I don’t realize I’m shaking until Liam gently rubs his thumb over my knuckles. The anger, the fire–I felt invincible a second ago, but now? Now, my hands feel ice cold.
“You okay?” Lfam asks, voice low.
I nod. Then I lie. “Yeah.”
But when he tugs me closer, when I feel the warmth of him against me, something cracks deep inside my chest.
It’s not just the name–calling. It’s not just being labeled the hockey slut or called a puck bunny. It’s the way that’s all I’ve ever been treated like.
Wanting to stay by Zane’s side turned into years of watching my autonomy slip through my fingers, piece by piece. And I let it happen–because I was so convinced that the ring on my finger, his last name next to mine, would make it all worth it. That losing myself would somehow be worth it.
I didn’t want to be just Zane’s pocket girlfriend, always by his side, on every plane to his games, tucked away in every hotel room in case he needed a release.
It was so fucking exhausting.
Pretending to hate girls who went to clubs and danced like they didn’t have a care in the world–while I sat in my assigned seat, playing the role of the perfect girlfriend. Watching them live the life I had given up for someone who saw me as nothing.
And maybe the damage he did is worse than I realize.
Do I even like baking? Or did I just learn how because, in high school, a girl from the cheer team used to make Zane
cookies? Because he’d sneak away with her to the bleachers, grinning like she had given him the world?
I used to wake up before my alarm, watching goddamn Food Network at sunrise, baking until my fingers hurt–just to
be the one he smiled at like that.
And the worst part?
I don’t even know who I was before him. I only know the girl after him.
And that I don’t want to be the girl during him ever again.
When Stone tried to get me into his bed, it shattered something in me. Not just because of him, but because it confirmed what I’ve always feared–what I’ve always known.
That no matter what I do, no matter who I am, people will only ever see me as one thing.
A girl whose only purpose is to please the men around her.
Maybe the names they call me hurt so much because, deep down, I believe them.
Maybe I really am nothing but a doormat–meant to be walked over, never taken seriously. Never allowed to have my own dreams, my own wants, my own voice. Because I spent so many years trying to be the perfect wife for a man who
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Chapter 63
never even saw me.
God.
I want to own an art gallery.
I want to grow out my curls and let them be wild,
I want to wear dresses that leave little to the Imagination–Just because I can. Just because I want to.
Just because,
I don’t know where Liam takes us. I don’t even realise we’re moving.
All I know is that I break down in his arms. And for the first time in forever–someone actually holds me together.
Liam doesn’t say anything. He just holds me. Like he’s trying to take every shattered piece and put it back where it belongs. Like he won’t let me slip through the cracks, even if I want to.
I press my face into his chest, my whole body shaking. He smells like salt and something warm, something safe. His hand moves up and down my back, slow and steady, like he’s trying to remind me how to breathe.
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