14. Cracks in the Armor
Chapter 14
Cracks in the Armor
Hannah
G olden rays of morning sunlight filter through the kitchen window, casting dappled shadows across the worn linoleum floor, reminding me again how much I wish I could replace them.
Despite my desire to remodel every inch of this house, I’ve held off on doing too many big projects at once. Regardless of what the courts ordered, I still don’t trust in the long-term reliability of the payments from Charlie. Knowing his parents, they’re fighting the court’s decision and have the power to get it overturned.
I pause in my pancake-flipping to watch the play of light, mesmerized by how it transforms even the shabby details of my parents’ old house into something almost beautiful. The gentle warmth on my skin feels like a caress, reminding me of Liam’s tender touches from last night that still linger in my memory.
He slipped out early this morning, not wanting Cam to find him here. Cam might have been fine with it, but he’s already dealing with enough change. As much as I wish Liam were still here, I don’t want to throw too much at Cam too fast.
My heart flutters at the thought of him, followed immediately by the familiar twist of anxiety. Everything feels so precarious lately—like I’m walking a tightrope between hope and terror, between the promise of love and the shadow of past pain. Charlie’s threats echo in my mind, a sinister backdrop to even my brightest moments.
The pancake I’m cooking starts to smoke slightly, jerking me from my reverie. I quickly flip it, grimacing at the slightly blackened edge. At least it’s not completely ruined—unlike so many things in my life that I couldn’t salvage.
“Mom! Is breakfast ready yet?” Cam’s voice carries down from upstairs, full of early morning enthusiasm that makes me smile despite my dark thoughts.
“Almost!” I call back, sliding the slightly overcooked pancake onto the growing stack. “Just wash up first!”
The sound of his footsteps thundering down the hallway brings both joy and a reflexive tension to my shoulders. For so long, any loud noise in our house meant danger. But this is different—this is just a happy kid, excited for breakfast and another day at his new school.
It didn’t take long to get him enrolled. I worried that with it being so late in the school year, that it didn’t make sense to have him start. But when I submitted his records, they assured me he was well ahead of schedule compared to others in his grade. They felt that this time would allow him to adjust to a new environment without the added stress of learning new material.
And they were right. He’s adapted so well to public school. After years of homeschooling—forced isolation, really, though Charlie always framed it as “protecting” our son—I’d worried Cam would struggle. Instead, he’s thriving, making friends and showing an excitement for learning that warms my heart.
The kitchen fills with the scent of butter and maple syrup as I finish the last pancake. Cam appears in the doorway, hair still slightly damp from his shower, wearing the new t-shirt Liam bought him last weekend. The sight sends another flutter through my chest—both grateful and anxious about how seamlessly Liam has woven himself into our lives.
“Smells good,” Cam says, sliding into his usual seat at the table. His eyes light up as I set a plate in front of him, stacked with fluffy pancakes drowned in syrup—just the way he likes them.
I ruffle his hair as I pass, earning a playful groan of protest. “Careful not to get syrup in your hair this time.”
He grins sheepishly, remembering yesterday’s sticky incident. “That was one time!”
“Mhmm.” I settle into my own chair with a smaller stack, watching as he digs in with enthusiasm. These quiet morning moments feel precious—just the two of us, safe and happy in our own little world.
Except it’s not just our world anymore, is it? Liam spends a lot of time with us. He’s integrated himself seamlessly into our lives.
My gaze drifts to the refrigerator where Cam’s latest drawing is proudly displayed. He’d brought it home from art class yesterday—a sketched masterpiece of one of the characters in his video game. It’s quite good.
The image makes my throat tight with emotion. I had no idea my son could draw. It makes me wonder how many other talents and skills he has that have gone missed because of Charlie’s abuse.
“Hey, honey?” I begin carefully, cutting my pancake into precise squares. “Can I ask you something?”
Cam looks up, cheeks bulging with food. He swallows quickly. “Sure, Mom.”
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “Can we talk about you calling Liam ‘Dad’ recently.” My fingers fidget with my fork. “I just wanted to make sure... that is, I want to know if you’re really okay with that?”
His brow furrows slightly, considering the question with a seriousness that makes him seem older than his twelve years. “Yeah, I am. He’s... he’s different, you know? Not like Charlie.”
The casual way he says Charlie’s name, not “dad” anymore, sends a complicated mix of emotions through me. Relief that he’s separated himself from that toxicity, guilt that he had to experience it at all.
“Different how?” I prompt gently, wanting—needing—to understand his perspective.
Cam’s face lights up. “He’s cool! Like, really cool. And his whole family is awesome. Uncle Chase lets me help with the farm animals, and Uncle Mac showed me how to change a tire yesterday. Way better than Charlie’s stuck-up family with all their fancy parties and rules about being quiet all the time.”
I have to blink back sudden tears, overwhelmed by the pure joy in his voice. This is what I’d always wanted for him—family, love, the freedom to just be a kid.
“And Dad.” Cam continues, pushing a piece of pancake through a puddle of syrup. “He actually wants to spend time with me, you know? He doesn’t just pretend when other people are watching.”
The observation hits like a punch to the gut. How much had Cam noticed over the years? How deeply had Charlie’s performative parenting affected him?
“Plus,” he adds with a slightly mischievous grin, “he makes you smile. Like, real smiles.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Oh really?”
“Uh-huh.” He shovels another huge bite into his mouth. “When’s he coming over again?”
The question catches me off guard, though I don’t know why. Liam has become a regular presence in our home, stopping by almost daily to work on repairs or just spend time with us. Each visit chips away a little more at my carefully constructed walls, making it harder to remember why I’m trying to keep my distance.
“Actually,” I say slowly, “I was thinking of inviting him for dinner tonight. Would that be okay with you?”
“Yes!” Cam’s enthusiasm makes me laugh. “Can we have spaghetti? Grams says it’s his favorite.”
Of course she did. Mila Mutter has been not-so-subtly encouraging this relationship from the start, sharing little tidbits about Liam whenever I see her. I should probably be annoyed by the matchmaking, but honestly? It’s nice to have someone in my corner, someone who wants this to work as much as I’m starting to realize I do.
“Spaghetti it is.” I agree, glancing at the clock. “But first, we need to get moving or you’ll be late for school.”
Cam wolfs down his last few bites and rushes to grab his backpack while I quickly clear the dishes. As I load them into the sink, my reflection catches in the window—tired eyes, hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing one of Liam’s old t-shirts that I definitely didn’t mean to sleep in.
I dry my hands on a dish towel and lean against the counter, letting out a long breath. The morning sunshine continues streaming through the window, warming my skin. Everything feels different now—lighter somehow, despite the lingering shadows of my past.
My phone buzzes on the counter. A text from Liam.
Liam
Hope you slept well. Miss you already.
A smile tugs at my lips as I type back.
Hannah
Dinner tonight? Cam requested your favorite. Spaghetti.
Liam
Wouldn’t miss it. Need me to pick anything up?
Hannah
Just yourself.
Actually, maybe garlic bread?
Liam
Done. See you tonight.
I tuck the phone in my pocket, warmth spreading through my chest. Who would have thought I’d be here, in this moment? Finally feeling safe enough to let someone in again, to trust that not every touch will hurt, that love doesn’t have to mean control.
“Mom! I can’t find my science homework!” Cam’s panicked voice breaks through my thoughts.
“Check the coffee table!” I call back, already moving toward the living room. “I saw you working on it there last night!”
The familiar chaos of our morning routine takes over—finding lost papers, double-checking backpacks, making sure teeth are brushed. But underneath it all runs a current of anticipation, knowing that tonight we’ll be sharing our table with the man who’s slowly becoming such an important part of our lives.
Paint fumes fill my nostrils as I dip the roller into the pan, ready to tackle another section of wall. Today is all about transforming this space—erasing the dingy beige walls that hold too many dark memories and replacing them with a warm sage green that speaks of new beginnings.
I’m grateful for the day off from Frank’s. Between work and getting Cam settled into school, finding time to work on house projects myself has been challenging. I’m starting to feel bad that Liam is doing all the renovations while I’m either at work or watching him while I cook or take care of Cam.
But standing here in my old paint-splattered clothes, seeing the fresh color slowly covering years of neglect, fills me with a sense of purpose. Each stroke feels like reclaiming something I lost long ago.
The quiet of the house wraps around me like a familiar blanket. Cam left for school an hour ago, already adapting to his new routine better than I’d hoped. The pride in his voice when he told me about making new friends last week still makes my heart swell. He’s thriving, despite everything we’ve been through.
A noise from outside pulls me from my thoughts. My heart stutters when I recognize the familiar rumble of Liam’s truck. Through the window, I watch him climb out, toolbox in hand. Even from here, the sight of him makes my pulse quicken—tall and solid in his work clothes, moving with that quiet confidence that’s always been uniquely his.
What is he doing here? We aren’t supposed to meet until dinner. Yet my body already hums with awareness, remembering his touch from last night. The way his hands mapped every inch of my skin. The tender way he kissed each scar.
A knock at the door drags me away from my thoughts. Setting down the paint roller, I try to calm my racing heart as I move to answer it. When I open the door, Liam’s presence fills the frame, and my breath catches at the warmth in his dark eyes.
“Hey,” he says softly, lips quirking into that crooked smile that still makes my knees weak after all these years.
“I didn’t expect to see you until tonight.” I manage, though I can’t keep the pleasure from my voice.
He shrugs, looking almost sheepish. “Saw your car in the driveway. Figured you could use an extra set of hands.” His eyes drift to the paint supplies scattered around the living room. “Plus, that upstairs faucet still needs fixing.”
“The faucet, huh?” I arch an eyebrow, fighting a smile. “That’s why you’re here?”
“Well.” He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. “Maybe I just didn’t want to wait until dinner to see you. Plus, I’ve got a surprise in the truck.”
The honesty in his voice makes something flutter in my chest. This is still so new—this tentative thing growing between us again. Some days it feels as fragile as spun glass, other days as solid as the foundation beneath our feet.
I look past him, but I can’t see what’s hidden in the truck bed. “What did you bring me?”
He gives me a huge smile. “A swing for the front porch. I’ll put it up after I fix that faucet.”
“Liam.” My heart warms at the gesture. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He rubs the back of his neck and looks around like he’s suddenly nervous. “I don’t, but I wanted to. I like doing things for you.”
“Alright, well … thank you,” I say, stepping back to wave him through. As he passes, his arm brushes mine, sending little sparks of electricity dancing across my skin.
The atmosphere shifts the moment he enters, filling the house with a warmth that has nothing to do with the morning sun. Everything feels more real somehow with him here—the walls I’m painting, the home I’m trying to build, the future I’m daring to imagine.
“Looking good in here.” He comments, surveying the half-painted walls. “Green suits you.”
“You think?” I glance around, still unsure if I made the right choice. “I wasn’t sure if it was too dark.”
“It’s perfect.” He sets down his toolbox and moves closer, until he’s standing right behind me. “Makes your eyes look even more beautiful.”
His words send heat flooding through me. When I turn to face him, the intensity of his gaze steals my breath. How does he still affect me this way? After everything we’ve been through, everything that’s changed, one look from him can still make me feel like that teenage girl who first fell in love with the boy next door.
“Liam.” His name comes out barely above a whisper.
His hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my skin with infinite gentleness. “God, I missed you,” he murmurs.
I chuckle. “You just saw me early this morning.”
“Too long.” And then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss starts soft, almost reverent, but quickly deepens as need takes over. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer as his tongue slides against mine.
A small sound escapes my throat as his hands slide down my sides to grip my hips. He uses the leverage to pull me flush against him, and I can feel how much he wants me through his jeans. The evidence of his desire makes heat pool low in my belly.
“We should be working on the house.” I manage between kisses, even as my body arches into his touch.
He chuckles against my lips. “This feels like work to me.” His hands slip under my shirt, callused fingers skimming across bare skin. “Very important work.”
A shiver runs through me at the contact. Every touch feels electric, lighting up nerve endings I thought had gone dormant during my years with Charlie. But Liam knows my body—has always known it—even after all this time apart.
His mouth trails down my neck, finding that sensitive spot just below my ear that makes my knees weak.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against my skin. “If this isn’t what you want.”
“Don’t you dare stop.” I breathe, tilting my head to give him better access. My hands slide into his hair, holding him close as he sucks gently at my pulse point.
That seems to snap the last of his restraint. In one fluid motion, he lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively. He carries me the few steps to the stairs, but I shake my head.
“Floor.” I gasp between kisses. “Need you now.”
He groans at my words, carefully lowering us both to the carpet. The synthetic fibers scratch against my back through my thin t-shirt, but I barely notice. Not when Liam is looking at me like that —like I’m something precious and wild all at once.
“Let me see you,” he says softly, fingers playing with the hem of my shirt. “Please?”
The vulnerability in his voice makes my heart ache. I sit up enough to let him pull the paint-stained shirt over my head, leaving me in just my simple cotton bra. For a moment, I feel self-conscious—there’s nothing sexy about my workaday underwear—but the way Liam’s eyes darken banishes that thought.
“Beautiful.” He breathes, hands skimming up my sides. “So fucking beautiful.”
Before I can protest, his mouth is on mine again, stealing any words I might have formed. His kisses are intoxicating—deep and thorough, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of me. When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard.
“Your turn.” I manage, tugging at his t-shirt. He helps me strip it off, and then it’s my turn to stare.
Liam has always been fit, but the years have only enhanced the broad planes of his chest, the defined muscles of his arms. Scars mark his skin here and there—a testament to a life spent working with his hands—and I trace them gently with my fingers.
His breath hitches when I lean forward to press a kiss over his heart. The steady thump beneath my lips grounds me in this moment, reminding me that this is real. He is real, solid and warm beneath my touch.
His hands come up to tangle in my hair as I explore his chest with my mouth, learning the taste of his skin. When I scrape my teeth gently across his nipple, he groans, hips bucking slightly against mine.
“Hannah.” He pants, voice rough with need. “Sweetheart, you’re killing me.”
I smile against his skin, emboldened by his reaction. “Good.”
His laugh turns into another groan as I rock deliberately against his hardening cock straining his jeans. His hands tighten in my hair, pulling me up for another searing kiss that leaves me dizzy with want.
While our mouths war, his clever fingers find the clasp of my bra, unhooking it with practiced ease. I let him pull it off, shivering as cool air hits my newly exposed skin. But then his hands are there, warm and calloused, cupping my breasts with reverent care.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they peak. “You’re perfect.”
Before I can argue, he dips his head to take one sensitive peak into his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue sends pleasure sparking through me, making me arch into his touch with a gasp. He lavishes attention on first one breast then the other until I’m writhing beneath him, desperate for more.
“Please.” I whimper as he scrapes his teeth gently across an oversensitive nipple. “Liam, I need—”
“I know, sweetheart.” He presses a kiss between my breasts. “Let me take my time you.”
He starts moving lower, trailing kisses down my stomach. Each brush of his lips feels like fire against my skin, building the ache between my thighs to an almost unbearable level. When he reaches the waistband of my pants, he looks up at me through dark lashes.
“These need to go,” he says, hooking his fingers under the elastic. I lift my hips, letting him slide both pants and underwear down my legs in one smooth motion.
The cool air hitting my exposed flesh makes me shiver, but then Liam’s hands are there, warming my skin as they slide up my calves, my thighs. He settles between my legs, pressing soft kisses to the inside of my knee.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin, working his way higher with maddening slowness. “Want to taste every inch of you.”
His words send another flood of heat through me. I can feel how wet I am already, just from his kisses and touches. When he finally reaches the apex of my thighs, he pauses, warm breath fanning across my sensitive flesh.
“Please,” I whisper, beyond pride or shame. “Please, Liam.”
The first swipe of his tongue makes me cry out. He laps at me slowly, thoroughly, like a man savoring his favorite meal. One hand splays across my lower belly, holding me still as he explores with lips and tongue.
My fingers thread through his hair as pleasure builds, holding him close while still trying to be gentle. But when he seals his lips around my clit and sucks , gentleness becomes impossible. My back arches off the floor as sensation crashes through me.
“That’s it.” He encourages between licks. “Let me hear you, sweetheart. Want to know how good it feels.”
Heat floods my face at his words, but I can’t hold back the sounds he draws from me. Not when he’s touching me like this, reading my body like a familiar book. His tongue circles my clit as two thick fingers press inside, curling forward to find that spot that always makes me come undone.
“Oh god.” I gasp, hips rocking against his face. “Liam, I’m—I’m close.”
He hums against me, the vibration sending new sparks of pleasure racing up my spine. His fingers pump steadily as his tongue works my clit, building pressure until I feel like I might fly apart at the seams.
When my orgasm hits, it’s like a tidal wave—pleasure so intense it steals my breath. My body clamps down around his fingers as wave after wave crashes through me. Through it all, Liam works me gently, drawing out every aftershock until I have to push his head away, too sensitive to take more.
He crawls back up my body, pressing soft kisses to my heated skin as he goes. When he reaches my mouth, I kiss him deeply, tasting myself on his tongue. My hands fumble with his belt, suddenly desperate to feel all of him.
“Easy.” He chuckles against my lips, helping me with the buckle. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Together we get his jeans and boxers off, and then he’s gloriously naked against me. His cock is hard and thick, already leaking at the tip. When I wrap my hand around him, he groans, hips jerking into my touch.
“Condom.” He manages through gritted teeth as I stroke him slowly. “In my wallet.”
I reach for his discarded jeans with my free hand, fishing the wallet from his back pocket. The foil packet crinkles as I tear it open, but before I can roll it on, Liam catches my wrist.
“Let me,” he says roughly. “If you keep touching me like that, this’ll be over way too fast.”
As much as I still want to touch him, feel his silky skin beneath my fingers, I let him take the condom. While he rolls it on, I take the opportunity to really look at him—all solid muscle and tanned skin, marred here and there by scars that only make him more beautiful to me.
When he’s ready, I expect him to cover my body with his. Instead, he surprises me by lying back, holding out his hand. “Come here,” he says softly. “Want to watch you ride me.”
My heart skips at his words. Charlie never let me be on top—always had to be in control. But Liam... Liam is looking at me like I’m some kind of goddess as I straddle his hips.
His hands settle on my waist as I position myself over him. The head of his cock slides through my wetness, making us both groan. Slowly, so slowly, I sink down onto him, taking him inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside me.
“Fuck.” He groans, fingers flexing against my skin. “You feel incredible.”
I have to pause for a moment, adjusting to the fullness. He’s bigger than I remember, stretching me in the most delicious way. When I finally start to move, rolling my hips experimentally, the friction sends sparks of pleasure racing up my spine.
“That’s it.” He encourages, helping guide my movements. “Take what you need, sweetheart. Want to watch you fall apart on my cock.”
His words send fresh heat flooding through me. I plant my hands on his chest for leverage as I start to ride him properly, finding a rhythm that makes us both gasp. The angle lets him hit spots inside me that makes me see stars, building the pressure all over again.
“So fucking gorgeous like this.” He grits out, hips rising to meet each of my downward strokes. “Love watching you take your pleasure.”
One of his hands slides from my hip to where we’re joined, thumb finding my clit with unerring accuracy. The added stimulation makes me cry out, walls clenching around him as pleasure spirals higher.
“Please,” I whimper, though I’m not sure what I’m begging for. “Liam, please.”
“I’ve got you.” He promises, circling my clit faster. “Come for me again, sweetheart. Need to feel you come on my cock.”
His words push me over the edge. Another orgasm crashes through me like a lightning strike, making my whole body seize as waves of pleasure roll through me. I’m dimly aware of Liam groaning beneath me, his hips jerking up as he follows me over the edge.
I collapse onto his chest, boneless and sated. His arms come around me immediately, holding me close as we both catch our breath. For a long moment, we just lie there, skin cooling in the morning air as our heartbeats slowly return to normal.
“That was...” I trail off, unable to find words adequate to describe what just happened.
“Yeah.” He agrees, pressing a kiss to my temple. “It was.”
Eventually we have to separate, dealing with the condom and cleaning up. But when Liam pulls me back into his arms, something feels different. The walls I’ve built around my heart show definite signs of cracking, and for once, I’m not afraid of what that means.
As I curl into his warmth, surrounded by the scent of sex and paint and him , I realize that maybe some things are worth the risk of being broken. Maybe some loves are strong enough to overcome any obstacle.
Maybe this time, we’ll get it right.