Page 82 of Baby For My Ex's Brother

"Shiloh," he calls softly, pulling me from the grip of recollection.

I blink away the haze of memories, and Liam opens the car door for me to climb out. The autumn air greets me, forgivingin its touch, absent of the chill that once bit at my bones. It's different now; the sky is clear, a canvas of dark velvet with stars stitched across its expanse, witnesses to our silent vows.

"Are you ready?" Liam asks, his voice steady as his eyes lock onto mine.

"More than ready," I affirm, squeezing his hand for an extra dose of courage. I want to show them—his family—that we're united, that what once was a tangle of forbidden moments has woven into something strong and true.

We stride up the sidewalk together, leaves crunching underfoot in the quiet symphony of fall. The porch light spills out onto the path, painting our way in gold as we approach the looming door of the Walton household—the same door that used to intimidate me.

But not tonight.

Not with Liam by my side.

Liam's knock resonates, a bold declaration of our arrival. My pulse quickens and my stomach tightens with nerves, but I stand tall. I am Shiloh Sanders, and I belong here, ring on my finger, Liam's love wrapped around me like a cloak.

Chris will be furious—we both know it. He can't help himself, but his anger is no match for our love. I glance at Liam, whose jaw sets with determination. He's ready to face his family and introduce me not as the girl Chris tossed aside but as Liam’s future wife.

"Remember," he whispers, "we're in this together."

I nod, anchoring myself in his words. This is our moment of triumph, and nothing Chris or anyone else says can take that from us.

The door swings open, and Chris’s mom, Darla, stands there, her eyes wide as she takes in the sight of us. Her gaze hones in on my hand, clasped in Liam's, the engagement ring a glinting promise of our future.

For a second, time hovers, suspended—the moment before realization crashes in.

"Hi, Darla—you remember Shiloh?" Liam's voice is steady, almost mocking.

Darla's lips part but no sound escapes; it's like the sight of the ring has stolen her breath away. She steps back robotically, granting us passage without a word, her stare never leaving the symbol of our commitment.

We step into the warmth of the house, the scent of roasting turkey mingling with tension. Chris and his dad, Rick, are perched in the living room. They don't see us at first—lost in some trivial conversation—but as we approach, it's Chris who notices me.

His reaction is immediate and visceral, his eyes flashing with anger and betrayal. The air is thick with unsaid words, heavy with the weight of our shared history. He shoots up from his seat, a finger jabbed in my direction like an accusation made flesh.

"I knew it," he spits out, voice dripping with venom. "You fucking—"

"Christopher!" His father's voice slices through the room, sharp enough to cut the tension into ribbons. "Watch your language in this house." His stern gaze shifts from Chris to me, then to Liam. There's an unspoken question there, a father's demand for an explanation.

Liam steps forward, chin held high, the embodiment of resolve. He takes my hand in his, a silent show of solidarity that sends warmth flooding through me despite the chill of confrontation.

"Dad," Liam says, glancing at me before returning his unwavering gaze to his father. "I wanted to introduce you to my fiancée."

Silence claws at the room, thick and suffocating. Darla sucks in a breath, splintering the quiet. Chris's face flames red, his eyes dark thunderclouds ready to burst.

No one moves. The turkey might as well be cardboard for all the appetite left.

"Let's talk outside," Rick finally grinds out, voice low like gravel on pavement.

Liam's grip tightens around my hand. We turn and step into the night, our backs to the gaping mouths and wide eyes. The door closes with a thud that seems to echo the finality of a chapter closing.

"Why, Liam? Why do you have to ruin every family moment we have?" Rick's voice cuts through the crisp air, sharp enough to draw blood.

"Because we're done pretending," Liam retorts, fire in his tone, but his fingers don't let go of mine. "We're done here, Dad. I won't be coming back."

“Liam—”

"Let's just go," Liam urges, pulling at my hand as he strides toward the car, his body a rigid line of tension.

But I can't move. I can't leave it like this. There's something I have to say for us, for our future. Planting my feet, I let go of Liam's hand and face Rick squarely, meeting his glare with one of my own.

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