Chapter 28
Liam
Seven minutes.
That's how long I've been sitting at the edge of the chair in my living room, staring at the sweatshirt I threw at Tessa now draped over the arm of the couch.
When I walked in, the sink was running upstairs, but the soft sound of the water bouncing off porcelain didn't sound faint to me. It sounded loud—taunting. Like it was screaming a reminder of exactly where she was and why I shouldn't be thinking about her.
I knew better than to go upstairs—or even look in that direction, but I didn't know what else to do.
I'm all ready to go get Tess's stuff. I cooled off—from the game and the fact that she had Holloway's name on her shirt.
I showered. I forced myself to get my head on straight.
So… I sat. And I'm still here sitting, waiting for her to come back down.
The floor creaks upstairs—once, twice—and then there's a soft scuff of her feet at the top of the steps.
I glue myself to the chair, resisting every urge to bounce to my feet and meet her at the landing.
Instead, I empty my lungs and drag a hand down my face, sit up straighter and attempt to look completely at ease.
She continues down the stairs, the smell of her—stronger than ever—drifting into the room before her. My pulse quickens, which is ridiculous. It's just Tessa. And we're going to load my truck up with a bunch of heavy boxes. So, why am I so on edge?
Footsteps hit the last few stairs—softy, cautiously—as if she's testing them.
Does she know I'm here?
Is she nervous too?
I pull my phone from my pocket and lock my eyes on the screen to look busy—to do literally anything but stare at the doorway waiting for her to walk through it. But there's no point. The second I hear her round the corner, my gaze darts to her.
"Oh, hey," she says normally—unbothered.
She's in leggings, and she's swapped my sweatshirt for another. This one doesn't swallow her shape like mine did, but it also doesn't make my mouth run dry.
"Hey, you ready?" I ask, impressing myself with how steady my voice is.
Her eyes flick to the hoodie on the couch like she's not sure if we should talk about the way I forced her into it earlier, then nods. "Ready if you are."
Her words sound like a test—or maybe a challenge.
Like the fate of the whole sweatshirt debacle is in my hands.
I consider owning up to it now—confessing that I insisted she put it on because I couldn't stand to look at my replacement's name across her back.
But this is the first instance we'll have spent any real time alone.
And I don't want to add to the potential tension by admitting I crossed another boundary I swore I wouldn't.
That I knew I shouldn't.
So I don't.
Instead, I stand, walk to the kitchen and grab my keys off the island. "Let's do it," I say cheerfully, shoving my hands into pockets and hoping to God she doesn't notice they're shaking.
"This is where your stuff is?"
Tessa peers over at me, her cheeks pink. "All I said was that it was in storage."
I tip my chin down, handing her back the phone with the familiar address on the screen.
"To be fair, I didn't know Drew's old building was also your old building. I had most of my stuff stored here when I moved in with… when I moved before. And Brooke said it was okay to leave it since he has the place anyway. Plus, this way if—"
"If things didn't work out staying with us, you wouldn't have to move things twice?"
She shrugs as she smiles sheepishly.
I huff out a laugh and shake my head. "It makes sense," I say, loosening my grip on the steering wheel and dropping my hands into my lap. My eyes meet hers for the first time since she came down the stairs, and for a blip of time, understanding passes between us.
I hope that's not the case.
"Alright, well, at least I know where we're headed."
I back my truck out of the driveway as Tessa's eyes wander out the window. Making my way down our street, I turn the radio up just enough to fill the silence, a familiar song starting as we make it to the top of the development.
Tessa dribbles her fingertips against her thigh to the beat, her phone vibrating on and off in her bag.
"Do you need to get that?" I ask, trying not to sound weird or possessive.
She shakes her head with a roll of her eyes. "It's my siblings' group chat. My brother Grant is sending his class options for the fall semester."
"To get your guys' opinions?"
She scoffs. "Mine mostly, I'm sure. I helped him with his resume last week, so he's probably looking for me to help him fill holes."
I nod, remembering our conversation about her being the leader of the five of them. "It's nice that they trust you."
"Yeah…" she says through a sigh. She stares out the window, and for the first time since it started, Tessa's tapping stops. "Yeah, I guess it is."
I turn onto the main street, thinking about how many times I've gone to my brother for advice, and how much I often wish that Ruthie had that option. "Is he the youngest?"
She grins. "Yeah, he's nineteen—a sophomore this year. Margot's next. She just turned twenty-two. Jo's twenty-five, then there's Owen and me. We're all three years apart."
I do the quickest math I've ever done, a pit forming in my stomach.
Tessa's thirty-one.
I assumed she was around Brooke's age, though I'd never asked for sure. But hearing it out loud hits harder than expected. Our seven-year age gap shouldn't feel so big, but Tessa's just starting over, and I'm—
"I've always felt older than I am," Tess says quickly out of nowhere—or maybe not.
I pause, her words hanging in the air as she waits for my reaction.
"And until recently, I've always felt younger than I am," I laugh honestly.
She rolls her eyes toward the roof of the truck. "You're not old, Liam."
I shrug off her words and the way they soothe something in me. "I guess not on paper. But when you're surrounded by rookies who are barely legal to drink, and your only kid just became a tween… something about pushing forty feels more like pushing extra innings."
Tessa laughs, and it drowns out the radio.
"Well, I don't know anything about the rookies, but I do know that Ruthie still thinks you're pretty cool."
Something about both halves of her statement hit me hard. The blow should loosen something in me, but instead, it knots tighter. "Good," I say vaguely.
The silence that falls between us feels innocent, but the way my grip tightens on the wheel doesn't. Maybe it's the topic, maybe it's the mention of the rookies when the name of one keeps flashing in my mind—eight letters screen-printed across Gator-green cotton.
Either way, there's still a giant, sweatshirt-sized elephant looming between us.
I continue driving, hoping that it dissipates, focusing on the way Tess taps her thumb to the rhythm of the current song.
The quiet isn't uncomfortable, but charged—like if I breathe too deeply I might say something I know I shouldn't.
So I don't. But even with shallow breaths and my eyes on the road, I still catch Tessa peering over.
Whenever the music fades out, there's a tension that replaces it that I can't quite name. Like both of us want to bring it up, but neither knows how—or if we should. I decide that the next time the song switches, I'll mention it. I'll apologize, explain—whatever comes out first.
Luckily, I know this song, and as we drive closer to my old building, I wiggle my toes in my shoes to the beat of the bass. As the last chorus ends, I prepare myself for what I'm going to say. Something like:
I'm sorry about earlier.
Do you understand why it happened?
Please keep my sweatshirt and wear it forever.
But before I can jump in after the last chord plays, another voice speaks on the other side of the radio.
"What's up, G.C. This is Jace Holloway, and you're listening to my favorite radio station—Q.A.B. 10 - The Mix."
Heat spikes underneath my ribs. All movement in the car stops except for my foot pressing too hard on the gas. Tessa stares straight ahead, her eyes wide, her lips pressed into a firm, straight line. It's the proof that I needed.
She knows exactly what happened.
Holloway's voice fills the truck—bright and confident—and a guilt floods my chest that's almost big enough to smother the irritation.
I like Jace. He's cocky and uncallused, and he wears and does shit that I could do without, but I don't have a real reason to hate the guy. If anything, he's eager—sometimes too eager. And way too worried about what comes next for me.
Still… he's taking my spot, and that leaves a taste in my mouth I can't quite swallow. And seeing his name on Tessa's back in place of mine felt like someone twisting the knife I've been trying to pretend isn't there.
Finally, we pull into the parking lot of the highrise apartment complex Drew Anderson and I both used to live in. I whip into a front spot faster than I should and tighten my jaw as I put the truck in park.
I kill the ignition, hoping the engine might not be the only thing that shuts off, and attempt to reset. But the mood shifts heavier. Tessa turns toward me slowly and cautiously, like she isn't sure if saying something will make the moment better or completely set me off.
I swallow, my throat tight. “Ready?” I ask.
Because I am.
To get out of this car. To blow past what just happened.
To forget what happened earlier.
"Liam…" she says hesitantly. "About earlier—"
"Did Drew say if he left a key with the doorman?"
"Oh, uh…" She stutters, looking out the window toward the entrance. "I don't know. I didn't ask. Brooke was with me last time so…"
She fidgets in her seat, and I unclip my seatbelt, a new form of guilt tightening in my chest.
Tessa didn't ask for any of this. And yet, I keep blurring boundaries—or crossing them completely, then pulling back from her… again. That same push and pull she got before.
And I hate that I can't seem to stop.
If anything it's getting worse.