Page 72 of It's Not All Fake

“Oh, my God, Chloe,” he says, shock and horror in his voice. I swear I can see his heart breaking. He’s holding some small container, but it doesn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into an embrace. He smells like citrus and sea salt, reminding me of our dreamy days on the yacht. They seem so far away now.

I feel safe in his arms, the warmth of his chest comforting, and tears well up in my eyes.

“What happened?” he whispers, pulling back after a moment, searching my eyes and brushing a tear off my cheek with his thumb. “I saw the police outside…” He trails off, a question lingering.

“Come in,” I gesture for him to move inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

“Do you need to see a doctor?” His eyes scan the damage near my temple as he gently moves my hair away to assess the full extent. I let him, appreciating his tenderness.

“No.” I try a small smile. “The bleeding stopped; I don’t need stitches.”

“What happened, Chloe?” he asks again urgently.

“Can we sit down?” I need to ground myself for this conversation, to process what happened.

I see his jaw tense, frustration flickering in his eyes, but he sighs. We move to the couch, and he sits close to me, his hand on my leg, keeping me near. He’s still holding the container, and I realize it’s soup.

“You brought soup?” I glance up at him.

“You said you weren’t feeling well,” he explains, almost as if just remembering the chicken noodle soup he’s holding. The sweetness of his gesture makes me feel more guilty for not being completely honest when I texted him earlier.

He sets the soup on the coffee table and takes my hands in his, his hands even warmer than usual from holding the hot container. His eyes are filled with concern, waiting for me to explain.

I scrunch up my forehead, wincing at the pain near my eye. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away. Lucas came over,” I admit.

“You asked him over?” Liam’s voice carries a note of betrayal.

“No,” I shake my head, a bit offended he would think that. “He showed up at my place. I agreed to talk to him, but?—”

“You agreed?” Liam repeats, shocked.

“Liam, let me finish,” I say, frustration rising. Tears threaten again. I’m exhausted, and his reaction isn’t helping.

He waits, silent, but I can see his jaw remains tense, his eyes worried.

“He texted me asking to meet up and talk. I wanted to handle this myself, so I agreed to set up a time, but I didn’t expect him to show up at my apartment right away,” I explain, feeling exasperated.

Liam’s expression doesn’t look any less concerned, but he continues to listen.

“I thought I could handle things, but Lucas tried to take my phone and he pushed me.” I shake my head, still disbelieving this happened. “I hit the corner of the coffee table.” I gesture towards my injury with a shrug.

I see anger flashing behind Liam’s eyes. It’s the same look he gets when he talks about his mother being abused. Guilt gnaws at me because I know how triggering this is for him.

“What else?” Liam says, trying to keep his anger in check.

I shrug again. “Then he left. He threw my phone in the sink, so I used my laptop to text you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But it seemed more like an in-person thing,” I breathe a laugh, surprised at my own attempt to lighten the mood.

But instead, his mood only darkens as he takes a sharp breath. “You shouldn’t have opened the door, Chloe. Why didn’t you call me? He could have hurt you more—or worse.” His face contorts with pain.

I pull my hand out of his, feeling the sting of his words. “I don’t need a lecture, Liam.”

I stand up, pacing around the coffee table that smashed my face earlier. I notice there’s still blood on the edge of it.

“I’ll beat myself up enough without your help,” I continue, turning to face him with frustration rising inside me.

He winces at my harsh words from his spot on the couch, but I can't stop now.

“Why are you even here?” I shake my head. “This isn’t part of our deal. There are no cameras here. It’s a waste of your time,” I assert, frustrated by still not knowing where I stand in his life. What am I to him?

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