Page 46 of Red Zone

The room felt impossibly small, the tension between us sharp and electric. My eyes searched his for something I wasn’t sure I could name. And there, in the silence, I found sincerity, hope, and maybe even the man I’d once thought he could be.

His shoulder pressed into mine, solid and warm, and I hated how much I noticed it. I wanted to lean into him, even as my mind screamed to keep my distance. But the quiet conviction in his voice chipped away at my defenses.

“Okay,” I murmured, the word escaping before I could second-guess it.

His lips curved into a slow, cautious smile, and his thumb brushed over my knuckles again, a silent promise in the touch. “Okay,” he echoed.

I wanted to believe him, to trust that he would stay, but the fear was still there, curling tight in my chest. Even as his hand lingered over mine, warm and steady, the knot in my stomach didn’t loosen. I wanted to believe him, to trust that he would stay. Yet the memories of his absence and my loneliness whispered their warnings. Still, as I glanced at him, his expression open and unguarded, something inside me softened. Liam’s smile did something to my chest I didn’t want to name. Maybe, just maybe, we could figure this out. Together.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

LIAM

Iwatched Skye for a moment, trying to find the right words. The weight of everything said and unsaid hung between us, thick and oppressive. Finally, I cleared my throat. “Do you have… pictures?”

She looked up, startled. “Pictures?”

“Of Lily,” I said, my voice softer. “From when she was a baby.”

Her brows knit together, and for a second, I thought she would say no. But then she nodded and pulled her phone from her pocket. “Yeah. Give me a second.”

I stayed still as she scrolled through her photos. She hesitated before pausing on a picture, her movements careful, like she was bracing for impact. Wordlessly, she handed me the phone, already queued to what she wanted me to see.

My breath caught at the first picture. Lily, tiny and swaddled in a pale-pink blanket, her little mouth open in a yawn. My chest tightened as I flipped to the next image. Each photo was a snapshot of a moment I hadn’t been part of—her first gummy smile, her tiny fingers clutching Skye’s hand, her wobbly first steps.

“She’s perfect,” I said, my voice thick.

Skye’s lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “She is.”

I scrolled back farther and froze. The image wasn’t of Lily. It was of Skye—her stomach rounded, her hand resting protectively on the swell. She was laughing at something off camera, her hair falling in loose waves around her face.

“You’re beautiful,” I murmured, barely aware I’d spoken aloud.

Her head snapped toward me, her eyes wide as she shifted closer, her body pressed against my side to see what I was looking at. “That’s… I mean, that’s Lily.”

But it wasn’t. Not entirely. I wasn’t just looking at Lily in that moment. I was looking at her. At Skye, carrying Lily, glowing with something I couldn’t put into words.

Another picture stopped me cold. Skye in a hospital bed, holding a tiny, wrinkled Lily against her chest. Her hair was damp, her face pale and tired, but her expression was fierce, almost defiant, as she stared into the camera.

“I wish I could’ve been there for you.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Her breath hitched, and she looked away, her fingers brushing the edge of the phone. “It wasn’t easy. But we managed.”

“I should have been there.” My voice was low, rough.

Her head tilted slightly, like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to believe me. “Maybe,” she said quietly. “But back then…” Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head. “I didn’t give you the chance to be there for me.”

“I’m here now,” I said firmly. “I can’t change the past, but I’m here now. For you. For Lily.”

She didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze lingered on the photo, and I thought I saw something crack in the walls she’d built around herself.

“I want that.” She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sliding into the booth across from Fiona, I barely had time to pick up the menu before she leaned forward, eyes sharp and locked on me like a hawk zoning in on its prey.

“What’s going on, Liam?” she demanded, skipping past any semblance of small talk.

“Good to see you too, Fio,” I muttered, flipping the menu open to avoid her gaze. The scent of coffee and fried bacon filled the small diner, mingling with the low hum of conversation around us.

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