That memory hurts to think about, but it’s fresh in my mind almost daily and it shouldn’t be. I forgave Liam a long time ago, and to hold on to the one memory that ruined us isn’t fair to him. He would’ve stayed if I was able to blurt the words out, but I couldn’t. I thought I was enough. I thought the love that we shared was enough to keep him grounded.
I wipe away a stray tear. I don’t know if it’s from that moment, or for thinking about Mason. It could be either. He was my rock from that day onward, never questioning or asking if I’d heard from Liam. He knew I would’ve told him if I had. I also know it was him who found out the number of Liam’s agency.
The hall is dark and quiet which tells me Noah is still sleeping. I’m thankful that our outburst didn’t wake him or if it did, he’s not letting me know. Liam and I don’t fight and maybe that’s the problem because right now I feel like I’m losing him. It’s something I shouldn’t have to experience again, however part of me is always wondering if he’s just a figment of my imagination or a dream. Am I going to wake up and realize this life I’ve been living these past few years is nothing but a dream; a medically induced coma from an accident? Is Mason alive and well, coaching at the high school where he and Liam set records?
I don’t want this life to be part of some accident or only in my imagination. The day he walked back into my life, I didn’t think we’d end up together. I told myself that he was a drifter, unable to commit to anything. Protecting Noah was my priority, but the second he figured out Liam was his dad, I knew I had a battle on my hands. As much as I wanted Liam to go away and never come back, I didn’t want him to leave. Not only for Noah’s sake, but also for mine.
I love Liam and the paths we’re forging together. Sometimes I wonder if I show him enough that I do. Telling him I love him is one thing. Showing him is something entirely different. I can’t help wondering if I’m failing as a wife in that regard. Am I failing him as a partner?
There’s a soft melody coming from his studio. I pause at the top of the stairs and listen, resting my head on the wall. The sound is familiar and one I haven’t heard in a while. It makes me wonder if he’s preparing his set lists for this event in LA or if he’s just practicing. He’s going to Los Angeles whether I like it or not – that’s something I have no choice but to accept.
The fear is there: The women. The drinking. The drugs. He’s said drugs were never his thing, but booze definitely was. Habits are hard to break, and they’re even easier to fall back into. I trust him, but not the women. The ring on his finger won’t mean anything to them. He’s Liam Page. I’ve witnessed that craziness first hand.
My steps are slow as I reach the door. He’s stopped playing and I use that as my sign to enter his sanctuary. I don’t come down here often, choosing to let him have the space he needs and was accustomed to before he came back to Beaumont. We both have our own places to escape to with the flower shop being mine.
The studio is small, but useful. The guys spend a lot of time down here creating magic. Harrison’s drums sit in the corner, while guitars and keyboards take up the rest of the space. Microphone stands clutter the center of the room. The once cream-colored walls are full of life with music sheets covering every square inch possible.
Liam’s back is to the door and if he’s heard me enter, he doesn’t acknowledge my presence. I know he’s angry. I am too. History does not favor us in this situation. We can either change it, or let something like this drive a wedge between us. Ideally, I’d go with him, however it’s not possible. Noah’s still in school and, with the baby coming, I can’t just up and leave on a whim. My life isn’t as flexible as his. And maybe his shouldn’t be easily adjusted whenever he feels the need, but I married him knowing his career is very important.
My fingers trail over one of his newest tattoos. Noah’s name is inked into his skin between his shoulder blades. It’s bold and beautiful. He relaxes under my touch, hanging his head as I trace each letter, following the design.
“I imagine our new son’s name will go here,” I say, letting my finger glide over his back, right below Noah’s name.
Liam clears his throat. “We need to pick out a name.”
“We have time.”
“Do we?” he asks as he turns on the stool to face me. His hands immediately find a home on my hips as if they’re keeping me grounded.
An overwhelming sense of loss washes over me as I study his other tattoo. A football adorns his shoulder with Mason’s number and stats. I asked him after he got it why his birthdate and the day he left us wasn’t on there and he said because he just needed to remember the way he lived.