Page 103 of My Best Friend Is Broken
“Prison,” Liam says, his voice still shaky but gaining strength. “You learn to fight in prison, even if you don’t want to. You learn to watch for openings, to move fast when you get the chance.” He takes an uneven breath. “But I’m no professional.”
Dario looks at him with newfound respect. “You saw the opening and you took it. Without hesitation, without waiting for backup. That’s not just brave, that’s the kind of instinct that keeps people alive in our world.”
“I couldn’t let him hurt Molly,” Liam says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Molly breaks away from Dario to throw his arms around Liam. “You saved my life, you legend! I’m never going to hear the end of this from Dario, he’s going to want to wrap me in bubble wrap for the rest of my life, but you saved me.”
“We’re friends,” Liam says, returning the hug. “That’s what friends do.”
The simplicity of it, the absolute certainty in his voice, makes something tight and painful in my chest finally loosen. This is what I wanted for him, not just safety or healing, but finding his way back to who he is. Liam always did care about others far more than himself. He was always a protector. Fearless and stupidly brave.
He’s not the man who first came home from prison anymore. He’s someone who can face danger and act instead of freezing, who can save lives instead of justsurviving his own.
“We need to move,” Dante says. “Police will be here soon, and we need to be gone before they arrive.”
We extract ourselves from the building with the same efficiency we used to enter it, leaving behind only bodies and evidence that will lead nowhere. By the time the authorities arrive, we’ll be ghosts, and the official report will say it was a gang dispute that ended badly for everyone involved.
In the car on the way back, Liam is pressed against my side, still shaking slightly from the adrenaline. I keep one arm wrapped around him, grounding him, letting him know he’s safe now.
“I thought I was going to lose you,” I say quietly, just for him.
“I thought you might not find us in time.” His hand finds mine, fingers interlacing. “But I should have known better. You always find me.”
“Always,” I promise. “No matter what, no matter where. I will always find you.”
He rests his head on my shoulder, exhaustion finally catching up with him. “Can we go home?”
“Yeah. We’re going home.”
And as the driver takes us through London in the early evening light, heading back to the safety of our apartment, I think about how close we came to losing everything.
But we didn’t. Because Liam was brave enough to act, strong enough to save not just himself but Molly too.
There is something so very Liam about his actions that it is making my soul sing with glee. This feels like the best kind of victory. By taking action, Liam managed to defeat demons both old and new.
It doesn’t mean he is magically cured. It doesn’t mean there aren’t going to be any more bad days. It means he is going to keep on fighting. He’ll win some, he’ll lose some.
And I’ve never been more proud of anyone in my entire life.
Chapter thirty-four
Liam
The apartment feels strange. Almost off kilter. I’m standing in the middle of it while Nicky bustles around making me a cup of tea, and nothing feels quite real. Like I’m wearing a VR headset and I’m actually still in that dark flat with the Russians.
The familiar surroundings, our cream sofa, the expensive coffee table, the artwork Nicky carelessly selected… all of it looks slightly wrong, like props in a stage play rather than the home we’ve been building together. The shadows seem darker than they should be, the corners too sharp, every surface a potential threat.
I wrap my arms around myself and shiver. I can feel my heart beating, and its rhythm is all disjointed, discorded and wrong. Each thump feels irregular, like my body forgot how to function properly and is trying to relearn the basics. My hands are trembling despite my best efforts to still them, and there’s a coldness deep in my bones that has nothing to do with temperature.
Rationally, logically, I know it’s the last dregs of adrenaline fleeing my body. The aftermath of fight-or-flight, the crash that comes when your systemhas been running on pure survival instinct for hours and suddenly there’s no more danger to fight or flee from. It’s textbook trauma response, the kind of thing Dr. Greenstone would explain with clinical precision and reassuring statistics about recovery.
But it feels like falling into a dark void of nothingness. Like the ground beneath my feet has turned to quicksand and I’m sinking, slowly but inevitably, into something I can’t name but desperately fear.
“Nicky, hold me,” I say through clenched and chattering teeth.
He is here in an instant. Warm and solid and real. His arms wrap around me and he squishes me against his chest tight enough to hold all my broken pieces together. The kettle he was filling sits abandoned on the counter, steam rising from the spout, completely forgotten in his rush to reach me.
His heartbeat thuds steadily against my ear. Strong, regular, alive. So different from the chaotic rhythm of my own. His body heat seeps through my clothes, trying to chase away the ice that’s settled into my marrow.
