Page 172 of The Lies We Play

The ache opens again, but this time it doesn’t feel lonely. It has Halston’s hand on me and Liv’s face on the screen. It has all three of us looking at the same truth from different rooms.

“We know,” Halston says.

She looks at him.

Something passes between them, quiet and private and so full of feeling I have to breathe through it.

Then Liv’s mouth twists.

“You’re both shirtless, aren’t you?”

Halston doesn't blink. “That’s an invasive question.”

“That’s a yes.”

“It’s an unsupported conclusion.”

“I am pre-law adjacent by emotional osmosis. I know things.” She says.

“You know nothing,” he says.

“I know Creed has that post-sex face.”

I choke.

Halston closes his eyes.

Liv looks pleased with herself for exactly one second before her own face goes pink.

There she is. Brilliant, exhausted, brave, hiding behind ridiculousness because wanting us both from a hotel room in Europe is too much to say without making it a joke first.

I bring the phone closer.

Her gaze finds mine.

“Liv.”

Her smile falters.

I want to say it again. ‘I love you. I wish you were here. I want you in this bed with us, between us, over us, bossing us around while pretending you aren’t shaking. I want to walk into a room with both of you and not have to calculate who sees which part of my face first.’

Instead, I say, “Four minutes isn’t enough.”

Her eyes go soft.

“No,” she says. “It’s not.”

Halston’s hand moves on me again, and his shoulder brushes mine as he shifts closer into the frame. Not much. Enough.

Liv sees it.

Her breath catches.

I watch her understand what it costs him.

She swallows, then smiles in that trembly, stubborn way that always makes me want to buy her a plane ticket and start a fight with every rule she’s still obeying.

“My mom is coming back,” she whispers.