Page 55 of Veiled in Brick

“Yeah, he wasn’t thrilled,” I muttered.

“I figured that—since he broke up with you.”

I felt my head bob in surprise at the sentence, the false insinuation clear as day. Silence hung between us and I squinted my eyes at Liam for a few beats before I replied:

“Um…what?”

Liam laughed nervously to himself. “Whatever fuckin’ term you want, I dunno if break up sounds too relationshippy—”

“Ah—I called it quits with Jay.”

His words stopped in his tracks. His jaw hung open. He appeared to be pondering to himself for several seconds before he spoke again:

“Oh—you, ah…you were so mad, I just—”

“Yeah,” I replied quickly. “I know. I was—because it was a mistake. Because kissing me is repulsive in hindsight, I’m sure.”

Liam looked at me with thoughtful eyes—the deep, dark brown that I had grown so used to bored into me, and our gazes locked for a long while before he said:

“It was a mistake because I knew you were with Jay and went for it anyway.” He continued speaking, the words falling from his lips as if they hadn’t even had a chance to pass through a filter. “I saw how much that bothered you. And I was drunk as all hell. And you fuckin’ gasped like I had done the worst thing in the world and then the next day, ya told me I threw a wrench in our friendship and that tore me apart.” Liam exhaled quickly. “If you wanted it, I’d do it again because you’re…” He shook his head, looking to the space between us as he murmured, “Beautiful. Soft…warm…sweet.” His brown eyes darted to mine, and he said, “Not repulsive. Jesus, please don’t think that.”

I had frozen at the word beautiful. My joints ached with the desire to reach to him; itched with the need to draw him to me, but I was so taken aback at the admission that I was stuck in place.

All I could manage to say was a breathy, “Liam.”

A corner of his lip pulled up in a small smile. “I’m gonna go to bed before I say too much.”

“Oh,” I stammered, “Um—okay.”

“We’re good, right?”

He asked the question with wholesome eyes and a hopeful tone, and it sent an odd rush through me from my head to my feet. I wanted to say that we weren’t—not because I had any lingering animosity toward him, but because I yearned for him to grab me. To show me how much he truly believed those words he had spoken, and I could respond in turn. But he didn’t—and I couldn’t harbor any ill will because of his reluctance, for I felt it too. It was a gentle thrum of fear that sat beneath my surface that I was unable to usher away, and it was because of that that I simply nodded to his question.

“Yeah, of course.”

I had nearly whispered it, and as the sentence left my lips, he stood to go to his bedroom. Halfway there, he called back to me:

“Wake me if you need anything.” Liam looked over his shoulder to ensure I had heard him, and he pressed, “Okay?”

“Yeah—okay.”

“’Night, Zo’.”

He turned away from me, and I sighed. “’Night, Lee.”

I was well accustomed to my sleeping arrangements—after all, I had slept on Liam’s couch several times before. So often, in fact, that I had a preferred blanket. It was brown on one side, white on the other, and fuzzy to the point that when I pulled the fabric close, I could feel my fingernails pressing into the plush in a satisfactory manner.

It was quiet. Dark. I had my blanket. I had my pillow from my bed across the hall for an additional boost of comfort. Despite all of this, I laid wide awake as if I had recently chugged several cups of coffee. The caffeine-like high lasted all night, and I rubbed my tired eyes as sunlight began to filter through the blinds.

Knocking sounded at the front door so softly that I wondered if I imagined it. I twisted my body to peek at the entrance curiously, and the noise occurred once more. It was louder. More definitive. And then, it turned to pounding.

I sat up quickly, glancing back and forth from the door to Liam’s bedroom, and called out, “Um…Liam?”

There was no answer. The rapping at the door continued on, and I marched my way to his bedroom, halting my footsteps at the entrance. One glance, and I noticed that he was fast asleep—face up, his left arm draped over his upper abdomen, and shirtless. Blankets were bunched around his hips, and his wide chest rose and fell gently with each breath. I groaned at the sight, the knocking rattled his front door, and I whipped my head to the foyer and back, debating my next move.

“Lee?” It was a whisper, and I didn’t know why I thought that my quiet speaking of his name would wake him when the loud noise from his front door wouldn’t. He didn’t stir, and I called to him again. “Liam!” I heard him grunt, but his expression remained unburdened—his lips softly parted as he slumbered on. “Liam!”

My last iteration of his name came out gritty, as my vocal cords had yet to fully wake, and his eyes flashed open. He pushed himself up rapidly, his gaze bouncing around the room until he landed on me, huffed out a breath, and rushedly asked:

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