Chapter 2

Liam' s voice on the phone was a lifeline. He stayed on the line while I cried, not saying much, just letting me know he was there. That quiet support was what I needed.

Ethan knew. That was the thought that kept circling in my head the next day. He had seen the drawing. He had seen the way I looked at him, the way I dropped everything whenever he called. He wasn' t oblivious; he was avoidant. He had enjoyed the benefits of my affection-the constant support, the unwavering loyalty-without ever having to take responsibility for it.

The irony was painful. For years, our friends had treated us like a couple.

"Where' s your other half?" they' d ask if I showed up to a party alone.

"Just wait, you two will be the last ones standing," they' d say with a knowing wink.

Each comment used to give me a secret thrill, a spark of hope. Now they felt like tiny, mocking echoes of my own foolishness.

I even realized how my devotion to Ethan had unknowingly sabotaged any other chance at a relationship. A guy from work, Mark, had asked me out a few times. He was nice, handsome, and clearly interested. But the last time he' d asked, I' d said I couldn't because Ethan needed help moving a new drafting table into his studio that weekend.

"He' s got you wrapped around his finger," Mark had said, not unkindly, but with a finality that told me he wouldn' t be asking again.

I had defended Ethan then, saying he' d do the same for me. But would he? My world had revolved around him. His crises were my crises. His deadlines were my deadlines. It was a habit so deeply ingrained I didn' t even notice it until now.

To me, he was the sun. To him, I was just a planet, one of many, held in a comfortable, predictable orbit. The realization was liberating and devastating all at once.

That night, I didn' t want to think anymore. I went to a small, dark bar downtown, a place I' d never been, and started drinking. Tequila shots. One after another. I wanted the burn in my throat to overpower the ache in my chest. I wanted to be numb.

The hours blurred. I was vaguely aware of the loud music, the sticky floor, the press of strangers around me. I was on my sixth or seventh shot when a voice cut through the haze.

"Ava?"

I looked up. Liam was standing there, a worried frown on his face.

"What are you doing here?" I slurred.

"I called your apartment. No answer. I got worried," he said, his eyes scanning the empty shot glasses lined up in front of me. He took the one I was about to drink and set it down. "You' re not just his friend, you know."

His words were so unexpected they sobered me up for a second. "What?"

"The way you create things, the way you see the world... it' s not just 'friendly' ," he said, his voice low and serious. "It' s brilliant. He was an idiot for not seeing that."

No one had ever called me brilliant before. Not like that. Ethan praised my work, but it was always in the context of how it could help him, how my designs could complement his architecture. Liam' s compliment felt different. It was about me.

Tears I didn' t know I had left started to well up in my eyes. The alcohol, the hurt, and his sudden, fierce kindness were too much. I swayed on my stool, and he reached out to steady me.

"Let' s get you home," he said softly.

His hand on my arm was warm and strong. I leaned into him, all the fight gone out of me. The short walk to my apartment was a blur. I remember stumbling on the curb, and his arms wrapping around me, lifting me up effortlessly. My head fell against his chest, and the steady beat of his heart was a strange comfort.

He unlocked my door and guided me inside. I collapsed onto the couch, my head spinning.

"You' re okay," he murmured, kneeling in front of me. "You' re okay."

His face was close to mine. I saw the genuine concern in his dark eyes, a concern that wasn' t tinged with pity or guilt. It was just... care. And in my drunken, heartbroken state, I did something I never would have done sober. I leaned in and kissed him.

It was messy and desperate. For a second, he was still, surprised. Then, his hand came up to cup the back of my head, and he was kissing me back. It wasn' t gentle. It was raw and needy, a collision of my despair and his long-suppressed feelings.

The last thing I remember was his voice, a rough whisper against my ear, repeating the same words over and over again.

"You' re so much more."

I woke up with a pounding headache and a mouth that felt like sandpaper. Sunlight streamed through the window, painfully bright. I was in my own bed, wearing one of my oversized t-shirts.

Then the memories of the night before came rushing back. The shots. Liam' s words. The kiss.

Panic seized me. I sat bolt upright, my heart hammering. What had I done?

I crept out of my bedroom. The apartment was quiet, but the air felt different, charged. I saw him then. Liam. He was asleep on my couch, his long frame folded uncomfortably, a blanket I didn' t remember getting out draped over him.

He hadn' t taken advantage of me. He had put me to bed and taken the couch.

The reality of the situation crashed down on me. I had kissed Liam Walker. Lily' s little brother. The boy I' d practically watched grow up. The guilt was a physical thing, a heavy weight in my stomach. This wasn't just a drunken mistake with a stranger. This was Liam.

I had crossed a line. A line I never even knew existed, and now I had no idea how to get back.