Chapter 19 #2
All I wanted to do was protect Liora from Avery. I didn’t have to look at her face to know she was already pulling further into herself to hide from Avery’s words.
“We never cheated,” I said, the truth spell making my voice come out rough and uncompromising. “Never have I lied to you, Avery. And if you were even an ounce of the woman I once thought you were, you’d admit that.”
Avery’s laugh was brittle. “Right. Of course. Like I didn’t see the way you looked at her?” She shifted her gaze to Liora. “And you just happened to show me the reading where your chart aligned perfectly with his for what? Just out of the goodness of your heart, right?”
“I didn’t—” Liora started and I turned to see the color draining from her face.
“You did,” Avery cut in, sweet as vinegar. She tilted her head. “What do they call you on WitchTok? The Heartbreak Witch?”
A ripple went through the crowd. Someone at a nearby table muttered, “Oh shite,” under their breath.
Liora flinched like she’d been slapped.
Graham leaned forward. “Okay, that’s enough. You don’t get to come in here and start slagging off my staff.”
“Your staff?” Avery arched a brow. “Is that what we’re calling her now?”
“Aye. That’s exactly what we’re calling her,” he said, steady. “She pulls her weight, she’s kind to my customers, and she doesn’t talk rubbish about people in the middle of my establishment. You want a drink, you queue like everyone else. You want to fight, take it outside and not in my pub.”
There was a murmur of agreement. Agnes stood, small frame radiating a surprising amount of menace.
“Avery, sit down or go home,” she said. “It’s trivia night, not drama club.”
For a second, Avery looked around, clearly expecting more support than she was getting. Some people glanced away while others met her eyes evenly. Time had moved on. A spark of hope filled me. Perhaps people had made up their own minds about me, about Liora.
That didn’t seem to fit whatever script she’d rehearsed in her head.
Her gaze landed back on me, then on my hand still at Liora’s back. I forced myself to take it away, fingers curling into a fist at my side.
“I knew it. I knew you fancied her,” she said quietly, almost to herself. Then louder, for the room, “You two deserve each other.”
With that, she spun on her heel and stalked back out, coat flaring behind her.
The door slammed.
Silence hovered for a beat, then someone coughed. Glasses clinked. The pub’s hum crept back in, tentative at first, then louder as people retreated into their own conversations, attention shifting back to pints and answer sheets.
“All right, the lot of you.” Graham raised his voice and the entirety of the pub swiveled to look at him.
“If any of you think, for a minute, that this upstanding lad who has worked fairly and honestly in this community for years would cheat and lie, you’re welcome to leave my establishment.
And while I haven’t known Liora as long as I’ve known Torin, I can tell you she’s a great employee and has a good heart.
Don’t leave here tonight spinning such nonsense that it comes back my way again, understood? ”
I breathed a sigh of relief as everyone cheered in response.
But I could still feel the aftershock.
Liora stood very still, eyes fixed on the floor.
“Hey,” I said softly. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she said, voice thin.
Lie.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know she was back.”
“Of course she’s back,” Liora murmured, more to herself than to me. “Why wouldn’t she be?” She took a breath, pasted on a brittle smile. “I’ve got tables. I should … I should work. Trivia, remember? People need drinks.”
“Liora—”
“Later,” she said, ducking away before I could stop her.
She moved through the crowd on autopilot, smile in place, tray steady. If you didn’t know her, you might’ve thought she was fine. Happy, even.
I knew better.
Trivia blurred. I couldn’t tell you a single question Graham asked. Apparently we came second by one point. Agnes blamed Graham. Graham blamed me.
Through it all, I kept an eye on Liora.
She moved faster than usual, like if she slowed down for even a second, the feelings would catch her.
Her laugh was a decibel too high, her smile flashing on and off like a faulty fairy light.
When last orders were called and the crowd started to thin, she disappeared into the back for a suspiciously long time.
I waited by the door, jacket on, keys in hand, until she finally emerged in her own coat, hair twisted up haphazardly, eyes rimmed a little red.
“I can walk,” she said before I could open my mouth.
“I know,” I said. “I’m still driving you.”
She hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. But I’m not in the mood for a post-game analysis.”
“Noted,” I said quietly, opening the truck door for her.
The drive home was thick with silence. The kind that had weight.
Rain dabbled the windscreen and the wipers thumped in a steady rhythm. The loch was a dark stretch to our right, the lights of Loren Brae fading behind us.
“You want music?” I asked eventually.
“No.”
Right.
We were almost at the turn-off to the house when she spoke.
“She’s right, you know,” Liora said softly.
My hands tightened on the wheel. “About what?”
“About me.” She stared out the window. “The Heartbreak Witch. I ruin things. I ruined your relationship with her. I should have known better about showing her how our charts lined up. I should have known her well enough to know that she wouldn’t have handled that well.
And who knows? Maybe I’ve ruined Greta too, and probably now Matthew.
I drag people into my mess and I make everything worse, and then I run away and someone else has to clean it up. ”
“Liora.” My chest ached. “That’s not—”
“It is,” she said sharply. “You don’t see it because you’re … you. Steady. Kind. But that doesn’t change the facts.”
“Facts?” I pulled into the drive, parked, turned off the engine, and turned to face her. “Here are the facts as I know them. You gave Avery a reading. She reacted badly because it confirmed things she didn’t want to face. She lied about me to cover her own arse. That’s not on you.”
“That reading blew up your life.” Her voice cracked. “You just said yourself people still remember. And tonight”—she let out a brittle laugh—“proves they’re not going to forget anytime soon.”
“Most people in there didn’t give her the time of day,” I pointed out. “Did you not notice that?”
“I noticed that the second she said ‘Heartbreak Witch,’ every head turned,” Liora whispered. “I noticed that the thing I’m most ashamed of is now a fun label strangers get to throw around.”
She scrubbed her hands over her face. “And Zara—”
She stopped dead.
I waited.
“And Zara?” I asked gently.
She shook her head, jaw tightening. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to you,” I said. “So it matters to me.”
She hesitated, then blew out a breath. “As you know, we had a fight.”
I stayed quiet.
“She thinks I should have told her about you,” Liora said, the words coming out rushed now.
“And the truth spell. And being a chartweaver. And she’s right.
I should have. She’s my sister, she’s always been there for me, and I just …
didn’t tell her. I kept it all to myself because I was happy and scared it would disappear if I said it out loud. ”
“That’s understandable,” I said, not moving though I wanted to gather her into my arms.
“She doesn’t see it that way,” Liora said, voice going wobbly. “She thinks I’m reckless. That I jump into things without thinking. That I don’t learn. That I’m always the one causing chaos and then expecting her to fix it. And she’s not wrong.”
“Liora—”
“I didn’t tell her about you because I knew she’d have concerns.” Her mouth twisted around the word. “She’d tell me to slow down. To think. To remember what happened last time. And I didn’t want to hear it because I wanted this. You. Without the lecture. Without the reminder that I’m the screwup.”
There it was. The raw thing at the center of her.
“You’re not a screwup,” I said, feeling the truth of it settle deep.
She huffed out a laugh that wasn’t amused. “Funny how the common thread in every disaster of my life is me.”
“That doesn’t make you the disaster,” I said.
“It might.”
I wanted to argue until she believed me, but the truth spell hummed under my skin, keeping me honest. I couldn’t say it would all be fine when I didn’t know that.
“What are you saying?” I asked quietly.
She stared straight ahead, breaths coming shallow. “I’m saying that I think I need some space.”
The words landed like a physical blow.
“From … me?” I managed.
“I don’t know,” she said quickly. “Yes, I guess. I need to get my head on straight. I need to figure out what being a chartweaver actually means. I need to fix things with my sister. I need to help the Order. And I can’t do any of that if I’m …
” She gestured between us, fingers shaking.
“If I’m falling apart every time you look at me like that. ”
“Like what?” I asked, hoarse.
“Like I’m good,” she whispered. “Like I’m worth choosing.”
“Because you are,” I said simply.
She squeezed her eyes shut, a tear slipping free. “See? That. That’s exactly the problem. I want to believe you so badly that I’m afraid I’ll hand you my whole heart and then watch you get dragged through the mud again because of me. And I can’t—I won’t—do that to you.”
I swallowed hard. “You don’t get to decide what I can handle.”
“Maybe not,” she said. “But I get to decide what I bring into your life. And right now that’s … a lot of chaos.”
Silence pressed in on us. The truck felt too small, the night outside too big.
“What does space look like?” I asked because I needed specifics.
She drew a shaky breath. “I’d like to … sleep in my bed for a bit,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.
“No kissing, no … you know.” She waved a hand in the general direction of my lap and turned bright red.
“We can still live here. Still be … friendly. I’m not saying we never talk again.
I just … I need to take the pressure off.
On us. On what this is. Maybe we just moved too fast.”
I stared at her, every instinct in me roaring to not let this happen.
I wanted to say it. To refuse. To tell her that once I’d set my sights, that was it, and she’d just have to deal with being cherished for the rest of her life.
But the truth spell throbbed in my chest like a warning.
If I said I was fine with this, I’d be lying. If I said I didn’t mind, I’d be lying.
So I didn’t.
“I hate this,” I said honestly. My voice came out rougher than I meant it to. “Every part of me hates this. I don’t want distance. I don’t want separate beds. I want you next to me, stealing the covers and poking me in the ribs when I snore.”
Her shoulders shook.
“But,” I forced out, “if space is what you need to feel safe, then I’ll give it to you. I’ll try, at least.”
Her eyes flew to mine, searching. “You will?”
“Aye.” I swallowed. “I’m not going anywhere, Liora. You want to slow down? Fine. We’ll slow down. You want to sort things with your sister first? I’ll cheer from the sidelines. You want to spend your nights talking to your squirrel instead of me? I’ll try not to be jealous.”
A tiny, broken laugh escaped her.
“But know this,” I continued, because the truth spell was buzzing and I couldn’t not say it.
“I’m not switching off how I feel. I can’t.
I’ve locked on, and that’s not something I do lightly.
I’ll respect your boundaries. I’ll give you the space you’re asking for.
But I’m still here. Still choosing you. Even if I have to do it from the other side of the bloody house. ”
We sat there for a long moment, breathing the same air, not quite touching.
Finally she reached for the door handle. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For understanding.”
“I don’t,” I admitted. “But I’m trying.”
She paused, hand on the handle. “Please don’t be angry.”
“I’m not angry,” I said, surprised to realize it was true. “I’m worried. And gutted, if I’m honest. But I’m not angry at you.”
I was angry at those who had subjected this beautiful woman’s gentle heart to viciousness. Who used words to harm rather than build up. Who were so bloody short-sighted and heartless that they’d speak without considering the consequences.
She nodded once, then slipped out of the truck.
I watched her walk up the path, shoulders hunched. Bracken darted out of a bush to run beside her, chittering anxiously. She paused at the front door, glancing back at the truck, then shook her head and went inside.
By the time I locked up and followed, she’d already vanished down the hall.
Her bedroom door was closed. Mine—ours—stood open, bed half-made, the dent on her side of the mattress still there.
I stood there for a long time, staring at that empty space.
The house felt different. Less bright, somehow, even though all the lights were on.
I could hear her moving around in the spare room—the creak of the bed, the rustle of sheets, Bracken’s muted chittering.
“I’m not going anywhere, darling,” I said quietly, to the empty hallway, to the sleeping trees beyond the walls, to whatever magick was listening.
It didn’t change the fact that Liora was hiding behind a door she’d firmly closed in my face.
And I had absolutely no idea how to open it without breaking something fragile on the other side.