Page 39 of A Simple Reminder

She stops dead in her tracks, her shoulders stiffening as she processes the question.

“Liam, I don't think that's...”

Before she can finish, I step in front of her, blocking her path, my chest tight, my voice sharper than I mean it to be.

“Just tell me.” The words tumble out before I can stop them, tinged with a desperation I don't want to acknowledge. But it’s there—raw, impossible to ignore.

I need to know. It’s killing me, this gnawing ache in my chest, this burning question. It's the way she laughs around him, like there’s nothing wrong, like there’s some kind of understanding between them that I can’t touch, can’t fathom. That ease they share... it unsettles me.

I need to know what he did. How he hurt her. How she can still be so damn friendly to him.

“Why?” Her voice is sharp.

“Because.”

She laughs without a shred of humor. “That's not a reason.”

“And also...” Her eyes narrow, her walls going up like steel bars. “It's private. It's none of your business.”

Her words slice through the air like a dismissal, like she’s putting up a new barrier, one I can’t cross. But I’m not backing down.

This isn't just about curiosity. Hell, it's not even about respect for boundaries.

It’s about protecting her. Even from herself, from her own choices. From the ghosts that refuse to stay buried in her past.

It’s about knowing every corner of her world—every dark spot, every scar—so I can stand beside her, not behind her. Fully informed. Fully aware.

It's about not being pushed aside.Not ever. Even as a friend.

“Do you still like him?” The question slips out before I can stop it, more accusatory than I intended. What the hell am I even asking? Am I twelve? This woman is driving me crazy.

Her eyes flash—anger, hurt, maybe both—but it’s enough to make the air between us feel thick. “What kind of question is that?” she snaps back.

I don’t back down, even though I know I should. “Why the hell are you giggling so much around him, then?”

She raises an eyebrow, challenging me. “Firstly, I’m not giggling much,” she retorts, “and secondly, are you listening in on our conversations?”

“One: yes, you are. Two: no, I’m not,” I answer quickly, the lie sliding off my tongue too easily, too smoothly. “But the sound of your laughter carries through the office.”

I’m full of shit, of course. Of course, I’m listening. I hear every damn word, every damn chuckle, and it’s driving me up the wall.

Her lips press into a tight line, her head shaking slowly, the frustration clear in the way her shoulders stiffen. I watch her take three deep breaths, fighting to keep it together.

I close the distance between us. My chest nearly brushes hers as I step in, invading her space just enough to make my point. “You never answered my question. Do you still like Jared?”

A muscle in her jaw twitches, a visible indicator that she’s close to bursting. Maybe that’s what I want—for her to just let go fully, for her to get every last piece of frustration out so we can start over, for real.

Her eyes darken, a storm churning behind them as she levels me with a look. Then comes the one question I’m not ready for. “Are you jealous?”

My heartbeat stutters, the words striking a nerve. Jealous? Hell yes, I’m jealous. If there’s even a chance she still feels something for him, I don’t know what I’ll do. Because he’s not right for her. Not in any universe.

“I’m not jealous of Jared,” I say, the words coming out between gritted teeth, like they’re harder to say than they should be.

“Then leave it be,” she snaps, her voice sharp, brushing past me with a dismissive wave of her hand. She heads up the stairs to the entrance of her apartment, and each step she takes feels like a widening gap between us.

Before she has time to open the door, I call out to her, “I need you to meet me atOpulent Haventomorrow at nine a.m. We have a meeting.”

She pauses, her hand hovering over the door handle, and turns back to look at me. “I'm deep into the project you so graciously gifted Jared and me.”

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