Papa & Son

Liam

I woke up with a dull ache in my chest and the scent of Ronan still clinging to the sheets. I hadn’t meant to sleep over, but I’d passed out sometime after he left the room without even a glance. Figures.

Dragging myself out of bed, I went straight to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. My reflection didn’t lie—I looked like shit. My father was probably freaking out. My phone wasn't with me so he was probably calling and texting without getting a response. And I was ridiculously late for work. Great.

I threw on my clothes, the same ones from last night, and headed to the car I’d parked out front. The entire drive back, my stomach twisted in knots. Not just because of the inevitable lecture, but because… I still felt him. Every damn touch.

I pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. Inside, my father was already suited up, briefcase in hand, adjusting his cufflinks like he was getting ready to conquer Wall Street.

His eyes locked onto mine the second I walked in. His brow arched. “Where have you been, Liam?”

"A friend's place," I replied. "Sorry that I came late."

"Like you have any friends," he growled, angrily. "In case you don't know, I won't think twice if I need to disown you. I won't have a useless, irresponsible young man as my son."

I bit my lip trying hard not to cry because his words sure damn hurt me.

"Being emotional doesn't fit," he spat and then I looked up, watching him stomp away.

I stepped into my room, peeled off my clothes, and headed straight for the bathroom. The cold water hit my skin like a slap to the face—exactly what I needed to wash away the mess of last night. I scrubbed harder than necessary, like I could erase the memory of his hands, his voice, his body. But no matter how hot the water got or how long I stood under it, Ronan’s touch clung to me like a ghost.

I got dressed quickly—simple shirt, slacks, nothing too polished. Just enough to look presentable. My father’s words from earlier still echoed in my head, and I didn’t want to give him more ammunition to call me “irresponsible” or “emotional” or whatever label he had ready this time.

I grabbed my keys and stepped into my car, letting the soft hum of the engine drown out my thoughts. The drive to the company was long, almost tiring at this point. I turned the corners, rolled through the same lights, but my mind was somewhere else entirely. With him. Still stuck in that hotel room. Still hearing the way he said “never again.”

I parked in my usual spot and took a deep breath before stepping out. The second I walked into the building, the rhythm of corporate life slapped me back into reality—keyboards clacking, printers humming, phones ringing, and voices rising in the usual morning chaos.

I headed for my desk... and there he was. Fred.

Of course.

He was already seated, pretending to be busy, but his eyes flicked up the moment he saw me. That awkward thing between us? Yeah, still alive and kicking.

I didn’t say anything at first. Just sat down, opened my monitor, and tried not to remember the way his stupid love letter made me feel the first time I read it.

Why was his desk unfortunately right next to mine? His head lifted when he sensed me, and for a second time, our eyes met.

Shit. That awkward silence was back again. The same one that’s been there ever since that misunderstanding.

"Morning," I mumbled, adjusting my chair and turning back to my monitor.

"Hey," Fred said, voice careful. He looked like he wanted to say more, but held it back. I didn’t blame him. I hadn’t exactly gone out of my way to clear the air.

I kept my eyes on the screen, pretending to check emails, even though my mind was still full of him. Of Ronan. Of the way his voice had sounded in the dark. Of the way he left me like I was nothing.

Fred was still there beside me. And that unspoken thing between us still lingered like a fog we couldn’t see through.

"So," Fred finally said, quietly. "Rough night?"

I looked at him, trying not to read into the question. "Yeah. You could say that."

We didn’t say anything for a while. The clack of keys between us felt louder than usual, like it was trying to fill a space we didn’t know how to cross anymore. After a few minutes, I cleared my throat and muttered, "So… what about Wendy?"

Fred’s fingers paused for a moment over the keyboard. Wendy was the girl the letter had been meant for. The letter that accidentally ended up on my desk and sparked this whole awkward mess.

He chuckled softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “She said no. She’s already seeing someone.”

“Ouch,” I said, genuinely wincing. “I’m sorry about that.”

He shrugged. “Nah, it’s fine. Just means I can focus more on work.”

Before I could say anything else, the door opened and Wendy herself walked in, slightly breathless.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, tossing her bag down as she slid into her seat.

Fred didn’t even look at her. I glanced between them, noting the stiff silence that suddenly cloaked his side of the desk. Wendy looked as cheerful as ever, completely unaware—or maybe just pretending to be.

I refocused on my screen, fingers flying across the keyboard. Creative briefs weren’t going to write themselves, and avoiding emotional tension was easier when you were knee-deep in deadlines.

We were still knee-deep in edits when Wendy suddenly piped up, her eyes glued to her screen. “Oh. The CEO wants to see us for a brief meeting. I just got the email.”

I groaned under my breath, dragging a hand down my face. Of course. Just when the morning was going semi-okay. “Great,” I muttered, sarcasm dripping from the word.

Fred gave me a quick side glance, clearly aware of what that meant. I hated meetings with my dad. Everyone else saw him as the sharp, polished, commanding CEO. I saw the man who grilled me over the dinner table and still reminded me to tuck in my shirt.

We stood, gathering our notes and devices. Wendy already looked halfway out the door, eager as ever. I took my time, moving like I had bricks in my shoes.

Fred clapped my shoulder lightly as we followed her out. “Come on, it won’t be that bad.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “You only say that because he’s not your dad.”