Page 45 of Persuading Liam

“Perfect,” I shout, making her jump just a little. “Write it. It will be our headline story. The Return of Paintbrush Post.”

Fin frowns. “But Marley, I’m not a writer. I thought I would gather everything together and someone else…you…would write it.”

I wave my hand through the air. “We don’t have time for that. I’ve got to finish up all the other stories I have going, pull the advertisements together, and format everything. You can do it.”

She presses her perfectly painted lips together. “I wouldn’t even know how…”

“Tell the story through the eyes of when you visited as a young girl and people will eat it up. And Fin,” I stop my manic pacing and meet her eyes so she knows I’m serious. “You can do this. I have no doubt. And I’ll edit it. I won’t let you make a fool out of yourself, okay? You can trust me.”

I see the tightness in her jaw release and her shoulders straighten. Eventually she even nods. “Okay, okay…I can dothis.” She stands up from her chair and squeezes the ever-loving shit out of me. “Thank you for trusting me. You are amazing.”

With that, she grabs her laptop and flounces to her desk with her head a little higher than usual and I feel satisfied for a moment that I made her feel that way.

Until I remember the pit in my stomach that is roughly the size and shape of Liam.

Fuck.

32

LIAM

“Why does your face look like that?” Elliot asks me from where he’s working on his laptop at the bar when I get to work late in the morning.

I try to fix my face, but it doesn’t quite work. I just can’t get over the feeling that something’s wrong with Marley. No, that something is deeply wrong withme. “It just does that whenever I look at you.”

“Mature,” Elliot monotones and turns his attention back to his screen.

I pause for a second, feeling like I should say something more, but I give up and slump to my office. The fact that Elliot was more mature than me in that situation feels wrong too.

I sit at my desk, laptop bag still slung over my shoulder, coat still fully buttoned. In fact, everything feels wrong.

The entire structure of my life seems to have tipped on its head. Max is now the calm brother and Elliot is more reasonable. How does that happen? How have I been the one to get stuck when I so carefully constructed every moment of my life?

I’m unsure how long I sit there but I don’t move until I hear a light knock on the door frame. I didn’t even shut my door.

I clear my throat and pull off my computer bag as if I had just arrived. “Gus, good morning. How are you?”

She smiles at me from the door, a gentle smile that tells me she has a perfectly good idea of just how long I’ve been sitting here like a statue and very much wants to talk about it. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” My attempt at a bright voice falls flat and I shrug off my coat as she shuts the door behind her and plops in the chair across from my desk.

“What can I do for you?” I ask, trying to remember what ordinary Liam sounded like or acted like. Before my entire life was turned upside down by a pair of green eyes.

“Nothing,” she answers softly, somehow knowing exactly what tone of voice to use to get me to calm down even just a little bit. “I thought you might need someone to talk to.”

I flip open my laptop in a nervous need-to-do-something-with-my-hands way. “What makes you say that?”

“Liam, I’ve spent every day with you and your brothers for more than a year and while I know you three oafs aren’t the most observant humans on the planet, I’ve picked up a few things.”

I feel myself bristle because I have no idea what she’s going to say. I can’t remember a thing from the last three weeks other than Marley and nearly losing my goddamn mind last night.

When I don’t answer, Gus leans forward in her chair. “Liam, all I want to say is that I’m here for you if you need anything. The trauma you and your brothers have been through is real and holding it in isn’t going to help anyone. And the longer you do, it could end up hurting someone. Someone like Marley.”

I cringe at her final sentence, and my throat tightens so hard I can barely squeeze a breath through it. “I don’t…” is all I can get out. Just the thought of hurting Marley makes me want to tear this room apart by individual splinters.

But I can’t tell her about that night with my father. Max didn’t go through that. Elliot wasn’t there. That was me. Only me. No one else knows.

I feel Gus’ warm hand close over the top of mine. It grounds me in a way I wasn’t expecting—as if my body can feel that she’s trying to help me even if my brain can’t process it.

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