FOURTEEN
CALL FOR HELP
It’s the Sunday night before our third week of rehearsal, and I’ve just settled in for a quiet night stuffing my face with cheese when my phone goes off. A quick look at the screen shows a pretty brunette with the caption—Cassie Taylor, Brother Wrangler and Ethan Tamer. As I answer it, an excited voice squeals, “You’re on TV!”
I pull the phone away from my ear. No wonder my brother’s fiancée is a great actress. Her vocal projection could shatter glass.
“Hi to you, too, Miss Taylor.”
“No, but seriously,” Cassie says, and lowers her decibels a little. “Look at you on my TV. You look amazing.”
“I’m in the background.”
“Yes, but looking gorgeous in the background. They’ve had a couple of shots of you.”
The first episode of Angeliam: A Fairy Tale Romance airs tonight. Josh is watching it in the living room with a six-pack and a pizza, certain this show will be the beginning of his fifteen minutes of fame.
“There I am!” he yells at the same time Cassie squeals, “Josh! There’s Josh!”
“Damn, I look good,” Josh calls, and Cassie echoes, “Tell Josh he looks good. Hot geek at his finest.”
Who knew a stupid reality show could get people so excited?
I hear my brother’s voice mumble something, followed by a cry of pain. Cassie comes back on and says, “Ethan said to tell you that you looked like less of a short-ass on TV, and wanted to know what sort of cutting-edge special effect they’re using to make that happen. Don’t worry, I’ve already hit him for you.”
I laugh. “I have so much more free time now that you’re around to kick his ass twenty-four/seven. Thanks for that.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I enjoy punishing your brother. A lot.”
I hear Ethan call out, “Please don’t talk to my sister about our sex life. That shit is private.”
Cassie tells him to shush. “Ooh, another shot of you! And there’s Marco behind Angel! Aw, we miss you guys.”
I’m avoiding watching. I’m glad Liam got my X-rated rant about him cut, but I still don’t need to watch an hour of television about his undying love for Angel. Not when I see their intimate exchanges every day, up close and personal.
“Okay, so,” Cassie says, reminding me I’m supposed to be talking to her and not contemplating my nonexistent love life. “Dinner, next Sunday. Since you left our show, Ethan and I have hardly seen you, and I need my Elissa snuggles, dammit.”
“Fine. Sunday,” I say, “but only if Ethan’s cooking. Not you.”
Cassie is quite possibly the worst cook on the face of the planet. Actually, no, she and her college roommate Ruby would tie. They once invited me over for dinner when we were all studying at The Grove, and I swear to God, my intestines have never been the same.
“Elissa Holt. Are you dissing my culinary expertise?”
“Not at all. Your food does that all by itself.”
Cassie gasps dramatically. “Hey! Your mother has been giving me lessons. My cooking is improving, thank you very much.”
I doubt it. My mom may run her own catering company, but she’s no miracle worker.
“Yeah, Mom told me the fire department was called the other day when she was teaching you how to make toffee.”
“That’s true, but in my defense, that melted sugar turned to fiery lava in a fraction of a second. I only took my eyes off it long enough to kiss your brother.”
“Oh, gross. I can just imagine the grope-fest that was going on while that poor toffee was going up in flames.”
Cassie laughs. “I blame Ethan. If he didn’t keep distracting me with his hotness, I’d be a gourmet chef by now. Your mom has now banned him from being in the kitchen with me. Man, Maggie can be a killjoy sometimes.”
I smile as I imagine how much Cassie’s pouting right now. “So to clarify, Ethan is cooking on Sunday, right?”
“If you insist. Seven o’clock at our place?”
“Done.”
“How are rehearsals going? Is Liam Quinn as gorgeous in person as he is on-screen?”
“Cassie, you’re going to marry my brother. You shouldn’t be noticing other men.”
“Oh, please,” she says with a laugh. “As if any man is ever going to compete with Ethan. But a girl can appreciate a fine male specimen, even if she’s off the market. So spill. As hot as he seems in Rageheart? Or just looks good in demon makeup?”
I close my eyes. Liam did look amazing in his demon makeup. Gray skin, black hair, and bright blue eyes. Rippling muscles that were hardly ever covered by a shirt. Sexy in a fantasy-comic-book kind of way.
But Liam in the flesh is even more stunning.
“Gorgeous,” I begrudgingly admit.
“I knew it!” Cassie says. “He looks edible on this show. But please tell me Ethan and I never looked this nauseatingly in love. These two are like Ken and Barbie, if Barbie were a perky redhead and Ken had a penis and sex appeal.”
I laugh. If only she knew how much of a penis and sex appeal Liam has. “Yeah, they’re pretty gross.”
“And what about Angel Bell? She seems like a total sweetheart, but . . . I don’t know. No one can be that perfect, can they?”
I sigh. “Apparently they can. She’s a doll. She and Liam have amazing chemistry, and that’s what people are coming to see.”
“Sounds like me and Ethan, then. But it’s no secret he carries our show and that I’m just there just to rub myself all over him in front of a theaterful of people. I still don’t understand why I get paid for that.”
“Oh, shut it. You’re an incredible actress, and you know it.”
“Eh. I’m all right.”
I get another incoming call on my phone, and when I check the screen, my heart skips a beat.
“Uh, Cassie? I have to go. See you Sunday?”
“Yes, see you then! I’ll be the one banned from the kitchen. Love you!”
I sign off and answer the other call.
“Liam?”
“Hey.” He sounds terrible.
“Are you okay?”
“Not really,” he says. “Had a bad day.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. Can you meet me?”
“Where are you?”
“At a bar. A really shitty bar.”
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough. Come drink with me.”
I almost say “okay” before my common sense kicks in. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Please, Liss. I need a friend tonight.”
“What about Angel?”
“We had a fight. I started it, but still. I need a break. I need you. Please.”
I sigh and press my hand over my eyes. “Liam, I shouldn’t.”
“You should. I’m near the corner of Fifteenth and Ninth. It’s called the Badger’s Den. Just come for one drink, and I’ll leave you alone. I swear.”
Dammit, I should say no, but I can’t. “Fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
After I hang up, I get out of my cheese-eating pants and pull on my jeans. Then I freshen up and head out to the living room.
Josh is frowning at his computer screen. “Unbelievable,” he mutters.
“What?”
“Just reading the Angeliam hashtag on Twitter. Seems like there are a whole bunch of women who are hating on Angel just because she’s with Quinn. Jesus, these comments are harsh.” He picks up his phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“Angel. I hope she’s not reading any of this, and if she is, she needs to know it’s all bullshit.” Before he hits “call,” he looks up at me. “Where are you going?”
“To meet Liam. He’s in a bar. I figure I’ll try to get him out of there before someone recognizes him.”
“Yeah, good luck with that. This show is going to make him even more of a target. Just make sure you stay out of the way if he starts throwing punches, okay?”
“Deal.” I grab my keys off the table and shove them in my bag. “See you later?”
“I’ll be here.”
As I close the door behind me, I hear him say, “Hey, Angel. It’s Josh. You okay?”
Twenty minutes later, I’m wandering down Fiftieth Street looking for the Badger’s Den. Turns out, I find it easily. If a lightbulb factory and the Ebola virus mated and gave birth to a bar, it would look like this place.
“Ew.”
Against my better judgment, I pull open the door and head inside. It’s dark and dingy and smells like stale beer and loneliness. There’s a guy sitting near the door watching the TV behind the bar, and the only other people in the place are a middle-aged couple canoodling at a table in the corner. The guy’s hand is under the table, and he’s either touching his lady friend in special places, or that glass of red wine is really good.
Lovely.
I see a familiar figure near the far wall, sitting at a table by himself.
When I walk over to him, he looks up at me and smiles. “Liss.” The way he says it sounds like a sigh of relief. “So glad you’re here. What are you drinking? Come on, I’m buying.”
He gets up and puts his arm around me to guide me to the bar.
The barkeep comes over and acknowledges us with a tilt of his chin. “What’ll it be?”
I shrug and gesture to the lady in the corner, who’s now making unmistakable moaning noises as she sips from her glass. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
Liam looks over at them and frowns. “That must be some good wine.”
“Right?”
Liam orders the most expensive whiskey available, which turns out to cost a grand total of six bucks. When our drinks arrive, we head back to our table.
I sip my wine and study Liam. He looks like he hates the world right now, and I don’t know why.
“What’s going on with you?” I ask. “You’re fighting with Angel?”
“These days I always seem to be fighting with Angel.”
“About?”
He shrugs. “The show. The wedding. The ever-present goddamn cameras. All of it.”
“You guys seem happy.”
He laughs bitterly. “Of course we do. It’s required.”
His phone buzzes on the table. When he picks it up and taps the screen, a synthesized female voice comes out of the small speaker: “Liam, where the hell are you? Call me when you get this.”
I frown. “What’s that?”
“Text to voice app. Saves me trying to read stuff. It works for e-mails, too.”
“That’s cool.”
“Yeah. It’s supposed to be for blind people, but it works for dumbass dyslexics as well.” He turns off the phone and places it back on the table.
“That was from Angel?”
“Yep. I’m supposed to be at a party the network is throwing for the premiere of the show. Just more photo opportunities. As if the world needs any more goddamn pictures of us. How are people not sick to their stomachs by now? We’re like the Kardashians. Fucking everywhere.”
“People love you guys. You’re inspirational.”
He laughs. “People have no clue. If they knew the real us, they’d despise us.”
“Why?”
He takes another sip of whiskey. “Soooo many reasons.”
“Any you want to talk about?”
“Yep, but I kind of like you looking at me like I’m not a piece of shit, so let’s just drop it.”
Intriguing. I don’t want to push him to talk more about his problems with Angel, because it might make me seem insensitive, but dammit, I really want to know.
A few more people file into the bar. A thirty-something guy scans the room before sitting on the bar stool closest to us.
I sip my wine. It tastes freaking awful. The enthusiastic chick in the corner isn’t even pretending to drink hers anymore. She and Handy Andy are fully making out. It’s fascinating, in a train-wreck kind of way.
“Affair,” Liam says, pointing at them.
“You think?”
“Yep. This bar? That table? Definitely trying to stay off the radar.” He gestures at the rest of the room. “Why do you think I’m in here? No one’s looked at me long enough to recognize me. Not one person has asked for an autograph or picture. I’m just a no one here, like everyone else. It’s heaven.”
I study him for a second. “That’s what you want? To be a no one?”
He gives a one-shoulder shrug and swirls his drink. “Sometimes. Actually, most of the time. Things were so much simpler when I was a no one. Now, everything I do is put under the microscope. Every decision. Every piece of personal information is picked over by media vultures desperate to find something to sell their damn magazines and Web sites, no matter the cost.” He reaches into his bag beside the table, then puts an iPad in front of me. “This happened today, which is nice considering it’s the anniversary of my brother’s death.”
I pick up the tablet. A popular gossip site is emblazoned with the banner, HOLLYWOOD HEARTTHROB’S PRIVATE HELL.
There’s a picture of Liam sitting in front of a gravestone, crying. The caption reads, “Macho action man Liam Quinn breaks down at brother’s grave. Exclusive pics!”
Oh, God.
I glance over at Liam. His jaw is tight and his eyes are hard. “I went to visit Jamie’s grave a few days ago and I guess some piece of shit followed me. By tomorrow, this will be everywhere.”
Over the years, there hasn’t been much information about Jamie’s death in the press. “Killed in a construction accident” is about all that’s ever said, but I have no doubt that these pictures will unleash a fresh burst of interest into the death of Liam’s twin.
“Liam. I’m so sorry.” There are more pictures of him farther down, and I get a hot flash of anger that someone would think to profit off him in his private moment of grief.
“I go to his grave every year,” he says. “Sometimes Mom and Dad come with me, but most of the time I go by myself. I like having the time to talk to him. Tell him about what’s going on in my life.” He looks down at the table, and I reach out and touch his hand. The contact makes him tense, and his breath hitches, but he doesn’t look up.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” I say, “but if you’d like to vent, I’m a decent listener.”
He takes a deep, shaky breath and lets it out slowly. “How much do you know?”
“Only that it was on the Mantra project. Five or six people died.”
He nods. “Six. Mantra was my dad’s construction company. Jamie and I were on his crew from the time we left school. One day, the crane operator forgot to double-check that the anchor points were properly braced. When the crane started lifting two-ton slabs into place, it tipped over and crashed backward onto the apartment block across the street. Jamie and I saw it happen, so we raced to the other building to see if we could help. It was freaking mayhem in there. Debris was falling. People were screaming.
“We headed upstairs and helped a lady and her two boys get out of the wreckage before moving to the top floor where the damage was the worst. It was a stupid move. We could feel the structure was about to go. The crane was too heavy; the walls couldn’t support it. Jamie yelled that we had to get out, but I couldn’t leave those people there screaming. When I opened the door to their apartment, the crane smashed though the exterior wall. Jamie shoved me out of the way just before it would’ve hit me. He was killed instantly. So were the people in the apartment. The whole thing happened so quickly, it took me a minute to figure out why the screaming had stopped.”
My stomach clenches. “God. Liam.” I rub his hand, trying to convey my sympathy.
He shakes his head. “When I saw Jamie there . . . I couldn’t move. I knew it was too unstable to stay, but I couldn’t leave. Couldn’t take my eyes off him. One second he was my brother. My hero. The next, he was . . . nothing. Just a mess of bone and blood whose face looked nothing like Jamie’s. When Dad found me, I was sobbing his name over and over again. It took two firemen to drag me away.”
He takes a deep breath, then takes a sip of his drink. I keep rubbing his hand and try to let him know he can stop whenever he wants.
“Mom and Dad were devastated. I mean, there’s no way to get over losing a child, you know? Especially when the one left behind looks exactly like the one you’ve lost. For me, it was even worse. Jamie and I were inseparable from the moment we were born. Mom used to call us the ‘cling twins.’ Wherever we went, we were a package deal. It was always Liam and Jamie. Jamie and Liam. The Quinn boys. I thought we’d be that way forever, even when we were married and had kids. Then, suddenly, it was just me.” He looks over at me. “Afterward, people would forget, and when I’d show up places they’d say, ‘Hey, it’s Liam and . . . ’ then trail off before saying his name. And that summed up how I felt when he died. I was incomplete. An unfinished sentence.”
He looks back down at the table, and he’s gripping his glass so tightly, his knuckles are white.
“I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine what that must be like.”
“After the accident, Mom and Dad were buried under lawsuits. Liability, civil, negligence. The easy road would have been to declare bankruptcy and make it all go away, but Dad would never agree to that. He felt responsible. He negotiated settlements. Sold the business he’d built for forty years, all the equipment, our family home. Paid every cent he could to the families of the victims who were still waiting on checks from the insurance companies. That’s one of the main reasons I went to Hollywood. I needed to help them out. All the fees from my first two movies went to paying off their debts.”
“Oh, Liam—” I grip his hand, and I can feel his pulse pounding through his fingers, fast and unsteady. I hate that he had to carry around the burden of his brother’s death as well as his parents’ financial difficulties for so long.
He lets out a shaky sigh and gestures to the iPad. “And every time something like this happens, my first thought is to say screw it, and go live in a cabin in the woods. But then I get a flash of Jamie’s face, and it makes me stop, because I feel like I need to be someone, you know? Like my future has to be doubly bright, because I have to make up for him not having one.” I see a tear fall onto his cheek as he whispers, “I miss him so fucking much, Liss. Every day.”
I reach over and cup his face so I can wipe the tear away with my thumb. “I’m sure if he were here, he’d tell you how proud he is of you. Every day. You’re an amazing man, Liam. Your brother knew that.”
He closes his eyes and leans into my hand, and I can see he’s fighting to keep his breathing steady. I have no idea what it’s like to lose a brother, but the mere thought of living in a world without Ethan makes me break into a cold sweat. I can’t even imagine the pain Liam must feel without his twin.
“Ever since Jamie passed,” he says as he takes my hand away from his face and holds it with both of his, “I feel like part of me is missing. Like I’m always lonely, no matter how many people are with me. The only time I don’t feel like that is when I’m with you.” He looks into my eyes. “Not Angel. You.”
I stare at him for a few seconds as a storm of confusion brews inside me. What does that even mean? I search his eyes, but don’t come away with any answers. Right now, he looks just as confused as I feel.
I pull my hand back and look down at the small amount of wine still left in my glass. “So then, why didn’t you choose me?”
I can’t look at his face, so I watch his hands as they clench around his glass. He’s quiet for a long time, and I have a feeling he’s trying to find a way to gently tell me the truth.
“Elissa, look at me.” When I meet his gaze, he leans forward. “I hate that my actions made you feel second best. You’re not. You never could be. Circumstances just weren’t on our side, that’s all.” He looks down and swirls the liquid in his glass. “When I left that message saying I loved you, I meant it. You have to believe that.”
I look down at a scratch on the table. “I did believe it. That’s why I said it back to you, even though falling in love with you was never a part of my plan.”
He looks up at me before he swallows the last of his drink and puts the glass down on the table. “See, that’s the problem. Love is an asshole. It doesn’t care about people’s plans. It’s never convenient. It crawls inside of you at the most ridiculous times and makes you feel, whether you like it or not. And even long after the time when you should have learned to stop loving someone, it just keeps holding on to them. Doesn’t it?”
I avoid his eyes and drink the remainder of my wine.
“Liss?” When I look over at him, the intensity of his expression makes my hair stand on end. “Do you still love me?”
Goose bumps break out all over my body. This whole conversation is getting out of control. It’s dangerous territory, especially because some part of me is loving the adrenaline rush.
“You know I’m not going to answer that.”
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. The soft brush of his thumb makes tingles break out all over my arm.
“If you asked me the same question,” he says as he looks down at my fingers, “I’d answer it in a second. And I suspect you already know what I’d say.”
He brings my hand up to his mouth and presses his lips gently against my skin. The contact makes me inhale. His lips are warm and soft, and the shock of them leaves me breathless. He’s about to say something else when his gaze flickers over my shoulder, and within a second, his expression goes from affectionate to thunderous. “Un-fucking-believable. Prick.”
“What is it?” I look behind me.
“Don’t worry about it. Wait here.” He gets up and stalks over to the man at the end of bar, who’s studying his phone. “Did you just take a picture of me?”
The man looks at him in confusion. “What? No. Why would I take a picture of you?”
“I’ve seen you before,” Liam says as he towers over him. “You a reporter? A pap?”
“No. I’m an accountant.”
“Then show me your phone.”
I walk over and put a hand on Liam’s arm. “Hey. Come on. Let’s just go.”
“No,” Liam says. “If this guy has nothing to hide, he’ll show me his picture roll.”
“I’m not showing you my phone. I don’t even know who you are.”
Liam goes to snatch the phone, but the guy draws back to keep it out of reach.
“Give me the fucking phone!” Liam’s voice echoes through the whole room, and everyone turns to look.
When he grabs the guy’s arm, I step between them. “Liam, stop.”
“Hey!” The bartender strides down to where we are. “No trouble in here. Take it outside, all of you.”
The accountant backs away from Liam and hightails it to the door. “You’re crazy, man. You stay away from me. I’ll call the cops.”
“Good. Then I’ll report you for stalking, asshole!” Liam kicks the bar stool the guy was sitting on. It teeters but doesn’t fall. “Son of a bitch!”
“Hey, calm down. He really didn’t seem to know who you were.”
“He was taking pictures of us while pretending to look at something on his phone. It happens all the time.”
I look to where the door has just closed behind the guy. “And maybe he was just looking at something on his phone and all the stuff with Jamie has set you on edge.”
He drops his head and sighs. “Maybe. I swear to God, being stalked all the time can make a guy paranoid as hell.”
“I don’t blame you.”
He gestures toward the bar. “Do you want one more?”
“Yes, but we have rehearsal tomorrow, so we should get out of here. Also, people are staring. Come on.”
I tug on his arm, and after we grab all our gear, I push him toward the door. He doesn’t resist.
When we get outside, the humid spring night has given way to a heavy downpour.
Liam turns to me. “Don’t suppose you have an umbrella?”
“Don’t suppose I do.”
“Dammit, Liss. I thought stage managers were like Boy Scouts. Always prepared.”
“In a theater, yes. Outside a bar that probably has Nickelback on the jukebox? Not so much.”
He looks both ways and then shrugs. “It’s only a few blocks to my apartment. Run for it?”
“Okay, but not too fast. Your legs are twice the length of mine.”
We rush down the slick pavement. Within a minute, we’re soaked to the bone. A minute after that, my shoes are making disgusting squelching sounds every time I take a step, and I squeal when I hydroplane across a particularly slippery piece of cement.
“Wait up,” I say, and stop at a small alleyway. “I’m going to kill myself in these things.” I walk a few steps into the alley before bending over to pull off my shoes and socks. I know walking barefoot on New York sidewalks is gross, but at least I won’t fall and break any bones.
After I shove everything into my bag, I look up to find Liam staring at me.
His posture is rigid, and his face is the very definition of lust.
I follow his gaze down to my chest. My previously white T-shirt and bra have become transparent. I may as well be wearing cling wrap.
I cross my arms over myself. “Shit. Sorry.”
He looks up at my face, and exhales. “Every day, I try to ignore my attraction to you. Every . . . damn . . . day. I tell myself I’m over you and can’t have these feelings, but it doesn’t help. Nothing helps.”
His bag falls to the ground as he steps forward and cups my face.
“Liam . . .” Then, he’s walking forward, and I’m walking back, and before I know it, I’m against a wall and gripping his sodden shirt. The overhang from the building protects us a little from the rain, but it does nothing to protect me from how I react to him. His wet T-shirt reveals every dip and groove of his physique, and I have to stop myself from pawing him. He doesn’t seem to have any qualms. He winds an arm around me and pulls me against his body. He’s already hard, and his breathing is shallow as he stares down at me.
Dear God. Aroused men are sexy. Aroused Liam is the equivalent of a metric ton of the world’s most potent aphrodisiac.
“I need to kiss you,” he says, his voice almost a groan. “Please, Liss.”
“Liam, you know why you can’t.”
“Let’s pretend for a moment that Angel doesn’t exist and I can. Pretend I didn’t go to Hollywood. That I stayed here and made a life with you. One where I could make love to you every day. See you whenever I liked. One where I didn’t ache like a part of me is dying whenever I’m not with you.”
He’s leaning down. So close I can smell him and feel his warm, sweet breath.
“Liss.” He cups my face and looks into my eyes. “Pretend with me. Imagine we’re in a movie of how our lives could have been. Let me show you what I fantasize about every time I see you. Please.”
I want to stop looking at him, but I can’t. Just like I can’t stop wanting him.
I grip the front of his T-shirt and pull. He takes it as permission, and brushes his lips against mine. Just the lightest touch. My body explodes with sensation. Fierce flutters start in my stomach and spread through all my limbs. When my toes curl, I grip him tighter to urge him closer.
Sweet Jesus, the power of what he does to me. It’s been so long, yet everything comes rushing back in knee-buckling detail.
He kisses me again, and a groan passes from his mouth to mine as his lips open and his tongue slides and strokes.
“God . . . this,” he whispers against my lips. “You. You’re everything.”
He captures my lips and sucks gently, then repositions so our mouths slant over each other. We fit together just as perfectly as always, and the soft warmth of his tongue makes me groan. He kisses me again, and again, and each time it’s deeper and more passionate, but still not enough. I grab at him and hold on as he lifts me and pulls my legs around his waist. Then I anchor my hands in his hair while he grinds against me, and I’m reminded how he can overload every pleasure receptor in my body in a matter of seconds.
Our hands aren’t gentle as we roam over each other. Everything has an air of desperation about it, not only because we’re so relieved to finally give in to this unrelenting need, but also because we know this is borrowed time and it won’t last. Liam rocks his pelvis against me, stroking and pressing his hard against my soft, hitting all the right places to make me gasp. When I dig my fingers into his shoulders, he makes a noise in his chest. A dark, possessive sound. It makes me kiss him harder and cling to him more fiercely. More than anything, I want to be possessed by this man. Not just physically. I want to belong to him, just as much as I want him to belong to me.
But even through the trembling muscles and low, needy aches, I can’t turn off the guilt that comes with kissing a man who isn’t mine. An echo of ‘This is wrong, this is wrong’ starts in my brain and won’t be silenced. Even as I’m gripping his shoulders and pulling him closer, I’m bombarded with images of Angel in her wedding dress, giddy over the thought of Liam waiting at the end of the aisle. The Prince Charming in her ever after.
“Liam.” There’s barely any noise. Just air. He kisses my neck. Nibbles and sucks. I arch and grip him tighter. “Stop. We can’t.” I put my hands on his chest and push. He’s so solid, I’m sure he barely feels it. He kisses me again, but I pull back and hold his face away from me. “Liam, stop.”
He tightens his arms around me as he pants into my skin. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t prepared. You still feel so perfect. More perfect than I remembered.”
“Put me down. Please.” I’m trembling with frustration that my heart still claims him as mine even though he’s not. It’s trying to convince me that he still loves me, but how can he? After everything he’s put me through, he can’t. This isn’t love. It’s lust. And weakness.
He lowers me to my feet, then cups my face in his hands. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to go,” I say as I turn toward the end of the alley.
“Liss, wait.” He grabs my arm but I pull free.
“No, Liam. What the hell are we doing? Pretending we can be together? This isn’t a movie. It’s my life. And I’m not a goddamn consolation prize.”
He exhales and takes a step back, his jaw tight and his hands fisted. “I’ve never thought of you as a consolation prize.”
“You said you didn’t want to be one of those assholes who thinks he can have it all, but that’s how you’re acting. You can’t have me and Angel. You just can’t.”
“Then I’ll end things with Angel.”
My stomach drops. “What?”
He steps forward and takes my hands. “I know the timing sucks, and I’m about six years too late, but . . .” The determination in his expression is unmistakable. “I want to be with you. Wait, that’s not right. I need to be with you.”
I push wet hair away from my face. “Liam, you’ve been drinking—”
“I’m not drunk. I’m actually thinking clearly for the first time in years. There are so many reasons I shouldn’t even be thinking about this. Jesus, more than you could possibly know, but still—”
“Well, now you’re really selling it.”
He takes a breath and lets it out, then fixes me with a determined gaze. “I know I’m not saying the right things, but . . . God, Liss, I can’t live without you anymore, and I’m tired of pretending that I can.”
Despite the cold rain drenching every inch of skin, warm hope blossoms in my stomach—followed closely by a sick sense of dread. Now he wants me? He’s had years to do this and he hasn’t. I can’t help feeling like I’m an excuse to escape all the things in his life that aren’t working.
“Liam, you’re dealing with a lot of stuff right now. Rehearsals, a TV show, your wedding. Not to mention the anniversary of your brother’s death. Then, to top it all off, you have paps stalking your every move. I understand that you’re feeling . . . fragile . . . or whatever, and I’m here to support you however I can, but this—?”
“You think I’m saying this because I’m . . . what, stressed? Having some sort of breakdown? Jesus, Liss, no.”
“I think if you truly couldn’t live without me, you’d have found that out years ago, and yet this is the first I’m hearing of it.” I try to keep the bitterness out of my tone, but I can’t. “I heard nothing from you, Liam. Not a text, or e-mail. Not a goddamn word.”
“You don’t know the whole story, and I can’t tell you everything now. But can you honestly say you don’t want more after that kiss? Because I sure as hell can’t.”
I let out a short, sarcastic laugh. “This is insane!” I don’t realize how much panic has leaked into my voice until I see the hurt on his face.
He doesn’t let go of my hands, but his grip loosens. “Why are you fighting this? I thought this is what you wanted. Me. Us.”
I want to say I don’t, because that’s the less scary option, but I can’t. Of course this is what I want. It’s what I’ve always wanted. But it doesn’t feel real. Or right. I’m used to wanting Liam, but having him is another matter. Even now, despite all his declarations, I don’t see how it’s possible. It’s like we’re at opposite ends of a maze, and he’s saying he can see the exit while I’m still staring at a dead end.
I watch water run down his chest, and clench my jaw against the hopelessness I feel.
He cups my face with both hands and forces me to look up at him. “Liss, the night you went dress shopping with Angel, you sobbed in my arms because I was marrying someone else, and that slayed me. I didn’t realize how much my actions have hurt you, and every day I stay with Angel, I hurt you more. I can’t keep doing it. I won’t.”
“Liam, you’re talking about turning your whole world upside down.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should. Angel—”
“Will be better off without me. She might not see it like that at first, but eventually she will. She deserves someone who can love her as much as I lo—”
I put my hand over his mouth. “Don’t say it. Please.”
He kisses my palm before pulling my hand away. “It’s true. Why not say it?”
“Because if you do, I’m going to do things I’ll regret, and I’m trying to be the voice of reason here.” I wipe water o my face and sigh. “Please don’t make this decision now. Not in the heat of the moment. Go home. Cool off. Then, tomorrow, if you haven’t changed your mind—”
He steps forward. “I’m not going to change my mind. That would imply being with you is a choice. It’s not. I’ve tried to forget about you. To stay away from you. Every single time, I’ve failed. You know that. Fighting what I feel for you is exhausting, and I can’t do it anymore. But the big question is, do you want this?” He takes my hand and weaves his fingers through mine, and the hope on his face melts me. “After all this time, and everything I’ve done . . . do you still want me?”
I look at our hands. “It would be so messy.”
“I know. But if we can finally be together, it would be worth it.”
I look up into his eyes. “Yeah. It would.” He smiles, and even though the rain is still drenching us, I feel like I’m standing in full sun.
I smile back at him, then shake my head at how sappy I must look. “You still need to sleep on it. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
He leans down and gives me a soft, slow kiss. “I have some things to work out on my end, but this is going to happen. Trust me.”
I pull away, and even though I’m trying like hell to not get my hopes up, the way he’s smiling at me is making that impossible.
I pick up my bag and swing it over my shoulder. “I’m heading home. If you figure out how to look Angel in the eye tomorrow after everything that’s just happened, let me know. I’ll be the one neck-deep in a shame spiral.”
I’m almost at the end of the alley when he says, “Liss?” I turn to face him and see that, though the rain has slowed, his hair is still dripping onto his face. “No matter what happens, don’t feel guilty about this. I initiated it. Blame me, not yourself.”
I shake my head. “It takes two people to kiss like that, Liam. I’m as guilty as you.” I turn away from him and trudge to the subway station. My guilt churns through me all the way home.
Later, when I crawl into bed, I dream about a future in which Liam is mine—mind, body, heart, and soul. Even with a troubled conscience, they’re the most beautiful dreams I’ve ever had.