Page 77 of Landing Liam

His lips quirk into a small, sad smile, and he leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Yeah. I get that.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. Everything—his confession, my leaving tomorrow, the uncertainty of what comes next—hangs between us like an unspoken question.

“I should probably let you get some rest,” he finally says, though his feet don’t move.

“Liam,” I blurt, stopping him before he can retreat. “Can we talk?”

The flicker of hesitation in his eyes is brief, quickly replaced by something warmer, something steadier. He nods. “Of course.”

Liam reaches for my hand, his fingers wrapping around mine with a warmth that steadies the nervous energy thrumming inside me. Without a word, he leads me down the hallway to his bedroom.

The room is unmistakably his, even without him standing here. A soft glow from a desk lamp casts golden light across walls adorned with trophies, medals, and posters—a timeline of his life and accomplishments. There’s a snowboard leaning in the corner, and a framed photo of his family on a shelf.

It feels like I’m stepping into the heart of who Liam is, a place he hasn’t let many people see.

He gestures toward the bed, and I sit on the edge, the comforter rumpled beneath me. My fingers trace an invisible pattern on my knee, trying to calm the flutter of nerves as I take it all in.

Liam stands in front of me, his hands slipping into the pockets of his gray sweatpants that sit loosely on his hips. His gaze flicks to a trophy on the dresser, then back to me, like he’s searching for the right words.

“What do you want to talk about?” I ask softly.

He exhales, the sound heavy, and sits down beside me. His bare shoulder brushes against mine, grounding me in the moment.

“Everything,” he finally says. “I want to talk about everything. But mostly… I want to know where we go from here.”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I need to head back to Pine Cove tomorrow and get the story written.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” His voice drops, and the disappointment in it tugs at my chest.

“I need all my resources,” I explain, trying to keep my tone practical, though it hurts to say the words.

“Where does that leave us?” he asks, his gaze searching mine, vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen before.

I shrug, my throat tightening. “I don’t know. If I… If I don’t print this story, I lose my job.”

“And I lose mine either way.”

His words settle in the space between us. For a moment, we just stare at each other, the silence filled with unspoken fears and uncertainties.

“I don’t have to print this story,” I force out, my voice breaking slightly. I’ll lose my job. I’ll lose a safety net, but I’d do it for Liam. If he needs me to keep his secrets, I’ll do it.

“You do have to print it,” he replies firmly, his jaw tightening. “There are… skeletons in my closet. Lots of them. I… I don’t know who leaked this story, but if someone did it once, they could do it again. I’d prefer the information come directly from me rather than through people who don’t know the whole story.”

I shake my head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Jack and I think it could be Zach and Lyla working together.”

Liam nods slowly, his expression darkening. “Yeah. Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Listen,” I say, leaning in closer, seeking his warmth. “We’ve all got pasts, Liam. We’ve all made mistakes. But that doesn’t define who you are now.”

He exhales sharply, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I just don’t know if this will happen again, Maggie. If I’ll ever be free of it.”

I close the distance between us, reaching out to cup his cheek in my hand. His skin is warm beneath my palm, and the tension in his jaw softens as he leans into my touch.

“Where you’ve been doesn’t matter, Liam,” I say softly, the words filled with every ounce of sincerity I can muster. “All that matters is that you’re here now—with me.”

His eyes search mine, and for a moment, the storm raging inside him seems to quiet, his expression softening into something raw and unguarded. It’s like he’s silently asking me to stay, to give him a reason to hold onto this moment a little longer.

And maybe I want the same.