12. Liam

Reflecting on the day's events, from the moment I woke up to now, sitting across from Vanessa in my private jet, I can't help but acknowledge the utter insanity of it all. My actions, especially where Vanessa is concerned, teeter on the brink of madness. Yet there's something undeniably exhilarating about this chaos, a thrilling blend of fear and excitement that I've never experienced before.

As we soar above the clouds, the quiet hum of the jet engines is the only sound, a stark contrast to the chaos of her family's house we left behind. Watching Vanessa, there's a peacefulness to her now, a difference from the tension that radiated from her just an hour ago. It's a reminder of why every seemingly mad decision today felt entirely right.

Each decision, each action taken today, wasn't just a gamble; it was a statement—a declaration that I'm unequivocally in her corner, no matter the cost.

She is more than a friend, the voice in my head chimes, and I want to smother it.

As she sits there, lost in thought, biting her lip, I realize this is precisely where I need to be. I lean forward, softly brushing her hand to catch her attention.

She turns, her eyes meeting mine, clouded with thoughts. "What's on your mind?" I ask gently.

"I'm not a whore," she blurts out, her voice sounding frustrated and hurt.

Her words catch me off guard, and I lean back slightly. "I— What?"

She sighs, shaking her head as if to dispel the harsh words. "My sister implied I've been… with many guys. That's not true."

I pause, trying to push away the anger her family's words sparked in me. "Nessa, that's irrelevant. I don't care about that. I wasn't exactly waiting around either," I admit, trying to lighten the mood.

She studies me for a moment, her gaze intense, weighing my words and perhaps what they mean to us.

"I know, but still. I want you to know that."

"Okay."

"And for the DUI…"

"No, you…" I stop talking because she's turning toward the window again, cutting all access to her.

"I was judged more harshly than warranted," she continues, her voice tinged with defiance and resignation. "It wasn't as bad as they made it out to be. The car was acting up, and I hadn't drunk much. But, of course, my family used the opportunity to play the victim, as they always do. They're probably still holding a grudge because they believe I ruined Lily's wedding." She gives a dismissive wave, but the weight of the accusation hangs heavy between us. "I didn't even cause a scene. After the dust settled, they still made me spend the night in a cell."

Her casual dismissal belies the deeper hurt I sense in her voice, the feeling of being perpetually misunderstood and judged by those supposed to support her unconditionally. It's a narrative all too familiar, and yet she carries it with a resilience that only deepens my respect for her.

She turns back to face me with curiosity and something deeper in her eyes. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?" I prompt, even though I have a hunch about what's on her mind.

"About my grandfather's money. Did you really do all that? For me?" Her voice is filled with wonder and disbelief.

I nod without hesitation. "Of course. No one should have that kind of power over you."

Her next question is more introspective. Quieter. "Why did you come, Liam?"

I offer a half smile, aiming for light-heartedness. "I've always dreamed of being a knight in shining armor," I joke, trying to ease the weight of the conversation.

She raises an eyebrow at that, a silent challenge to my humor.

I let out a sigh, the playful facade fading as I seek the right words. "I didn't want you to be there when you didn't want to be. Seeing you trapped and unhappy… I couldn't just stand by."

Her gaze softens, reflecting gratitude and vulnerability. "That means a lot. No one's ever… I mean, I've always had to fend for myself."

"Are they always like that?" I can't help but ask, the evening's events replaying in my mind.

"No, sometimes they're worse," she half jokes, a laugh escaping her lips before she quickly reassures me, "I'm joking." Yet, the fleeting shadow of truth behind her words doesn't escape me. I've begun to notice the subtle hints of pain she carries, becoming more attuned to her emotions than I ever anticipated. She dismisses her family's behavior with a wave of her hand, "To be fair, I wasn't the easiest to deal with after I lost my hearing."

"And?" I lean in, intrigued, resisting the urge to close the distance even more. "You were grieving a part of your identity. Acting up is part of the process."

She tilts her head, considering my words. "What did you lose, Liam Ashford?" she probes.

My freedom. The answer is clear in my mind, but all I offer is a simple "Nothing."

Her gaze lingers on my face, searching, skeptical of my brief reply. "You sound like someone who understands loss," she observes.

"I'm speaking as someone who cares," I clarify, hoping to steer the conversation away from my own experiences.

"Yes… Caring." She sighs. "It's not always an advantage, is it?"

Especially now, especially with the life I'm about to lead… especially with you. Yet, despite the potential complications, I find myself unwilling to wish for anything different. All I manage, however, is a noncommittal shrug, our conversation hanging in a delicate balance between spoken truths and unvoiced thoughts.

"I hope I didn't make your life more difficult," I say to her, feeling a twinge of hypocrisy. After all, I had stormed into her family drama without any hesitation, completely overturning the fragile balance of her family relationships without considering the fallout. This impulsive action is out of character for me, a deviation from my usual calculated approach to life.

Just yesterday, I was getting ready for the jubilee, doing what my parents expected of me. Then I saw the bracelet I'd given Nessa, the one she left behind the last time she was there. That night, I almost asked her to stay. The look she gave me when she left said she wanted that too.

Thinking back, I realize how much I've let my guard down with her, acting on impulse rather than with my usual caution. But seeing her in distress, I couldn't just stand by. Despite the chaos, I don't regret stepping in.

"Honestly? You probably did, but I think it's for the best. There's a part of me that kept on…" She stops talking, trailing her fingers on the sleek white table separating us. "I want to say hoping, but that's not the right word—thinking that maybe things could settle between us. I wanted to show them that all they thought was wrong and that their way was not the only way. But"—she gives a resigned shake of her head—"it feels like wasted effort."

I can't hold back any longer. Moving the table aside, I pull her toward me and lift her onto my lap.

She gasps, surprised by the sudden closeness, and I signal discreetly to the hostess for some privacy.

With her now straddling me, I remind myself this is about comfort, not sex, as my cock stirs at her nearness.

"I don't want your pity," she states firmly, attempting to shift away, but I tighten my grip on her hips to keep her close.

"Good, because pity is the last thing I feel for you. What I feel… pity isn't in the picture," I tell her, my eyes unwavering to show her the sincerity that she can't hear.

She presses herself on my groin, and I groan.

"I didn't come here to ‘save' you; you don't need saving. They can't touch you. I came because I wanted to be with you. I missed you," I confess, the words escaping before I can hold them back.

Her expression softens, her fingertips gently outlining my features with a tenderness that catches me off guard. Her gaze turns dreamy, and I realize the magnitude of my admission. It's a truth that complicates things further, revealing feelings that perhaps should have remained hidden. Yet, at this moment, all I can focus on is the connection between us, both comforting and undeniably real.

She leans in and kisses me, a touch so gentle and soft it surprises me. But with her, my self-control is always on the edge, and despite my intentions to keep this moment tame, I can't help but respond. My hand finds the back of her head, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss as she rocks her hips, hardening my cock even more.

No, not here. With willpower I didn't know I had, I gently break the kiss, though every fiber of my being protests the separation. Our foreheads rest together as we both pant, trying to steady our breaths. Having her on my lap like this is intoxicating, but I'm acutely aware that if I don't create some distance, my resolve will shatter completely.

I gently help her off my lap, unable to suppress a chuckle at the disappointed look she gives me.

"We were just getting to the good part," she sighs, settling back into her seat.

My attempt at laughter sounds more like a breathless exhale. "There's plenty of fun waiting for us in Vegas," I assure her.

"Vegas?" Her interest is piqued.

"Yeah, for the football tournament, you're coming, aren't you?" I ask, hoping she'd already considered it a given.

"I… I didn't know I was invited," she admits, a hint of surprise in her voice.

"You're my plus-one," I tell her, making it official.

Her smile broadens. "That doesn't sound very friends with benefits of us."

"Is that what we are?" I probe, needing to hear her thoughts on the matter.

The light in her eyes dims a bit, her smile fading. "That's what we should be," she says, but her voice lacks conviction.

Her words hang between us, heavy with the things she leaves unsaid. We've not been that for quite some time. I don't even think we ever were.

Now the question is… Where does it leave us?

The trip to California shifted things between Nessa and me in ways I hadn't anticipated. It's been subtle but definitely noticeable. Lately, we've been talking way more than we've been having sex. I've caught myself paying more attention to her smiles and the way her eyes light up than the curves of her body, a change that's both surprising and profound. I'm drawn to seeing more of her world, particularly her dancing. The thought of watching her dance, something she describes with such passion and freedom, intrigues me deeply.

She speaks of dancing as her release, a way to truly express herself, and I can only imagine how captivating she must be in those moments. It's a side of her I haven't seen yet but one I'm eager to discover. It's a different kind of intimacy, one that's no less powerful than the physical connection we share.

Standing outside the stadium, I glance at my phone, then at the entrance, wrestling with my decision. Deep down, I know exactly what I want—to buy her a first-class ticket to Vegas and have her by my side, calming the nerves before the exhibition game. The thought of us being seen together doesn't bother me as it once might have, but I'm unsure about her feelings on the matter, and I hesitate to ask.

Opening the messaging app, I second-guess myself yet again. This indecision, this constant back and forth, is uncharacteristic and draining. Checking the time, I realize I can't afford to be late for the team meeting.

I start walking toward the entrance, then pause, a decisive moment of clarity washing over me. "Fuck it," I mutter, pulling out my phone again. If I'm going to crash and burn, I might as well go all in.

Me: How about flying first class with me to Vegas? Be my emotional support friend?

Just as the typing dots appear, signaling her reply, I'm interrupted.

"Hey man, what are you waiting for?" Peters, the curly-headed defender, calls out.

I force my captain's demeanor back on, pocketing my phone with a silent groan. "Just checking how late you'd be," I retort.

"Ah, come on, don't be that way! I've only been late twice this year," he protests.

"Twice too many," I reply, clapping my hands together to signal it's time to move. "Let's go!"

As we head into the meeting, part of my mind remains on my phone, waiting for her response, the uncertainty of her answer hanging in the balance.

As I enter the locker room, all the players are already seated, including my roommates Ethan and Cole. Cole is practically vibrating with excitement, but I know it has nothing to do with the game. He couldn't care less about the exhibition. It's all about Eva, who, against all odds, agreed to go to Vegas too. I can't help but wonder what kind of convoluted plan he's concocted for her.

"What did you want to see us about? We've got no games for a while," Jameson, one of the center players and also a senior, asks with a hint of impatience.

I fix him with a cold stare, my expression the usual mask of control and austerity. "I wanted to remind you that what happens in Vegas DOESN'T stay in Vegas. Anything you pull out there will reflect on the entire team and me as your captain."

"Oh, come on, man! It's Vegas! Stop spoiling our fun," Peters chimes in, siding with Jameson's thinly-veiled mutiny.

"Have your fun," I tell them, my tone firm, "but if any of you miss the game or play poorly because you're hungover, you'll be benched for the rest of the season. Am I clear?"

"So we basically need to be as boring as you are?" Jameson shoots back, his remark intended to provoke.

His attitude has been increasingly irritating, but I've dealt with enough people like him to know that staying cool is the best way to get under his skin. "I wouldn't dream of asking you to meet my standards, Jameson. Just don't embarrass me, don't get arrested, uphold the moral code this school stands for, and make sure to pick up the game plan from the coach's office before you leave."

"We're done now?" he asks, a note of defiance still in his voice.

"We are…" I reply, drawing out the moment to emphasize my point. "Everyone, grab the game plan, and don't be late to the airport tomorrow."

"Don't worry, Mommy," Cole snickers as he walks past me, earning my sharpest glare.

Despite the back-and-forth, I make a mental note to keep an eye on them in Vegas. Ensuring the team stays out of trouble is just another part of being captain, even if it means playing the bad guy now and then.

I stay behind in the locker room, enjoying the quiet after the storm of the team meeting. Despite the frustrations, there's a part of me that knows I'll miss these moments. Pulling out my phone, I can't help the smile that comes with seeing a text from Nessa.

Nessa: Would have loved to slum with you in 1st but Cole's pushy and we need to be Eva's shields. So Economy it is.

"Fuck you, Cole," I grumble under my breath, pocketing the phone again.

Looking up, I notice Coach standing near the equipment room, half shrouded in darkness.

"You know, Coach, anyone else might find it creepy, you lurking in the shadows like that," I comment, trying to lighten the mood.

He laughs heartily as he steps closer. "Was just checking what we need for next season, now that the dean's upped our budget. Didn't want to interrupt your little pep talk."

"Oh, I'm sure you were on the edge of your seat," I reply, the sarcasm heavy in my voice.

"You're a born leader, Ashford," he says, taking a serious tone.

I chuckle, though the compliment sits oddly with me. "So I've been told," I admit, then add, "You should consider Hawthorne for captain next year."

Coach looks thoughtful for a moment. "Is that right?"

I nod firmly. "Cole's too unpredictable to lead. He's loyal, and he'll always have Ethan's back, but—" I pause, noticing Coach's smile. "Why are you smiling?"

"Because Ethan Hawthorne was my pick from the start. Just wanted to see if you'd come to that conclusion on your own."

Raising an eyebrow, I can't hide my surprise. "Testing me till the end, huh? You should know by now I don't shy away from tough choices."

It's true. I've faced difficult decisions all my life, and there's no doubt I'll continue to do so. It's part of who I am, both on and off the field.

"You know they're going to have a blast in Vegas, right?" Coach says somewhat jokingly.

I let out a snort. "Yeah, I had to lay down the law, though. They think I'm just old, boring Liam, but I've been around. I know what's up." Honestly, if it weren't for the promises I made to get here, if I didn't have to live up to such high standards, I might have been right there with them.

But I'm walking a different kind of tightrope with Nessa, and it's thrilling in its own way, even if a part of me keeps whispering that I need to come clean with her. She's caught up in something that can't go anywhere. Not because I don't want it to, but because it just can't.

Liam Ashford, the guy I've been for the past three years, is all in.

But Prince Alexander William of Denmark? That's a whole other story.

I know I should tell her the truth, but somehow, I keep putting it off, telling myself I'll just enjoy this lie a little bit longer.