Page 171 of The Lies We Play
My chest does something stupid and painful.
Halston watches me, his face unreadable except for the softness he never quite manages to hide when it comes to her.
I answer.
Liv appears sideways at first, all dark hair and one irritated eye, then the image rights itself. She is in a hotel bed in what looks like a T-shirt stolen from me, though I have no idea when she took it.
“Hi,” she whispers. “I have exactly ten minutes before my mother returns from a pastry-based reconnaissance mission and asks why I look emotionally compromised.”
Halston says, “You always look emotionally compromised.”
“I’m an empath with a need-to-fix-things addiction. It’s a medical diagnosis.”
I smile before I can stop myself.
Her eyes move over my face, then Halston’s bare shoulder, then the sheet, then back to me. The humor softens. For a second, she is quiet.
“I wish you were here,” I say.
The words come out rawer than I intend.
Her lips part.
Halston’s hand settles against my stomach under the sheet. Present. Warm. Not asking me to pull it back.
Liv looks between us, and the entire morning shifts.
There is her realization. There is mine. There is Halston’s choice not to disappear from the frame.
“I know,” she says quietly.
“I watched the whole game. You were great,” she adds. “Hal held the phone like a lunatic. Very committed. Mildly terrifying. Ten out of ten for camera stability.”
“He was nervous,” I say.
Halston’s eyes cut to me. “I was not.”
Liv tilts her head. “You sent me a text that said, and I quote, ‘If he gets hit again, I’m going through the glass.’”
“That was a legal hypothetical,” Halston says.
“You’re not licensed yet.”
“Then it was a personal statement.”
The laugh that comes out of me hurts.
Liv smiles, but it fades too fast.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” she says.
I hate that she apologizes.
I hate it so much I almost sit up.
“Don’t.”
“No, I know. I just—” She stops, and I see her glance toward the door of her hotel room. Her voice drops. “I wanted to be. That’s all.”
