Page 81 of Ashes of Us
I looked up at that.
"He was right," Liam continued. "I was a mess. Working myself into the ground, not sleeping. Trying to outrun it." He paused. "Took me a while to figure out you can't outrun yourself."
The old Liam would have made a joke there, try to deflect. This one just sat with the uncomfortable truth of it.
"Station 34 helped," he said. "Having to rebuild everything from scratch. Prove I could show up and be present. Not just for calls but for…” He gestured vaguely. "Everything. The day-to-day stuff."
I watched him talk. The way he held himself differently. More settled, somehow. Less of that restless energy I remembered.
"I'm not telling you this because—" He stopped. Started over. "I just wanted you to know.”
The espresso machine screamed behind the counter again. Someone's phone buzzed. The world kept turning, indifferent to the fact that we were sitting here, trying to figure out how to exist in the same room without bleeding all over each other.
I set my cup down. "Why did you go in?"
"What?"
"The fire." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Daniel's building. You went into a house on the verge of collapsing. You could have—" I stopped and started over. "Why?"
He looked at his hands, then at the table. Anywhere but at me. "Because it mattered to you. Because even if you hate me, I couldn't stand the idea of you losing someone you loved."
Something cracked open in my chest. It wasn’t forgiveness, not even close. But it was…something.
I pressed my thumb against the edge of the table and focused on the sharp pressure of it. The old Liam would have made that about him somehow. Would have found a way to angle it back to us, to what he wanted. This version just sat there, holding the weight of what he'd said without trying to leverage it into anything more.
"I still can't think about it without wanting to throw up." The words came out quiet and honest. "Jenna, and all the lying. Addressing invitations while you were…” I shook my head. "It's still there, Liam. All of it. Like… something that’s rotting under the floorboards."
He flinched. Part of me was pleased.
"I don't know if I can get past it," I continued. "Maybe some things break so completely they can't be fixed."
"Yeah." He said it soft. Didn’t argue. "Maybe they do."
I wrapped both hands around my cup again. The ceramic had gone cold against my palms. I should say something. Should end this. Should?—
"I'm glad you're okay," I said.
He looked up.
"I mean it. When I heard about the fire, when they said you were—" My throat got tight again. I pushed through it. "I'm glad you made it out. I'm glad you're doing better, and getting help, and all of it."
Something flickered across his face. Maybe relief, or gratitude, or just surprise that I'd say it out loud.
"But that's all I can give you right now," I continued. "That's it. That's all I have."
The words settled between us like stones dropping into still water. They weren’t meant to hurt him, but they weren’t soft either. They were just true.
He nodded slowly, not breaking eye contact. "I understand."
"Do you?"
"Yeah." He sat back slightly. "I do."
We stayed like that for a moment. Him looking at me like he was memorizing something, and me looking back, trying to figure out if I believed him.
"Thank you," he said finally. "For listening. For…” He gestured at the table, the coffee, the space between us. "For giving me this much. It's more than I had any right to ask for."
Part of me was still half expecting him to ask for another chance, to turn the apology into a negotiation. But this version of Liam didn’t do any of that.
