongue. “Yes, I want my best friend to be happy, but I’m not convinced you’re the one to help with that, to be honest.”
Running my hand through my hair, I suppress a sigh. I should have known calling Abbi would leave me on the verge of a verbal castration.
“I love her. You know I do,” I point out.
“Sometimes that isn’t enough, Liam.”
“I know. I know, but tomorrow night is my last chance to show her how much she means to me.”
Abbi hums on the other line. “And why is that? Why is her big night your opportunity to make everything about you and your fuck-ups? God, you’re such a guy.”
I consider her words. “Do you have a better idea? A man can only bare his heart out so many times before he gives up. I don’t know what else to do.”
“Just be there,” Abbi says, her tone softening. “Don’t come with some romantic proclamation or symbol of your dying adoration. Just show up for her. Let her know that you’re gonna keep showing up, no matter what happens. If two weeks of unrequited letter-writing is all it takes for you to give up on your marriage, you aren’t the man I thought you were.”
“That was almost a compliment,” I point out.
“Don’t push your luck.”
I rub at my chest, trying to dull the ache there. “She told you about the letters?”
“Yes,” she replies, giving nothing away.
“What did she say? Does she like them? Does she hate them? Should I stop?”
“Goodbye, Liam.”
Abbi hangs up before I can ask any further questions. I shake my head, frustrated. Still, I ponder her suggestion and find myself reluctantly agreeing with her point. The letters were meant to be a gesture, a vulnerable showcase of the depth of my feelings. She knows how I feel, so I don’t have to keep reminding her. Tomorrow isn’t about us, it’s about Whitney.
My girl needs me to show up?
I’ll show up every single day.
I had no idea what to expect for a grand opening of a salon, but when I get to All Rhodes , the place is packed, people milling about with mimosas or sitting in salon chairs with hairdressers running their fingers through their hair.
It looks amazing. I knew that Whitney spent a long time working with the interior designer to make the place stand out, but I didn’t expect it to look like this. The entrance is like a garden, filled with plants and bright light that give the place an airy, welcoming feel. Beyond that, the chairs and vanities are a sea-foam green, channeling a more classic 1950s look. It’s a perfect blend of modern and vintage, and it feels so indescribably Whitney .
Glancing around the room, I pat at my thighs nervously. I don’t see Whitney anywhere, but I find Abbi across the room. She meets my eyes with one eyebrow raised, a challenge in her gaze. I offer her a small wave, and she pats Shane’s arm, gesturing towards me. They cross over to me, the air thick and awkward between us.
Shane breaks the silence with a small smile. “How are you?”
“I’m okay. Been better.” I glance around, still searching for Whitney. “Where is she?” I ask, unable to hide the desperation in my voice.
Abbi sighs and glances around. “In the back.”
I move immediately to head towards the back of the salon to find her, but Abbi stops me, laying a hand on my arm.
“Remember what I said,” she says. “This day is about her.”
With a sharp nod, I slip away and weave through the crowds of people, ignoring the smiles from a few familiar faces and going straight to the back of the room. Taking a deep breath, I push open the door.
Whitney is standing behind a desk, rifling through a stack of papers. She looks beautiful. She’s wearing a soft pink blazer with matching pants, her hair slicked back in a tight bun at the base of her neck. I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t seen her in two weeks, but I swear she’s glowing. When she hears the door shut, she sighs, a heavy, frustrated sound.
“Sharon, where did you put the invoices for the?—”
She inhales a sharp breath as she glances up, shock coloring her features as she realizes it’s me standing in the doorway. I take a hesitant step towards her, taking her in.
“Hi,” I whisper with a soft smile, my hand going automatically to the nape of my neck. I’m not sure if she’s going to kick me out or start yelling at me, but she just eyes me warily for a long moment before speaking.
“Hi,” she replies.
The sound of her voice fills me with warmth. I want to reach for her and wrap her in my arms, but instead I fiddle with the hair at the base of my neck, my fingers itching anxiously.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her, my voice scratchy. I clear my throat, trying to find steadiness. “How are you feeling?”
She swallows, her throat bobbing as she glances away from me, breaking our eye contact. “Good. Overwhelmed, but good.”
I nod, tapping my fingers against my thigh. “That’s good.”
For a moment, neither of us speak.
“Everything looks amazing. I can’t believe… I mean, I can believe it. You did a fantastic job, Whitney. You should be so proud.”
She pulls her shoulders back, straightening. I expect her to make some excuse or try to downplay what an achievement this place is, but she nods her head, agreeing. “I’m very happy with how everything turned out,” she says, meeting my eyes with a soft smile.
I try to hide my flinch at the deeper meaning in her words, praying that she’s talking about the salon and not us. She seems to see it anyway, her brow furrowing.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I glance away from her. “Well,” I manage. “I just wanted to tell you what a fantastic job you’ve done. Not that you need me to tell you that, but I’m really glad I could see it. I know how much it means to you, and it’s really special, Whit.”
“Thank you.”
My heart thumps in my chest, the sound of it echoing in my ears. Is this it? It all ends here, in a half-empty office?
“I won’t stay long,” I force out. “I don’t want to… yeah, take away from your big day or anything. I just wanted to say congratulations, so…”
I reach for the door handle, but the sound of Whitney’s voice stops me as she moves around the desk, meeting me near the door.
“Wait,” she says, urgency in her voice. “I thought… do you have something for me? Another letter, maybe?”
There’s a little humor in her tone, and I can’t help the fall of my shoulders. She’s laughing at me. I thought my words would show her how much she means to me and everything that I’ve been struggling with, but she thinks I’m a joke. I can handle her anger, I can even handle her hating me, but I don’t know if I can handle her laughing at me.
“Don’t,” I manage on a whisper, my voice shaking. “I know I fucked up, but please don’t be unkind.”
I reach for the handle again, but she stops me, laying her hand over mine. My whole body stiffens at the contact, the warmth of her hand on mine causing my legs to lock up, keeping me in place.
“What? Wait, no, what’s wrong?” she asks.
I whirl on her, anger rising in my chest. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Those letters were…” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ward off the flurry of emotions whirling through me, pushing the anger down. “Forget it.”
Before I can move past her, she reaches for my arms, holding me in place.
“Stop, stop. This is coming out wrong somehow,” she says, her voice pleading. “I loved the letters. They were perfect.”
I force my eyes open, turning to meet her gaze. Her brown eyes are staring up at me with a familiar warmth, an adoration in her expression that I swore I would never see again. The sight of it is like a lightning bolt to the chest, a surge of hope spreading through me.
“You liked them?” I whisper.
She nods, her eyes shining. “I love them, Liam.”
I shake my head, not understanding. “But I thought…”
“I love you.”
My whole body freezes. I blink down at her, sure I must have heard her wrong. Sure that I must be dreaming, that I must have fallen into a fantasy of mine, because there’s no way I’m hearing those words from her lips after all this time. She must read something in my expression, because she lifts my hand and presses her lips to the center of my palm, leaving a soft kiss there.
“I love you,” she repeats.
“Whitney,” I exhale, my voice shaking. I stumble closer to her, leaning my forehead against hers in disbelief. “Please… I can’t. If you aren’t ready, if you can’t forgive me?—”
She shakes her head, reaching her palm up to caress the side of my face, her fingers resting along my jawline. I lean into her touch unconsciously, my eyes fluttering.
“I already forgave you,” she whispers.
Moisture gathers on my lashes, and I blink furiously, studying her expression. “How?” I ask.
She smiles brightly, pressing closer to me. “Because I love you.”
My eyes flicker back and forth between hers, searching. Unable to wait another moment, I lower my head and press my lips against hers, kissing her with fervor. She meets my lips with a wild abandon, gasping into my mouth, both of us clutching each other wildly. It’s a kiss that feels like the first day of spring, like a sip of ice cold water in an endless desert, like everything I’ve ever needed.
It feels like home.
I pull back from her, staring at her beautiful face in disbelief. I can’t help the laugh that bursts forth, a gleeful feeling spreading through me. “You love me?” I whisper.
“Always.”
A tear escapes, strolling down my face. I go to wipe at it, trying to hide the overwhelming emotion coming over me, but she stops me, pressing her lips softly against the wet trail.
“I missed you so much,” I confess against her neck, tugging her as close to me as I can. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
She shakes her head, pulling back to meet my gaze again. “No more apologies. No more tears.”
“I promise,” I start. “I promise I won’t run away again. I trust you with everything?—”
She silences me with a soft kiss, her hands caressing the side of my face. I can’t help but sigh into her arms, exhaustion overwhelming me, the torment of the past two weeks finally releasing from my body.
“Not now,” she whispers. “I want to show you something.”
She steps out of my arms, and I immediately miss the warmth of her. She goes back behind the desk and pulls out a piece of paper, crossing back over to me and holding it out for me to look at. I hesitate, unsure, but she pushes it towards me with a smile.
I take the paper from her hands, reading through it. I’m only halfway through when my mouth falls open in disbelief.
“Whit,” I choke out, the tears I just swallowed resurfacing. “Are you sure?”
She nods, that calm, confident smile still resting in her expression. “More sure than I’ve ever been of anything.”
I glance down at the piece of paper, warmth filling my chest.
Whitney Clark.
She legally changed her name. She’s officially Mrs. Clark. My wife.
My fucking wife.
I sweep her up in my arms, pressing kisses against her lips, her chin, her nose, everywhere I can touch.
“I want to marry you,” I breathe against her neck.
She chuckles lightly, running her hands across the broad expanse of my back as her lips brush against my ear. “Last I checked, we were married.”
I pull back and meet her gaze. “I mean for real. I want my parents there. I want Darius and Jackson there. I want everyone to know that you’re mine forever.”
Her eyes widen, a smile spreading across her face. “Really?”
“Whitney Clark,” I say, just because it feels so damn good on my lips. “Whitney Clark is my wife!” I shout the words, and she presses her hand against my lips, muffling the sound. “Say yes,” I beg her, reaching my hand up to intertwine our fingers and press a kiss to the back of her hand.
“Yes, Liam Clark,” she announces, her eyes locking onto mine, shining with love and hope and a million other beautiful emotions. “I will marry you. Again.”