Page 130 of Don't Puck His Best Friend
I nod, wiping my eyes, but it only makes me cry harder. "Does that make me a bad person?"
She hugs me tighter. "I'm so sorry, Harp."
A truck pulls up outside. The sound of the engine cuts through the apartment.
Sirus looks at the door. "Am I letting him in?"
I watch the door like it might explode. Sirus stands in front of it, a barrier between me and whatever happens next.
"One last chance to change your mind, Harper," he calls out.
Liam walks up and knocks.
When Sirus opens it, Liam's eyes find mine immediately. My breath catches in my throat. He looks good—too good. Dark jeans, leather jacket, hair slightly messy like he ran his hands through it on the drive over.
"Trouble."
"You don't have to do this," Maddie whispers beside me.
But I'm already moving. Like I'm hypnotized, I walk to Liam, never breaking eye contact. My feet carry me to the door, past Sirus's worried expression, past Maddie's tears.
I walk out.
I get into Liam's truck, and the familiarity of it hits me like a wave. The smell—leather and his cologne. The seat beneath me. It feels exactly like it did a year ago when I was being spontaneous, when I felt alive and free, driving away from that party, choosing reckless over safe.
Time is an odd thing. You think you can move on from things, but it's a lie. Around certain people, in certain places, you feel exactly the way you did years ago.
Liam gets in without a word and drives off.
My phone rings, and Liam steals it from my hand.
"What the fuck?" I gasp, reaching for it.
"Do you want to crash?" he asks, swerving the truck. I grip onto the dashboard, feeling terrified. Liam just laughs like this is funny.
"Turn around!" I demand.
"No. We're going to my place."
I sit in my seat, the overwhelming feeling in my chest threatening to suffocate me. But I refuse to cry. Refuse to beg. Refuse to throw a tantrum.
When we get to Liam's place—a nice townhouse I didn't expect—he parks and gets out. I don't move. I'm frozen.
He opens my door and offers his hand.
"Can I have my phone?"
He shakes his head. "Not until we talk. Come on."
I get out without taking his hand and follow him inside. The place is really nice—hardwood floors, modern furniture, cleaner than I expected from a college guy.
"I have a couple roommates, but they're at work right now," Liam says, heading for the stairs.
Reluctantly, I follow.
When we get to his bedroom—the master—he shuts the door behind me. Hockey equipment is everywhere. Sticks in the corner, gear bag by the closet, jerseys hanging on the back of the door. I feel like I just walked into a hockey store.
When I turn to look at him, he's right there, touching my face.
