Page 73 of The Has-Been

I know Liam is worried; I can see it etched in every line of his face, in his actions, in the way he touches and comforts me. He’s scared for me. I try to ignore how my heart clenches at the thought.

I should tell him.

I need to tell him.

But I only manage. “Please,” I whisper.

I did it once without him, and tonight…tonight I can’t⁠—

My eyes slam closed.

There is no changing the past. But the future is ours. And tonight I don’t want to think of what could’ve been. I don’t want to endure the endless thoughts spiraling inside my head.

I want silence.

I want just him and me.

I want to go back to before.

And it feels possible.

His eyes are still the same green, his hair still shimmers golden—the strands still as soft.

Sure, we aren’t who we used to be.

We don’t love each other the way we once did.

We’ve changed, grown apart.

But a part of me still recognizes him. Part of me still wants to remember what it was like before. I want to go back. Before all the hurt. When it was just Aubrey and Liam and that fiery passion between us.

I want to forget.

But I also want to remember.

Like he can sense what I’m feeling right now—how I went from being so cold to burning with heat, he takes a step back.

His eyes narrow, burning with an intensity and a want that sets my body on fire.

My heart dances as I take him in, to allow myself to really look at him for the first time.

His blonde hair is longer than he ever let it get during our time together, and I know him well enough to realize it’s because he doesn’t have to worry about it getting in his eyes anymore.

His shoulders are still broad. Clearly working out, like I had told Karen that he was. I can’t help but wonder if he still goes for a run every morning like he used to? Or does his leg hurt him too much?

“Do you still run?” I blurt.

Why did you say that? With so much more to say to one another…that’s the only thing you can manage?

He chuckles softly, nodding his head. “Yeah, I still run.” He admits, tucking his hands in his pockets, and I know it’s because he doesn’t trust himself not to reach for me, that he is trying very hard to behave as I practically strip him with my ravenous eyes. “Only a few miles, though, that’s all the leg can handle nowadays.”

I crack a smile, studying his face. His full lips and slightly crooked nose from the number of times it was broken. It suits him, breaking up his boyish good looks with something more masculine.

God, I want to touch him.

My fingers dance on the ridge of my towel.

The action seems to scare him away as he walks from the bathroom.