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“I booked a show,” I sigh. A faint smile creeps across my lips, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “It’s a national tour. I’m going to swing for a few of the roles, so it’s a really good opportunity for me. Actually…”
The memory from yesterday comes flooding back, context making it less painful but more enraging. I told him numerous times how Veronica clearly felt, but he wouldn’t listen.
“…I was coming to tell you about it when I walked in on Veronica and you. You were the first person I wanted to know,” I say as my voice cracks. Pain envelopes me as I remember what could have been between us. Maybe we’ll find it again, but right now it’s tainted.
Our entire history is now overshadowed by something awful that could have been avoided if Liam had just been willing to tell people about us.
I deserve better.
Liam’s face is streaked with tears, but his mouth widens in a watery smile of awe. His pain-ravaged eyes light up with joy. He smiles so wide despite the pain in his eyes—pure, unadulterated admiration.
“I’m so fucking proud of you.” The pain in his voice doesn’t hide the joy he’s conveying. I genuinely know he’s proud of me, I just wish I could celebrate with him. “I love you. Even if we’re breaking up…know that.”
“I know,” I whisper, “but sometimes love isn’t enough.”
Even when you wish it was.
He nods, understanding washing over him, but it doesn’t appear to bring him any comfort. “Can I hug you?” he asks awkwardly.
I just nod as I step into him, allowing the warmth of his body to radiate around me. The love I feel for him is far from gone, but the pain will fade with time. Liam’s strong arms pull me in close, and a swell of emotion causes my breath to hitch. His scent is musky and familiar and it reminds me of happy memories. I feel the tension in his muscles as he squeezes me tighter in response to my sobs. Tears blur my vision, and I close my eyes tight, trying to will away the sadness as I bury my face deeper into his chest.
“Shhh,” he coos into my ear, trying to calm me, but it only makes me sob harder.
I would give anything for this not to be necessary, but it is.
It’s necessary for me, and that has to be enough.
FORTY-EIGHT
LIAM
For the rest of the week, Hannah and I don’t talk much. While I want to, I know the result won’t change, so what’s the point? Every morning she settles into her desk and only communicates with me via email and Teams, and she leaves every day at 5:30 PM on the dot. It pains me not to reach out and touch her, but I know nothing I do is going to make a difference in how she’s feeling.
Nor would it change the fact that she’s leaving.
Jackson strides into the office on Monday morning, his skin glowing a golden brown from days in the Mediterranean sun. He and Gen returned home Saturday afternoon, so I have yet to hear about their adventures in Saint-Tropez. We haven’t talked about what transpired with Hannah before he left.
I know I’m about to have to answer to Jackson today, but with the minimal sleep I’ve been getting and my constant state of anxiety, he had better not come for me about it.
“How was France?” I ask him with a nervous note of forced nonchalance.
Even though I keep my eyes on my computer screen, I canfeel the tension radiating in the air between us. His face is expressionless for a few moments before finally giving in to a slight upturn of his lips.
“It was good!”
“How’s Gen?”
“She’s good. I’m glad we decided to go back to Saint-Tropez.”
With our pleasantries over, the room grows silent, unspoken words lingering in the air. I genuinely can’t tell if he’s going to bring it up or act like nothing happened—or worse, deck me. Then again, that’s not really Jackson. But there are few things he wouldn’t do for Hannah.
“Has Hannah’s job been posted yet?”
“Yeah, Dad had HR post it last week when she told him. Should be interviewing this week.”
Jackson’s desk is a chaotic mix of papers, notes, and files strewn about. Sticky notes in neon hues adorn the sides of his computer monitor in a flamboyant display of color, seeping downward onto his desk. He grabs one off the mahogany surface with rough fingers, crumples it up into a ball, and tosses it into the trash can beside him.
The silence hangs heavy as we both sit there in contemplation. Then, with a polite cough, he breaks it and our gazes lock.
