Page 94 of Because I Liked A Boy
The guilt gnawed until it hollowed me out. What if she thought I didn’t care? What if she believed his poison that I was a coward, that I’d abandoned her like everyone else?
I tossed and turned, pressing my face into the pillow to smother the ache clawing up my throat. I couldn’t undo Nathan’s death. I couldn’t rewrite the years of damage my father carved into all of us. But I could still fight for Penny.
I had to.
By the time the first streaks of dawn cut through the curtains, my eyes burned and my body ached from a night of unravelling. I hadn’t slept at all. Exhaustion felt better than regret. Underneath it, something sharper—resolve.
I wasn’t here to hide. I wasn’t here to lick my wounds. I was here for her.
I pushed upright and stretched the stiffness from my arms. The house was still, the quiet heavy in the particular way of early mornings.
Downstairs, the kitchen light was off, but a note was stuck to the fridge in Liam’s quick, sharp handwriting.
Out for a run. Help yourself. Don’t burn the place down. – L.
I smirked despite myself and set it aside. Typical.
I grabbed a bottle of water and leaned on the counter. No plan yet just the gnawing truth that Penny was in his house and I wasn’t. Every second I stood still, he tightened his hold.
The front door creaked. Footsteps. Liam appeared in the doorway, freshfrom his run, shirtless, sweat slicking his chest, blond hair damp and messy.
He looked different. Broader. Settled into himself. The man I’d shoved into the back corner of my mind sharp edges and cocky smiles was still there in flashes. But this version carried himself like the world didn’t knock him sideways anymore. Like he’d found his footing.
A slow, knowing smile tugged at his mouth. “Didn’t think I was that bad-looking.”
Heat flushed my cheeks. “I wasn’t—” I turned back to the counter. “I wasn’t staring.”
“Sure,” he drawled, voice rough with the run, amusement skimming the edge.
He reached past me to the fridge, close enough that the air shifted, that the heat of him brushed my arm. My pulse skipped at the nearness, at how easily he slid back into my space like no time had passed at all. He twisted the cap off a water, took a long drink, then leaned beside me. Close. Too close.
His gaze flicked sideways, catching the flush creeping up my neck. That half-smile that always got under my skin curved his mouth.
“So what’s the plan, Bella?” he asked after a beat, his tone dropping low and steady. “Now that you’re back.”
The nickname, unspoken for months, tightened something in my chest.
“I don’t know yet,” I admitted, fingers tapping the counter.
“You can’t sit here forever.” His voice softened, steel beneath it. “You know that. You can’t let him win again.”
“I’m not letting him win.”
“Good. Then figure out what you need to do. Just don’t hide.”
“I’m not hiding,” I snapped, sharper than I meant.
He studied me like he could peel back layers I didn’t want anyone to see. “Doesn’t feel like hiding?”
It landed heavy because maybe it was. I swallowed, but nothing came out.
He didn’t move away. Heat radiated from him, a steady presence at my side, something unnamed shifting between us.
“I’m grabbing a shower,” he said finally, practical again. “Work in an hour. Make yourself at home.”
He walked out, leaving me breathless, staring at the counter top like it held answers.
I stayed long after he left, pulse uneven from the weight of his words.
