Chapter 6: What Really Happened That Night

“You said my name,” I whisper finally. “You… begged me not to leave.”

His breath stutters.

He looks like the floor dropped under him.

“I didn’t mean”

He stops.

He tries again.

“I was dreaming.”

“I know.”

“It didn’t mean anything.”

“Liam”

“Don’t read into it,” he snaps.

“I’m not. But you are.”

He looks furious.

But underneath that fury is panic.

Real panic.

“I don't want you,” he mutters.

I feel the words like knives. “Then stop.”

“I can’t.”

“Liam”

“You don’t get it,” he says, voice rough. “When you were in that fire, I”

He cuts himself off.

I step closer. “Say it.”

“No.”

“Say it.”

“Don’t push me, Nico.”

“Then tell me why you were outside my door before the fire started.”

Silence.

“I heard something,” he finally says.

“You didn’t.”

“Fine,” he snaps. “I was checking on you.”

My breath catches.

“Why?” I whisper.

“Because I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why?”

“Because you weren’t sleeping either.”

I stare at him.

He stares back.

And everything between us cracks open again.

We’re too close.

Too aware.

Too done with pretending.

He leans in.

I lean back against the counter.

His hands cage the edges beside me.

“Nico,” he murmurs. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

My chest aches. “Don’t ask me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know the answer.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

He whispers, “Then stop looking at my mouth.”

I feel my pulse slam.

I didn’t even realize I was.

His face lowers.

His breath touches mine again.

“Tell me,” he whispers. “Do you want this?”

My voice cracks. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Yes,” he murmurs, “you do.”

He tilts my chin.

My lips part without meaning to.

And for one impossible second

we both move.

Almost.

Almost.

Almost.

Then he jerks back like he’s burned.

“No,” he says, voice breaking. “We can’t.”

My chest collapses inward.

“Of course,” I say quietly. “You’re running again.”

“I’m not running.”

“You always run.”

“I’m trying to protect us.”

“From what?”

“From each other.”

I laugh weakly. “You’re not making any sense.”

He drags a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“No. You’re doing the worst you can. You’re confusing me. You’re confusing yourself.”

He looks at me really and something inside him snaps.

“Fine,” he says. “If you want me, say it.”

My breath stops.

“What?”

He steps toward the door, jaw tight. “If you want me, say it.”

“Liam”

“Just say it,” he repeats, voice sharp with pain. “I’ll stay. I’ll stop denying everything. I’ll stop fighting it.”

My lips part.

The words almost fall out.

Almost.

But even wanting him feels like a mistake.

So I stay silent.

He laughs once empty, hurt, defeated.

“Thought so.”

He opens the door.

“Liamwait”

But he doesn’t look back.

He storms out of the kitchen, leaving me standing there, breathless, shaking, and drowning in everything I didn’t say.

The silence he leaves behind is worse than the fire.

He wants me to say it… and I think I finally might. But he’s already gone.

“The memory hits like a slap.”

One moment I’m looking at Liam, trying to understand the flicker of fear in his eyes, and the next… I’m back in the yard behind the wedding hall. The music was faint. The lights were low. And Liam was standing too close, breathing too hard, looking at me like he was fighting something he didn’t want to name.

Then the flash fades and I’m here again standing before him, chest tight.

I steady my voice. “I saw something. A piece of that night. It’s clearer now.”

Liam stiffens. His jaw locks the way it does when he’s trying not to feel anything. “Don’t,” he mutters. “Don’t bring that up.”

“That night happened,” I say. “Ignoring it won’t erase it.”

His gaze drops to the floor like it hurts to look at me. “I don’t remember that,” he says, voice low, stressed. “I told you. I don’t.”

But something in the way he says it makes my pulse jump. Because it doesn’t sound like a man who forgot. It sounds like a man who can’t let himself remember.

I step closer slowly, careful. “Liam… look at me.”

He does. His eyes look wrecked.

That alone scares me.

“What do you think I saw?” I ask.

He drinks hard. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “Because every time we talk about that night, you shut down. Every time I ask a question, you run. Every time I get close, you… you look like this.”

His face tightens. “Like what?”

“Like you’re terrified of wanting something you shouldn’t.”

His breath catches. And for a moment, just a moment the truth flickers there, raw and open.

Then he runs a hand through his hair and turns away from me, breaking the moment in half.

“You’re imagining things, Nico.”

“No, I’m not.” My voice sharpens. “We were in the garden. You grabbed my arm. You pulled me behind the bush so no one would see. And then you”

“Stop.” His voice cracks like old wood. “Stop talking.”

“Why? You pulled me close. You looked at my mouth. You almost kissed me.”

His head jerks toward me so fast it almost seems painful.

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You almost did.”

Silence. Thick. Electric.

His throat works. “And you didn’t move away.”

I blink. That was not the twist I expected.

He turns his back on me again like he can’t breathe the same air.

“You didn’t move away, Nico,” he says, voice quiet but not weak. No. It brings blame, confusion, fear.

It brings truth.

“I…” My voice breaks. I didn’t expect him to say that. “I didn’t know what else to do. You surprised me.”

“So that’s your excuse?” he asks, still not turning around. “You just froze?”

“You were the one who leaned in.”

His shoulders rise and fall in a deep, ragged breath. “I told you… I don’t remember that night.”