20. A Love Worth Fighting For
Chapter 20
A Love Worth Fighting For
Hannah
M y third outfit of the morning lands in a crumpled heap on my bed, joining the growing pile of rejected clothing. Sunlight streams through my bedroom window, warming the exposed skin of my shoulders as I stand in my underwear, staring hopelessly at my open closet. The clock on my nightstand shows 10:47 AM. Just over an hour until Liam picks me up for our date.
Our first real date since we were still teenagers.
My stomach does a nervous flip at the thought. After everything we’ve been through—the years apart, Charlie’s abuse, the slow rebuilding of trust—this feels monumental. Like stepping off a cliff, hoping someone will catch me.
Liam will catch you , a small voice whispers in my head.
He’s proven that over and over these past few months. But old fears die hard, and Charlie’s shadow still lurks in the corners of my mind, ready to poison even the sweetest moments.
I run my fingers over the hangers, searching for something—anything—that feels right. The problem is, I have no idea where Liam’s taking me, just saying to be ready by noon. And like a dummy, I didn’t ask for specifics. If it were an evening date, I’d know to dress up. But an afternoon? The possibilities seem endless, and my anxiety multiplies with each outfit I consider.
The soft cotton of a green blouse catches my attention. I pull it out, holding it up to my body in the mirror. It’s pretty, casual but not too casual, with delicate embroidery around the neckline. I bought it last month with some extra tips I earned from Frank’s—my first step toward independence after Charlie.
Charlie never let me buy my own clothes. Said I had no sense of style or class, that my tastes made him look bad. The memory of his angry voice makes my hands shake, and I nearly drop the blouse.
No . I won’t let him control me anymore, not even in my thoughts. I pull the blouse over my head with determined movements. The fabric settles softly against my skin, and I smooth it down, trying to see myself through objective eyes.
The woman in the mirror looks... uncertain. The blouse works with my coloring, bringing out the green flecks in my blue eyes. But something’s not quite right. Maybe it’s too casual? Or not casual enough?
“God, what am I doing?” I mutter, tugging at the hem. “I’m not a teenager anymore. This shouldn’t be so hard.”
But it is hard. Everything feels harder now, weighted down by years of trauma and self-doubt. Charlie spent over a decade telling me I was worthless, ugly, lucky he put up with me. Even now, months after leaving him, his voice still whispers in my head, critiquing every choice.
I yank the blouse off, adding it to the reject pile. My reflection stares back at me, and I force myself to really look. The bruises from Charlie’s last attack have faded, but I can still see them in my mind—yellow-green shadows of pain mapped across my cheek. Liam sees them too, kisses each one like he could heal them with tenderness alone.
The thought of Liam’s gentleness makes my heart ache. He’s been so patient, so careful with my broken pieces. He deserves someone whole, someone who isn’t afraid of her own shadow. Not this scarred, uncertain version of me.
Stop it . I scold myself. He wants you. He’s made that clear .
A soft knock at my door interrupts my spiral of self-doubt. “Mom? You decent?”
“Just a second!” I grab my robe from the back of the door, wrapping it tightly around myself. “Okay, come in.”
Cam pokes his head in, takes one look at the chaos of discarded clothes, and bursts out laughing. “Seriously? You’re still not dressed?”
My face blooms with warmth. “I’m working on it. I just... I don’t know where he’s taking me or what to wear or—”
“Mom.” He steps fully into the room, shaking his head with exasperated fondness. “You’re overthinking this. Dad likes you for you.”
Dad . The word still sends a thrill through me every time Cam uses it. He started calling Liam that so naturally, like the title belonged to him all along. Which, of course, it did.
“I know, but—” I gesture helplessly at my closet. “I want to look nice. It’s been so long since I’ve been on a real date, and Liam...” I trail off, uncertain how to express the complexity of my feelings.
Cam surprises me by walking straight to my closet and rifling through the hangers with purpose. “Here,” he says after a moment, pulling out a pale blue sundress I’d forgotten I owned. “Wear this.”
I take the dress, running my fingers over the soft fabric. It’s simple but pretty, with a flowing skirt that hits just below my knees. I bought it years ago, before Charlie’s control got so tight, and somehow managed to keep it hidden in the back of my closet all this time.
“A dress?” I ask uncertainly. “You don’t think it’s too much?”
“Nope.” Cam’s confidence makes me smile. “It’ll look good on you. And wear your hair down—you know, like when you curl it? Dad will like that.”
I stare at my son, amazed by the young man he’s becoming. Despite everything—despite Charlie’s abuse, despite my failures to protect him—he’s grown into someone strong and kind and wise beyond his years.
“When did you get so smart about these things?” I ask, throat tight with emotion.
He shrugs, but I catch the pleased smile tugging at his lips. “I pay attention. And...” He hesitates, then adds quietly, “I want you to be happy, Mom. Both of you.”
The simple honesty in his voice brings tears to my eyes. I pull him into a hug, marveling at how tall he’s gotten. Soon he’ll be taller than me. “I love you so much, you know that?”
“I know.” He hugs me back, then pulls away with typical teenage awkwardness. “Now get dressed. You’ve only got like an hour left.”
“Oh God, don’t remind me.” But I’m smiling as I shoo him out of the room. “I’ll be down soon.”
Once he’s gone, I look at the dress with new eyes. It really is pretty, and the color reminds me of summer skies and lazy afternoons—days when I felt young and free and full of possibility. Days with Liam.
I slip the dress over my head, adjusting the straps until they lay flat against my shoulders. The fabric swishes around my legs as I move, light and feminine. When was the last time I felt feminine? Charlie preferred me in business casual clothes or suits, things that hid my body and kept other men from looking. But Liam...
Liam looks at me like I’m beautiful. Like I’m worth seeing.
Taking a deep breath, I sit at my vanity and pick up my curling iron. Cam was right about the hair too—Liam always loved it when I wore it down and curled. Back in high school, he’d spend hours running his fingers through it, twirling strands around his finger while we studied or talked or kissed.
The memory sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. I work methodically, section by section, until soft waves frame my face. A light touch of makeup comes next—just enough to enhance without hiding. Charlie hated makeup too, saying it made me look cheap. But I’m done letting his preferences dictate my choices.
I’m done letting him dictate anything.
Standing in front of my full-length mirror, I smooth my hands down the front of the dress. The woman reflected back at me looks... different. Softer somehow, more like the girl I used to be. But stronger too, with an edge of hard-won wisdom in her eyes.
“Mom?” Cam calls from downstairs. “You almost ready?”
“Coming!” I grab a pair of sandals—low heels, pretty but practical since I don’t know what Liam has planned. A small purse, a spritz of the perfume my sister sent for my birthday, and—
I pause, hand hovering over my jewelry box. Inside lies the delicate silver bracelet Liam gave me for our one-year anniversary, back when we were seventeen and thought love could conquer anything. I’d kept it hidden from Charlie, unable to bear the thought of him destroying it.
With trembling fingers, I fasten it around my wrist. The familiar weight feels like coming home.
Cam waits at the bottom of the stairs, sprawled across the bottom step with his phone in his hands. He looks up when I approach, and his face breaks into a wide grin.
“See?” He says, gesturing at my outfit. “I told you that was the one.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I ruffle his hair as I pass, laughing when he ducks away. “When did you get so fashion-conscious anyway?”
He shrugs, but there’s something soft in his expression as he looks at me. “You look happy, Mom. Like... like you used to look in the old pictures.”
My heart squeezes. I know the pictures he means—the ones I keep in an album under my bed, memories of better days preserved in fading photographs. Pictures of me and Liam at football games, at prom, at the lake where we spent countless summer afternoons. Pictures where my smile reached my eyes and no shadows lurked behind them.
“I am happy.” I tell him, and I’m surprised to find it’s true. Despite the anxiety thrumming through my veins, despite the echo of Charlie’s voice in my head—I’m happy. Hopeful, even.
“Good.” He gets up, stretching his lanky frame. “Because Dad’s here.”
“What?” I whirl toward the window, heart leaping into my throat. Sure enough, Liam’s truck is pulling into our driveway. “But it’s not noon yet!”
“It’s 11:58.” Cam’s voice holds barely suppressed laughter. “Breathe, Mom. You look great.”
I force air into my lungs, trying to calm my racing pulse. This is Liam. Just Liam. The boy who held my hand through freshman algebra, who taught me to drive stick-shift in his granddad’s old pickup, who kissed me for the first time under the bleachers after a basketball game.
The man who still looks at me like I hang the moon.
“Okay.” I straighten my spine, smoothing my dress one last time. “How do I really look?”
Cam comes to stand beside me, both of us reflected in the entryway mirror. My son—our son—nearly as tall as me now, with Liam’s dark eyes and my smile. What I wouldn’t give to go back in time, to tell my teenage self that everything would work out in the end. That love finds a way, even through the darkest times.
“You look beautiful, Mom,” Cam says softly. “And strong. Like... like you’re finally you again.”
Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them back. I won’t cry and ruin my makeup, not when Liam’s about to—
The doorbell rings, and my heart stops.
Here we go.
I look at my reflection one last time, at the woman wearing a pretty blue dress and a silver bracelet that speaks of young love and second chances. At my son beside me, solid and real and so full of hope for both of us.
“Ready?” Cam asks, grinning.
I take a deep breath and nod. “Ready.”
Cam practically bounces on his feet as he rushes to answer the door. He might be just as excited as me about this date. I follow more slowly, each step measured against the thundering of my heart.
Liam stands in the doorway, backlit by the afternoon sun. My breath catches at the sight of him. He’s wearing dark jeans and a crisp button-down that stretches across his broad shoulders. His dark hair is slightly tousled, like he’s been running his fingers through it. An indication that he’s just as nervous as I am.
His eyes find mine and something electric passes between us. The pleased look that spreads across his face makes heat rise to my cheeks.
“Hannah.” He steps forward, closing the distance between us. “You look beautiful.”
Before I can respond, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to my cheek. His cologne—woodsy and familiar—wraps around me like a warm embrace.
Cam sidles up next to me, barely containing his smugness. “I told you so,” he whispers loudly enough for Liam to hear.
I roll my eyes, but can’t suppress my smile. “Don’t you have homework to do?”
“Already done.” He beams at us both. “I’m going to go hang out with Mac. He promised to show me his racecar. Have fun on your date!”
The word ‘date’ sends another flutter through my stomach. It feels surreal—like stepping back in time to when we were young and everything seemed possible.
Liam holds out his hand. “Ready?”
I take it, letting his warmth seep into my skin. “Ready.”
He leads me to his truck, opening the passenger door with an old-fashioned gallantry that makes me smile. As I climb in, I spot a wicker picnic basket on the seat between us.
“A picnic?” I raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued.
His only response is a mysterious smile as he closes my door and walks around to the driver’s side.
As we pull away from the house, I wave to Cam as he walks toward the homestead where Mac is waiting for him outside the garage. A pang of anxiety hits me—the instinctive fear of being separated from him that I’ve carried since Charlie’s attack. But I push it down. He’s safe. We’re safe.
Liam seems to sense my tension. His hand finds mine across the seat, fingers intertwining naturally.
“He’ll be fine,” he says softly. “Mac and Ash are keeping an eye on him.”
The knowledge that his brothers are watching out for our son loosens something in my chest.
We drive in comfortable silence, the familiar landscape rolling past. I recognize the route—we’re heading toward the lake where we spent countless summer afternoons as teenagers. The realization brings a rush of memories—stolen kisses under willow trees, lazy swims in the cool water, promises whispered against sun-warmed skin.
“I can’t believe it’s still here,” I murmur as Liam turns onto the old dirt road that leads to our favorite spot.
“Some things don’t change.” His thumb traces circles on my palm, sending shivers up my arm. “Some things just wait for the right time to come back around.”
The weight of meaning in his words settles over me like a blanket. We’ve both changed—grown, suffered, learned. But this thing between us, this magnetic pull that’s always drawn us together… that hasn’t changed at all.
The truck comes to a stop in a small clearing overlooking the lake, not a soul in sight. Even after all this time, it’s untouched—like sacred ground that belongs to us.
The water stretches out before us, mirror-smooth and glinting in the afternoon sun. The willow trees still stand sentinel along the shore, their branches swaying gently in the breeze.
“Wait there.” Liam squeezes my hand before letting go. He grabs the picnic basket and disappears around the back of the truck.
I watch through the side mirror as he spreads a blanket on the grass, weighing down the corners with smooth stones from the shore. The careful attention he pays to every detail makes my heart ache. He’s always been like this—thoughtful, deliberate, caring in ways that go beyond words.
My door opens and he holds out his hand again. “My lady.”
I laugh at the formal tone, but take his hand anyway. “Such a gentleman.”
“Only for you.” He helps me down, his hands lingering on my waist a moment longer than necessary.
The picnic he’s prepared is perfect—fresh bread and cheese, fruit, and what looks suspiciously like Grams’s famous chicken salad. A bottle of white wine peeks out of the basket, already chilled.
“You went all out,” I say as we settle on the blanket.
He shrugs, but I can see the pleased flush on his cheeks. “Wanted to do this right.”
“This is perfect.” I lean back on my hands, tilting my face to the sun. “I’d forgotten how beautiful it is out here.”
“Not as beautiful as you.”
The words are soft, almost reverent. I open my eyes to find him watching me with an intensity that steals my breath.
“Liam.”
“I mean it.” He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers trail down my jaw, leaving fire in their wake. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Heat blooms in my chest, spreading outward until my whole body feels like it’s glowing. No one has ever looked at me the way Liam does—like I’m precious, like I’m worth cherishing.
We eat slowly, trading stories and memories between bites. Some are painful—the years we spent apart, the mistakes we made. But others are filled with joy—watching Cam grow, finding our way back to each other.
“How did things get so complicated?” I ask, laughing lightly to hide the tremor in my voice.
“Life.” Liam responds, his gaze earnest. “But it’s worth fighting for.”
The moment of silence between us carries the weight of years—all the battles we’ve fought, all the scars we carry. But there’s something else too, something that feels like hope.
“Do you think—” I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly vulnerable. “Do you think it can really get better?”
“Yes.” He moves closer, his eyes blazing with conviction. “As long as we choose to work toward it, yes.”
His hand comes up to cup my cheek and I lean into his touch instinctively. The tenderness in his expression makes my heart race. When he leans in, I meet him halfway.
The first brush of his lips against mine is achingly gentle—a question, an offering, a promise. I answer by pressing closer, my hands coming up to grip his shoulders.
The kiss deepens slowly, like honey dripping from a spoon. His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him with a soft sigh. He tastes like wine and sunlight and possibility.
My hands slide into his hair as his arms wrap around my waist, pulling me closer until I’m practically in his lap. Every point of contact between us burns with sweet fire.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing heavily. Liam rests his forehead against mine, his eyes dark with desire.
“Hannah,” he whispers my name.
I answer by kissing him again, pouring all my longing into the contact. His hands roam my back, tracing patterns through the thin fabric of my dress.
A moan escapes me as his lips trail down my neck, finding that sensitive spot just below my ear. My fingers clench in his hair, holding him there.
“God, the sounds you make.” He groans against my skin. “Drive me crazy.”
Heat pools low in my belly at his words. I shift in his lap, drawing another groan from him as I press against his growing hardness.
His hands find the zipper of my dress, pausing there. “Is this okay?”
The care in his voice, the way he always makes sure I’m comfortable, makes tears prick at my eyes. “Yes,” I breathe. “Please.”
He lowers the zipper with agonizing slowness, pressing kisses to each inch of skin as it’s revealed. When the dress pools around my waist, his hands smooth over my bare back, tracing the line of my spine.
I reach for the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers. He helps me, shrugging it off his shoulders to reveal the muscled planes of his chest. The injury where Charlie cut him is still red, but it’s healing. It will definitely scar. I can’t resist running my hands over his skin, feeling the way his muscles jump under my touch.
“You’re gorgeous,” I murmur, pressing kisses to his collarbone.
His hands tighten on my hips. “Look who’s talking.”
He lays me back on the blanket with infinite care, hovering over me like he can’t quite believe I’m real. The way he looks at me—like I’m something precious, something to be cherished—makes my heart ache.
His lips trace a path down my body, leaving fire in their wake. He takes his time with my breasts, alternating between gentle kisses and light nips until I’m arching into his touch, desperate for more.
“Patience,” he murmurs against my skin. “Let me love you properly.”
His words send a shiver through me. This is so different from what I’m used to—there’s no rush, no demand, just pure devotion in every touch.
He works his way lower, pressing kisses to my ribs, my stomach, the sensitive skin of my hips. His hands push my dress the rest of the way off, leaving me in just my underwear.
I should feel exposed, vulnerable. Instead, I feel beautiful. Desired. Safe.
His fingers trace the edge of my panties, teasing. “May I?”
“Yes.” I gasp.
He slides them down my legs with reverent care, his hands smoothing back up my thighs. When he settles between my legs, I think I might combust from anticipation.
But he doesn’t give me what I want right away. Instead, he presses kisses to my inner thighs, occasionally nipping gently at the sensitive skin. His stubble scrapes deliciously against me, making me squirm.
“Liam,” I whimper. “Please.”
He looks up at me from between my legs, his eyes dark with desire. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”
The endearment makes me melt. “Your mouth. I need—”
He doesn’t make me finish the sentence. His tongue swipes through my folds, making me cry out. He groans at the taste of me, the vibrations adding to the sensation.
One finger circles my entrance as he focuses on my clit, building the pressure slowly but steadily. When he finally pushes his finger inside, I’m so wet there’s almost no resistance.
“So perfect,” he murmurs against me. “So beautiful like this.”
He adds a second finger, curling them just right as his tongue works magic on my clit. The dual sensation has me writhing, my hands fisting in his hair.
“That’s it.” He encourages. “Let go for me, sweetheart. Take what you need.”
The combination of his words, his fingers, and his mouth sends me over the edge. I come with his name on my lips, my body arching off the blanket.
He works me through it gently, only pulling away when I start to twitch from oversensitivity. When he kisses his way back up my body, and covers my mouth with his, I can taste myself on his lips.
“You’re incredible,” he says between kisses.
I reach between us, finding him hard and straining against his jeans. He hisses when I palm him through the fabric.
“Need you,” I whisper against his mouth. “Please.”
He stands just long enough to strip off his jeans and boxers, giving me a perfect view of his body. He’s beautiful—all lean muscle and tan skin. His cock stands proud, flushed and heavy.
I sit up and reach for him but he catches my hand, bringing it to his lips instead. “Next time. Right now I need to be inside you.”
The promise of ‘next time’ makes my heart flutter. He fumbles in his discarded jeans for his wallet, pulling out a condom.
I watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he rolls it on, then settles back between my thighs. He kisses me deeply as he lines himself up.
“Ready?”
I wrap my legs around his waist in answer. He pushes in slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size. When he’s fully seated, we both groan at the sensation.
“Fuck.” He pants against my neck. “You feel amazing.”
He starts moving with long, deep strokes that has my head spinning. One of his hands slides under my hips, changing the angle until I’m gasping with every thrust.
“That’s it, sweetheart.” He encourages. “Let me hear you.”
I’ve never been vocal during sex—Charlie always hated it. But with Liam, the sounds fall from my lips naturally. Every moan, every gasp seems to drive him wild.
His pace increases gradually, but he never loses that careful control. Even when he’s pounding into me, there’s a tenderness in the way he touches me, the way he watches my face.
I can feel another orgasm building, coiling tight in my belly. “Liam, I’m close.”
“Me too.” His thumb finds my clit, circling in time with his thrusts. “Come with me, sweetheart. Wanna feel you.”
The added stimulation pushes me over the edge for a second time. I come with a cry, my pussy clenching around him. He follows a moment later, his hips stuttering as he groans my name.
We stay connected for a long moment, trading lazy kisses as our breathing returns to normal. When he finally pulls out, I whimper at the loss.
He disposes of the condom and grabs a blanket from the picnic basket to cover us. I curl into his side, feeling safer and more content than I have in years.
He presses a kiss to my forehead and follows it up with an, “I love you.”
The words are soft, barely more than a whisper against my hair. But they hit me like a thunderbolt, and a chill infuses my being.
I should say it back. I want to say it back. The words are there, burning in my throat. But fear grips me—memories of Charlie, of pain, of betrayal rising like ghosts.
Liam must feel me tense because he strokes my back soothingly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I just… I needed you to know. To say it out loud.”
But I can see the hurt in his eyes, carefully hidden behind understanding. I’ve wounded him, even as he tries to protect me from guilt.
I want to explain—want to tell him that I do love him, that I’ve always loved him. But the words won’t come. Charlie’s voice echoes in my head. Love is weakness. Love is control. Love is pain.
So I stay silent, hating myself for my cowardice, for letting Charlie win even now. Liam holds me close, but there’s a new tension in his body that wasn’t there before.
The sun begins to set over the lake, painting everything in shades of gold and pink. It should be beautiful. Instead, it feels like watching something precious slip away.
I’ve hurt him. Again. And I’m not sure I’m capable of fixing it.