Chapter 19
Tessa
With Ruthie asleep in the bed next to me, I scroll through my conversation with Jo from after the game for at least the tenth time.
Jo
Go sports!
Wow…
Jo
What? Idk the difference between a touchdown and a home run.
No, not you. Him…
Jo
Liam? That good, huh?
He was just so…
Jo
Hot?
Talented.
But… maybe that too.
Jo
OOH! I knew it! This is perfect. Trevor's gone, and you've finally come to your senses.
Stop. Trevor and I JUST broke up. Plus, Liam's my boss. And I love Ruthie. I can't risk this.
Jo
You stop. I'm still not convinced you and Trevor were ever really dating. We didn't even meet him. Clearly that was going nowhere. And Liam may be your boss, but scouring the internet is sort of my thing, and damn… Mr. Montgomery could get it.
Shut up. Besides, it won't matter if I have to quit to come take care of your ass. Why have your numbers been so low lately?
Jo
Don’t change the subject… and if you’re going to, tell me where you’re actually going to live now that you ditched your tool-bag roommate.
I don't know, but I'll figure it out. I'm halfway there… Brooke took Alex over to pack up my stuff and take it to Drew's with the rest of it. It's a giant city… how hard can it be to find an apartment?
Jo
Well, of course, you could stay with me. But not because you're worried about me. I'm fine. But I guess you can't give up that fine ass—I mean job. Unless you want to commute?
I'll keep you posted... Make sure you're carrying your glucose drops!
Jo
Love you too, Tessie-Lou.
Jo's unhinged—always has been. The girl has a podcast called Shots Fired where she uses every excuse in the book to air out strangers' business. It's popular—and she absolutely uses it for evil.
But I love her.
She says the things that no one else wants to say—or hear—and it can be refreshing.
Sometimes. It can also be unnerving. Jo treats honesty like oxygen—necessary, pure, therapeutic even.
But I often wonder if what she's saying is completely truthful, or if it's just bits and pieces of facts spoken with total disregard for any repercussions.
Liam is attractive, there's no denying that.
He's well-built, talented, a great dad, and he wears a baseball hat like it was handmade for him by God himself.
But he's my boss, and I love this job and Ruthie too much to risk that.
There's a reason they fell into my lap as soon as the Randolphs told me they were moving—and right before I ended things with Trevor.
I truly believe that this is where I'm supposed to be.
So, to ruin that over, what?—a sweet guy and baseball thighs? —feels irresponsible at best.
There was one thing Jo was right about though.
I need to figure out where I'm going to live.
I could stay with her and commute back to Golden City each day—I'm with the Montgomerys enough that it could be worth the drive.
But my life is here. My friends are here.
And I don't know if I could live with one of my siblings, even if it was the sister that I'm closest to.
She could probably use reminders to watch her sugar and not so eagerly drag strangers on the internet without their consent, but living with her could be more work than help.
I'd drop everything for any of my brothers or sisters, and sometimes I think they count on that.
Ruthie stirs beside me, and it tears my attention away from my screen.
She rolls over to her side, and I smile at the soft clicking sounds she makes with her tongue in her sleep.
It's moments like this—and when she slurped up the last drop of ice cream soup from her souvenir hat—where I almost forget she's nearly a tween.
Just as she settles again, a low whir rises from the door, cutting through the silence.
I spring to my feet, either to catch the interruption before it wakes her or because I feel caught.
Like in middle school when my mom would come into my bedroom while I was just thinking about a boy from school, and I was positive she would be able to tell without any proof at all.
I take three long strides from the rocking recliner I was in to the heavy hotel door and catch it as it opens. I peer through the crack, Liam's face on the other side, his expression frozen like the rest of him.
"She's asleep," I explain, my voice barely a whisper.
He drags his bottom lip between his teeth—not that I notice—then nods toward the hall.
I hesitate just a second before slipping out, closing the door behind me as quietly as I can.
When it clicks shut, I spin to find a new version of Liam I've never seen before—hair wet and hanging over his forehead, cheeks flushed from the humid air of the pool, body tired.
I force a smile, gulping down my reaction, and he points to the door next to him.
"Can we?" he asks, tousling his locks with his fingertips.
I ignore my immediate thoughts about him coming into my hotel room, and instantly create a mental map of the space. Did I leave a bra out? Is there a thong draped over the bed?
When I realize I packed my things away before housekeeping came earlier, my shoulders relax, and I nod, reaching for my key in the back pocket of my jeans.
I slip the card into the door, and wait for the same humming sound that stirred me just a minute ago. When I hear it, I slowly press down on the handle and push the door open.
"Sorry," Liam says, walking into the room behind me. "I didn't think she'd be asleep that fast."
I shake my head, tossing my key and my phone onto the dresser. "Don't be. I didn't do anything. She was laying there recapping what felt like every detail of the afternoon, and next thing I know… "
He laughs and plops onto the edge of my bed. "Sounds about right. You guys must have had yourselves a day."
I smile as I lean back onto the heavy, cherry-stained dresser right in front of him. "It was fun. Thanks for bringing me with you this weekend."
He shrugs. "Thanks for coming."
A silence falls between us—amongst the apologies and pleasantries—that I might question if I didn't already know he was exhausted.
I can see it in the way his lids blink slowly and the way his shoulders slump forward.
I know Ruthie is safe inside the room beside us, but I start to question if there's something else he needs when my phone buzzes on the dresser behind me.
I turn around, and once again see the blinking red check mark I've seen too often in my notifications. Jo's SweetCheck app is telling me her numbers are too low. Again.
I sigh.
"Is that Trevor?" Liam asks. His voice is dull, but for a moment, his glazed eyes spring to life.
"Oh, uh…" I twist back, fumbling my phone as if I need to see the message again to make sure.
"I'm sorry," Liam admits, rubbing the back of his neck. He exhales, almost to himself. "I don't even know why I asked. That's none of my—"
"No, it's fine," I cut in. His question lands like the final dose of reality I needed. Trevor hasn't called. Not now. Not at all since I found him dick-deep in his coworker's throat. "We, um… we actually broke up."
He doesn't respond—not with words anyway—but he sits up straighter, his hands landing in his lap. "Oh. I didn't know."
I laugh softly, taking a vested interest in the thick, plush carpet of our high-end hotel, embarrassed for some reason. Like I shouldn't be sharing. Like it shouldn't have taken this long. "How would you?" I ask genuinely, letting the silence settle back in.
For a moment I think he might say something else, his lips parting slightly as he searches my face. But then, he stands, and instead of reacting to the news, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his warmups. "I'll let you get some sleep."
It's not lost on me that he's apologized to me several times tonight—but not for this. Liam pauses, like he's waiting for me to respond. "Okay, yeah, thanks."
He tips his chin down and takes a step forward, but instead of turning to the door, he sucks in a sharp, strangled breath and folds in half, reaching for his calf.
"Are you okay?" I ask, concerned.
"Fuck," he groans, his voice strained. He falls toward me, one hand still on his lower leg, the other landing on the dresser so close to me the sleeve of his jacket brushes my hip.
He grunts a sound not intended to be anything but ragged and drops his head forward, still bent over. We're so close—him pinning me to the dresser without touching me at all and the faint smell of chlorine quite literally smacking me in the face.
"What can I do?" I whisper almost to myself, my hands glued to my side so I don't reach out and touch him.
Liam rubs at his muscle another few seconds, his hand beside me white-knuckling the wood.
Some completely screwed up side of me almost hopes his agony doesn't end—I like being caught between his bulging forearms with his broad shoulders boxing me in.
But then, with one slow, steady exhale that floats past my neck, Liam drags his head up, only inches from mine.
"Shit, sorry." The words crawl from his throat, tired and tormented, then his eyes meet mine. There's that word again.
I swallow. "Don't be."
The color in his irises darken, and I convince myself it's because they've changed to match the evergreen in his jacket. But for just a second—the one where they drop to my lips—I consider that… maybe it's not.
We stay like that for another beat, both of us still as if any movement at all might set the world spinning again. I hold my breath, the perfect contrast to his chest heaving in strong, slow waves, and every minute we've spent together—each push and every pull—rushes through my mind.
A moment later—both too long and too soon—Liam slowly backs away, his hand on the dresser lingering like he's reluctant to surrender the space between us. "I didn't think I was dehydrated, but with the heat from the pool room… "
I clear my throat quietly and nod, shaking away the image of his mouth so close to mine. "Right, no, of course." Spinning quickly, I drop down to the mini-fridge hidden in the cabinet of the dresser and pull out a bottle of water. "Here," I say, popping back up and extending it to him.
He stares at it like a fork in the road, then his face softens as he reaches for it. "Thanks, Tessa."
Just like it did earlier, his gratitude hits me in the chest. "Sure."
He heads toward the door, but halfway there, he spins back slowly. "Are you… okay? Ya know, with the whole breakup thing?" My stomach rises as I even consider discussing this with him. "If you need a few days off, or—"
"Oh, no," I blurt as if the offer is ridiculous. With our muscle-cramp moment still on my mind—along with the conversation with my sister—anxiety takes over, and the possibility of talking to Liam about my breakup only makes it worse.
I turn to him, then backtrack. "I mean, thank you. That's very nice of you. But… I'm good, seriously."
He nods, and not that he needs to, but I notice he doesn't argue. Instead, he exhales heavily. "Alright," he finally says. "I guess I'll see you in the morning."
"Yep." I drop my hands onto my hips awkwardly. "I'll see you then."
He presses his lips into a straight line as if he's holding back his next thought, and reaches for the door. I finally let the breath I'm apparently holding seep out, only to inhale sharply when he twists back around.
"For what it's worth," he says, his hand still on the handle. Now I'm the one who feels at a crossroads—anticipating the end of his statement like it'll change everything.
And maybe it will.
Liam hesitates—or maybe second guesses—then sighs. "Even from what little I saw, you deserve better."
I stare at him, my chest tightening as his words soothe something in me that I didn't realize needed healing until now.
He's right. And the validation that washes over me quiets the voice inside my head that insists that I brought this on myself.
That me settling for good enough was the excuse—the permission—that Trevor needed for treating me this way.
But Liam doesn't owe me anything. He could have walked out that door without another word. Hell, he could have skipped right over it from the very start.
But he didn't.
And now, he's looking at me with his eye contact gentle and steadfast. His expression is sweet and genuine, but also strong and—quite frankly, undeniably sexy—softened by his tired smile and the mess of hair falling over his forehead.
He tips his chin down as if that's all he had left to say, then slips out the door.
I stay frozen, his scent still consuming me, the air still buzzing with our closeness.
There's a physical wall between us now, but our almost-moment still hangs there too, my heartbeat almost too loud for the silence.
I'm still thinking of the way he hovered over me, still picturing his hand on top of the dresser.
Still reeling from it all.
Trevor is gone, and I have no place to live when we get back to Golden City, yet somehow I feel less alone and more at peace than I have in a while.
The purr of Liam and Ruthie's lock opening bounces off the walls in the hallway and slips into my room. It calms me—grounding me again.
The sound of one door opening just after another one closes.
The sound of possibility.