Page 23 of Persuading Liam

“Like I’m broken beyond repair.”

“Well, I mean, we’re all broken man,” he says softly, drawing my eyes to him. His jaw is tight as he looks out over the valley, and I see maturity there I’ve never seen before. It dawns on me that maybe he isn’t the happy-go-lucky rubber ball that always bounces back with a grin and smooth one-liner. “Losing mom to cancer was enough to break anyone, but then losing dad and Sutton Brewing…”

I nod and we sit in silence for a moment before he goes on.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t overcome it or thatwecan’t overcome it. Hell, Max used to be the literal Hulk twenty-four-seven and now he’s a domesticated teddy bear.”

I chuckle.

“And now we have Redpoint, which is a thousand times cooler than what Sutton has become. You know?”

I nod. “I know.” Sometimes, I get so caught up in everything that was lost that I forget what we’ve gained in the process.

Elliot lets out a heavy breath. “I guess all I’m trying to say is that things can get better, that maybe Marley looks at you and sees something different than the others.” He spears a hand through his hair, grinning, his normal devil-may-care personality returning as quickly as it left. “And think about all the fun you’ll have in the process.”

Rolling my eyes, I shake my head, feeling somehow a little better. I’ll have to marvel over Elliot’s surprising maturity later. “Ready to head back?”

Elliot packs his trash back into his pack and adjusts his harness. “Let’s do it.”

15

MARLEY

“Oh my God,” I gasp when I walk in the door Saturday after working all morning to find Liam washing blood off his hands.

He holds his hand up and shows me that an entire section of skin on his left index finger has pulled away. “It’s just a flapper,” he comments. “I was being stupid on my climb today. Went too fast.”

“Climb?” I ask. I can feel the confusion crumple my face, not helped by my continuing inability to sleep. “Flapper?”

He chuckles and runs his hand under the cold water again. “Rock climbing. Elliot and I climbed the Westport Face this morning.”

I drop my computer bag to the floor and try to process why a human would do such a thing when there is absolutely no reason to do so. “You climbed a sheer cliff this morning? On purpose.’

He flashes a grin that stills my racing mind and takes me right back to the moment his hands landed on my hips. He looks tan and windswept and impossibly more delicious than he usually does, which should be illegal, seeing how he’s already magazine-cover-worthy. “On purpose,” he confirms. "My dadgot my brothers and me into climbing as children. We've been doing it ever since.”

I shake my head as I imagine how he must look scaling a cliff face, his muscles straining, the sun shining off the golden highlights in his hair… It makes my lady bits tingle. “How did your mom feel about that.”

He laughs as he shuts the water off and pats the skin dry with a paper towel. “I’m pretty sure she hated it. She said she aged ten years every time we went off for a climb.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I comment, my heart stuttering at the thought of something horrible happening to Liam.

His eyes wander down to the bag at my feet. “Did you work this morning?”

Glad for a subject change, I scoop my bag off the floor. “Yeah. Finola starts on Monday, and I wanted to make sure she had a functional space. Her desk didn’t arrive until yesterday, so I went in and got her station set up as best I could. It’s still a mess, but she should be able to do something—whatever that may be.”

“That was nice of you,” he comments, grabbing a tiny scissor.

“Well, it’s not her fault everything is a crazy mess.” I watch him fail to cut the loose skin for a few seconds before I drop my bag again and approach him. “Let me try.”

He eyes me for a moment but gives in and hands me the scissors. “I disinfected them,” is all he says.

“I have no doubt,” I say, taking his injured hand in mine. The second our skin touches, my breath leaves my body. His skin is warm and calloused, but still somehow smooth from years of climbing. It’s all I can do to keep my mind on the task and not think about how his fingers might feel on my body, pinching my nipples, drawing trail maps on my thighs.

Biting my lip and holding my breath, I lift the scissors to the wound and carefully remove the excess skin so all that’s left is anangry red patch below the pad of his finger. Tossing that, I reach for the bandage and apply it firmly around his finger.

When I finish, I make the mistake of looking up to find him watching me with a steady gaze, brows furrowed, something a lot like hunger in his eyes and for a moment, time comes to a complete stop. I can feel my body communicate with his as if making plans I’m not in on. “All done,” I whisper, my voice a shadow of what it was a moment ago. But I don’t let go of his hand. Not yet, and definitely not when his strong fingers turn in mine and twine around them.

“Thank you, Marley,” he breathes, a huskiness to his voice I’ve not heard before. For the record, it’s my new favorite sound.

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