I smile as I lean back onto the heavy, cherry-stained dresser right in front of him. "It was fun. Thanks for bringing me with you this weekend."
He shrugs. "Thanks for coming."
A silence falls between us—amongst the apologies and pleasantries—that I might question if I didn't already know he was exhausted. I can see it in the way his lids blink slowly and the way his shoulders slump forward. I know Ruthie is safe inside the room beside us, but I start to question if there's something else he needs when my phone buzzes on the dresser behind me.
I turn around, and once again see the blinking red check mark I've seen too often in my notifications. Jo's SweetCheck app is telling me her numbers are too low. Again.
I sigh.
"Is that Trevor?" Liam asks. His voice is dull, but for a moment, his glazed eyes spring to life.
"Oh, uh…" I twist back, fumbling my phone as if I need to see the message again to make sure.
"I'm sorry," Liam admits, rubbing the back of his neck. He exhales, almost to himself. "I don't even know why I asked. That's none of my—"
"No, it's fine," I cut in. His question lands like the final dose of reality I needed. Trevor hasn't called. Not now. Not at all since I found him dick-deep in his coworker's throat. "We, um… we actually broke up."
He doesn't respond—not with words anyway—but he sits up straighter, his hands landing in his lap. "Oh. I didn't know."
I laugh softly, taking a vested interest in the thick, plush carpet of our high-end hotel, embarrassed for some reason. Like I shouldn't be sharing. Like it shouldn't have taken this long. "How would you?" I ask genuinely, letting the silence settle back in.
For a moment I think he might say something else, his lips parting slightly as he searches my face. But then, he stands, and instead of reacting to the news, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his warmups. "I'll let you get some sleep."
It's not lost on me that he's apologized to me several times tonight—but not for this. Liam pauses, like he's waiting for me to respond. "Okay, yeah, thanks."
He tips his chin down and takes a step forward, but instead of turning to the door, he sucks in a sharp, strangled breath and folds in half, reaching for his calf.
"Are you okay?" I ask, concerned.
"Fuck," he groans, his voice strained. He falls toward me, one hand still on his lower leg, the other landing on the dresser so close to me the sleeve of his jacket brushes my hip.
He grunts a sound not intended to be anything but ragged and drops his head forward, still bent over. We're so close—him pinning me to the dresser without touching me at all and the faint smell of chlorine quite literally smacking me in the face.
"What can I do?" I whisper almost to myself, my hands glued to my side so I don't reach out and touch him.
Liam rubs at his muscle another few seconds, his hand beside me white-knuckling the wood. Some completely screwed up side of me almost hopes his agony doesn't end—I like being caught between his bulging forearms with his broad shoulders boxing me in. But then, with one slow, steady exhale that floats past my neck, Liam drags his head up, only inches from mine.
"Shit, sorry." The words crawl from his throat, tired and tormented, then his eyes meet mine. There's that word again.
I swallow. "Don't be."
The color in his irises darken, and I convince myself it's because they've changed to match the evergreen in his jacket. But for just a second—the one where they drop to my lips—I consider that… maybe it's not.
We stay like that for another beat, both of us still as if any movement at all might set the world spinning again. I hold my breath, the perfect contrast to his chest heaving in strong, slow waves, and every minute we've spent together—each push and every pull—rushes through my mind.
A moment later—both too long and too soon—Liam slowly backs away, his hand on the dresser lingering like he's reluctant to surrender the space between us. "I didn't think I was dehydrated, but with the heat from the pool room… "
I clear my throat quietly and nod, shaking away the image of his mouth so close to mine. "Right, no, of course." Spinning quickly, I drop down to the mini-fridge hidden in the cabinet of the dresser and pull out a bottle of water. "Here," I say, popping back up and extending it to him.
He stares at it like a fork in the road, then his face softens as he reaches for it. "Thanks, Tessa."
Just like it did earlier, his gratitude hits me in the chest. "Sure."
He heads toward the door, but halfway there, he spins back slowly. "Are you… okay? Ya know, with the whole breakup thing?" My stomach rises as I even consider discussing this with him. "If you need a few days off, or—"
"Oh, no," I blurt as if the offer is ridiculous. With our muscle-cramp moment still on my mind—along with the conversation with my sister—anxiety takes over, and the possibility of talking to Liam about my breakup only makes it worse.
I turn to him, then backtrack. "I mean, thank you. That's very nice of you. But… I'm good, seriously."
