Page 17 of Ashes of Us
"She's my fiancée.”
"Ex-fiancée," Maya corrected. "And you're standing outside my apartment harassing my sister, so either you walk away right now or I'm calling your captain and telling him one of his firefighters can't take no for an answer."
Liam's jaw clenched. "You can't?—"
"I absolutely can. And I will, with details. Want me to tell him about Jenna too? She’s your subordinate, right? Lieutenant sleeping with someone under his command… I bet that’ll go over great."
His face went red. For a second, I thought he might actually try to push past Maya, but then something in him deflated. He looked at me, his eyes desperate.
"Piper, please. I love you."
"You should have thought about that in March," I said quietly.
He stood there for another long moment, like he was waiting for me to change my mind. When I didn't, when I just stared back at him with my arms crossed, he finally turned and walked away.
I watched him disappear down the stairs before stepping back inside. Maya closed the door and locked it. Deadbolt, chain, everything.
Then she turned to look at me.
"Holy shit, girl."
My hands were shaking. My whole body was shaking. I felt like I'd just run a marathon or jumped out of a plane or done something equally insane.
"That was…” Maya shook her head, a grin spreading across her face. "That was fucking amazing."
And then I started crying.
Not sad crying. Not heartbroken crying. Angry, relieved, exhausted crying that came out in huge, gasping sobs that made my whole body shake.
Maya pulled me into a hug and held on tight.
"You did good," she said into my hair. "You did so good."
I nodded against her shoulder, unable to speak.
Liam was gone, and the wedding was off. My entire future had just imploded.
And for the first time since I'd walked into that station yesterday, I felt like I could breathe.
CHAPTER 8: LIAM
The bartender set down my fourth whiskey without asking if I wanted it. I did.
My phone was face-up on the bar, screen lighting up every thirty seconds. Mom calling. Mom texting. Mom calling again. I'd stopped reading the messages after the first three, but I could see the notification count climbing. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-three.
I knew what they said anyway.Call me.Liam, pick up the phone.We need to talk about this.
Piper had made the calls. I didn’t have to ask who she told; by now, everyone would know. Piper was never one to leave a mess sitting.
I picked up the glass and drank.
The bar was nearly empty for a Sunday evening—just me, an old guy watching baseball in the corner, and a couple on what looked like a very bad first date three stools down. It was the kind of place that smelled like stale beer and didn't ask questions when you ordered your fourth drink before six o'clock.
Perfect.
My phone buzzed again. This time it was a text from Dad:
Your mother is beside herself. Call her.
