002

JESSICA

“Liam?” I whispered, even though the silence between us was already loud enough to choke on.

He didn’t look at me. He clutched his phone like he needed it to anchor him to the earth. The screen was black. Probably dead. Like whatever was left inside him.

“I can’t breathe, Jess,” he murmured, voice thick and low. “I can’t… fucking breathe.”

And just like that, my heart cracked.

I reached for the glass of water on the coffee table and held it up to him.

“Here,” I said softly. “Just sip, okay?”

He took it without looking at me, hands trembling, and I watched him drink like his throat was on fire.

I reached for his face next, gently wiping the sweat off his brow with the sleeve of my hoodie.

He didn’t flinch. That was something. He just closed his eyes like he needed the break from the world, like maybe my touch could shut it all out for a second.

And maybe that’s why I stayed still.

He was broken.

But God, I’d always wanted to be the one who helped him put himself back together.

I stared at his face, at the boy I’d known practically my whole life.

Maybe it was seventh grade. Maybe it was Devon White.

Liam had heard Devon say something crude about me behind the gym. I don’t remember the words. But I remember Liam’s reaction. He chased Devon across the schoolyard with a hockey stick and got detention for a week.

Or maybe it was the night I got my appendix removed in tenth grade and woke up to find him sleeping in the plastic chair beside my hospital bed. He held my hand the whole time I was throwing up, even though I looked like death.

That’s the thing. I didn’t fall in love with Liam Wilson. I just always was.

And the truth? I never stopped. Even when he stopped seeing me as anything other than “Jess, the girl from next door.” Even when he fell for someone else. Even when he looked through me like I was made of glass.

He sniffed, dragging his palm across his eyes, but it didn’t help. His tears were quiet, almost ashamed. Like he wasn’t supposed to break like this in front of me.

I hated that I loved watching him fall apart.

Because it meant he still had a heart.

Because it meant she didn’t destroy him completely.

I sat on the floor beside him, knees pulled to my chest, facing him. He still didn’t look at me. He just… crumbled slowly.

He’s never cried for me.

But Samantha? Oh, she gets tears.

I bit my tongue, hard. But it didn’t help.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” I finally asked, voice calm even though my soul was burning.

He let out a breath like it cost him everything. “I saw her again.”

I already knew where this was going, but I asked anyway, like I enjoyed torturing myself. “Where?”

“On campus. With him.”

Him. The word came out like it had poison on it.

“Mason?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Liam nodded, finally meeting my eyes. And that was worse. Those eyes were red-rimmed and hollow, like someone had reached in and stolen all the light from them.

“She’s not worth this, Liam.” My voice shook, not with sadness, but rage. “She’s not.”

He opened his mouth slowly. His lips trembled before the words even came out.

“But I still love her.”

And just like that, every bit of air left my lungs.

He still loved her.

I rubbed slow circles into his back, whispering things I didn’t even know I believed.

“It’s okay. I’m here. Just breathe with me. One breath at a time, Liam…”

They were just words. Soft. Barely-there whispers that floated into the heavy air like smoke, curling around the edges of his silence.

He didn’t ask me to say anything. He didn’t even look at me. But he didn’t pull away. And in that moment, that was enough. That was everything.

He leaned his head into my lap like muscle memory, like we’d done this before. And we had. Except it was years ago.

9His breath hitched against my thighs, and I didn’t dare move. I didn’t even breathe. I was terrified that if I did, if I shifted, or exhaled, or blinked too hard—he’d remember I wasn’t her.

“Why does love feel like death?” He asked, barely a whisper, like the words hurt on the way out.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and blinked back the sting behind my eyes. “Maybe because you’re loving the wrong person.”

He exhaled sharply, like the breath had been caught in his chest for years. It wasn’t quite a laugh, and it wasn’t quite a cry. Just something broken. Something tired.

“You’re not alone, Liam,” I said gently, my voice shaking even as I tried to sound sure.

“Don’t lie to me, Jess.” His voice cracked, and he still didn’t look at me. “I am. I always have been.”

My chest cracked open at the sound of it, like he didn’t even realize the way those words could slice someone in half.

“Not when I’m here,” I said. “You’re not alone when I’m here.”

But he didn’t answer. He just stayed quiet, his shoulders curled in like he was holding the whole weight of the world inside his bones.

And I hated how familiar that felt.

Because I knew what it was like to sit in silence and wonder if anyone would ever choose you loud enough to drown out the ghosts in your own mind.

I knew what it was like to watch the person you loved look right through you every day and never really see you.

I watched Liam love everyone but me.

I grew into a body I thought he’d notice. Cut my hair the way he liked. Laughed at jokes I didn’t even understand, wore lip gloss I hated, and tried so hard to look like the girls he always picked.

And still, I was just Jess. The girl next door. The family friend. The safe space. The backup plan he never asked for.

And yet—here I was. Holding him. Rocking him like he was made of something too fragile to survive the night.

I slid my arms around him from behind, slowly. Carefully. Like touching him too suddenly would shatter whatever piece of him was still holding on.

He tensed immediately. His body was stiff and guarded. But he didn’t pull away.

He just stayed there.

And so did I.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered into the curve of his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

And that was when he broke.

There was no warning. No sound at first. Just a subtle tremble that started in his shoulders and then spread like a wave.

His hands gripped mine. And then the tears came. Not loud, not dramatic. Just quiet devastation.

I held him tighter. Pressed my forehead to his back. Matched my breaths to his until I could feel our sadness syncing up like a pulse.

He turned, slow and heavy, like the weight of his own heartbreak was dragging him.

His eyes met mine. Really met mine. And it was like being struck by lightning—silent, blinding, and electric.

There was something in his gaze. Something raw. Something pleading.

“Liam…” I breathed, not even sure what I was asking.

And then he kissed me.

It came out of nowhere. No warning. No pause. Just his lips crashing into mine with a desperate kind of hunger, a storm he couldn’t contain anymore.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t romantic.

It was pain. It was heartbreak. It was everything he didn’t know how to say pouring out of him in one rough, reckless moment.

And I kissed him back.

Because I always would.

Because even if this meant nothing to him, it meant everything to me.

His hand found my neck, fingers trembling as they pulled me closer like I was oxygen. I let him. Let him take what he needed. Let him ruin me. Because at least it would be him.