Fake Dating My Ex’s Favourite Hockey yer.

    bChapter /b105

    EMILIA

    PRESENT TIME

    25%

    I wake up with a sharp breath, like I’ve just hit the surface after drowning.

    He’s gone again.

    My chest rises and falls like I’ve been running, chasing something I can’t have. I don’t scream, even though I want to. The pain sits there, right beneath my ribcage, steady and sharp.

    —

    I feel the wetness on my face. My pillow is soaked. I’m not surprised I don’t even try to wipe the tears away this time. I just lie there in the silence, with my eyes closed letting the

    ache settle.

    Letting the cloud of nostalgia and longing pass so I can finally remember where I am.

    Where I’m supposed to be.

    But I don’t fall apart.

    Not like I used to.

    I take a deep breath and put a hand over my chest, like I’m trying to hold myself together. The grief is still there. It probably always will be. But so is something else.

    Me.

    –

    For a second, I don’t know where I am. I’m still half in the dream chocte on our fingersb, /bLuther’sugh echoing in the kitchen, his hand in my hair, warm and familiar. And half in my grief wanting to run after my brother, drag him back and never let go.

    Then I blink, and I’m back in bed.

    My head is on a tear–soaked pillow that smells like detergent and something warm – something like him. olligo. /li/ol

    Liam’s arm is wrapped tight around my waist, holding me like I might slip away if he lets

    And honestly… maybe I would have. A few months ago, before I met him, I think I

    1812 in 22 Alo

    would’ve drifted away without even trying.

    But not now. Not with him holding me like this.

    His chest rises and falls against my back, slow and steady. He’s still asleep, breathing soft,

    but I can feel him.

    And I feel… grounded.

    His thumb moves a little against my skin, like even in his dreams he’s trying to soothe me. My throat tightens, and my heart swells so painfully it almost knocks the air from my lungs.

    I don’t move. I justy there, breathing him in. Letting the quiet wrap around us like a nket. His leg is tangled with mine, like we’re puzzle pieces that finally found each other.

    I turn just enough to see his face.

    The curtains that usually hide our sliding ss door – it leads to a balcony of sorts and gives a breathtaking view – are drawn open, bringing in just enough moonlight for me to see the rain outside and the faint outline of Liam.

    God.

    He looks perfect like this. Hisshes brush his cheeks, and his lips are slightly parted. His hair’s messy in the best way. He looks peaceful. Strong. Soft. Beautiful.

    I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way… I stopped feeling alone.

    My heart still aches for Luther. That pain hasn’t vanished. Maybe it never will. But right now, with Liam holding me like I matter-

    I don’t feel shattered anymore.

    I feel like someone’s trying to put the pieces back together.

    1 reach for his hand, brushing my fingers across his. He stirs, tightens his grip on me.

    “You okay?” he mumbles, still half–asleep, voice deep and rough.

    Yeah, I whisper 1 think I will be

    “Wanna talk about it?”

    1 squirt my eyes, my mind drifting to Stone Rage like no other starts building up in my

    chest. “No, I’d rather not.”

    I have so many regrets. I should have dismembered him the moment Liam knocked him down. Smashed the tequ bottle over his head. Force him to swallow my heel down his throat.

    But the conclusion I’vee to is somehow more satisfying than all that. Though, I won’t say no to headbutting him again.

    “What’s the time?” I look at the bedside clock and try not to smile.

    “3 AM.”

    He presses his forehead into the back of my neck. He doesn’t say anything else, but I can

    feel what he meansb. /b

    I’m not okay. Notpletely.

    But I’m not alone.

    And that means everything.

    “I’m so sorry, Em.” His voice is low, rough with something that sounds a lot like regret. I barely hear him over the way my heart starts hammering – especially when I feel his breath, warm and soft, brushing against the back of my neck.

    —

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