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When they sat again, Liam kept his eyes forward, but at least he didn’t cross his arms again.

She had to stop looking at him.

No matter what she felt, no matter what she believed could be theirs, it didn’t matter if he didn’t see it too.

She really had to stop trying to be with him. Leaving a door open to him was just as bad, she’d be the only one aware of it and waiting for him to come back through if she did.

They’d said one night, but it had been such a wonderful night, when he’d said yes to anything, she’d wanted to believe he felt it too.

He’d probably just felt the need to shut her up so he could sleep.

Six years hadn’t made her any smarter about relationships.

The ceremony was crafted of beautiful words, and all around her Grace saw handkerchiefs out and plenty of eye dabbing.

Did Zack take Freya? Yes. He did.

Did Freya take Zack? Yes.

They kissed.

Loving, honoring, cherishing. Forever. Not just one night. Not just one night that got dragged into two by one pushy person. But the beauty she could identify she didn’t feel. By the time it was over, all she could do was force a smile.

That’s what her situation with Liam lacked: they weren’t both in it. She was the only one there, waiting for him to make up his mind.

The wedding party walked back down the aisle, and Grace stood, clapped with the rest of them.

Eventually they moved from the site of the wedding up the stairs built into the hillside to another plateau, this time at the top. The large cliff-top oceanside overlook had been set up to host the reception. Dinner. Marble checkerboard slabs defining a dance floor. Candles twinkling on every table, and an open wood framework above supported thousands more of the twinkling white lights. More stars in the sky than ever for Zack and Freya.

Perfection.

“Bar,” Liam said, drawing her attention back to him with one word and gesturing hand. He pulled his elbow from her limp grasp and started away, saying as he left, “Find our seats?”

Find our seats? That implied he’d come and find her when he’d dulled his senses with bourbon or something higher proof if he could find that instead.

This evening couldn’t end fast enough.

Grace turned to survey the tables to decide where to start looking. She wasn’t really one of the elite, she just worked with them. She wouldn’t be seated at the kiddie table, but it would no doubt be farther from the action than Liam would’ve been had his name been the one on the list and she’d been his plus one.

Like that would’ve ever happened.

The cheerful sound of people laughing and chattering hurt her head, and the whole situation hurt her heart.

She checked a few of the peripheral tables, found her name, and pulled out the chair.

Time to fake a smile and sit with him through the dinner. Time to pretend for the benefit of everyone else, so she didn’t come off as one of those women who became depressed at weddings. If he hadn’t driven them there, maybe she could just go and give her love and her congratulations to the couple and tell Liam they could go. Another reason why it would’ve been better to have stayed dateless for the occasion.

Was he still taking the pain medication?

Was it her place to ask if he was mixing alcohol and his anti-inflammatories?

No. He wasn’t her patient anymore. And he clearly didn’t want to be more.

This was what came from her making bold moves in Relationshipville. She should have just been happy to have gotten him into bed. She’d had her night. And it had been so good it had made her stupid. Her IQ always seemed to drop a few points where Liam Carter was concerned.

She forced a smile as people joined her, introduced herself, made the expected small talk. Eventually, Liam came over, placed a drink on the table for her and took his seat beside her, much to the delight of everyone at the table except Grace.

Drinking the fruity concoction gave her a cover for not being chatty and personable. Liam was the one everyone wanted to talk to anyway, and it suited her.

She’d muddled through difficult situations before. She’d survived being rejected in her underwear, she could handle this rejection too. But it would’ve been nice if it had come before the wedding. Then she could pretend easier.

By the time the dancing rolled around she was so ready to go but had to wait until the bride and groom were off the dance floor.

“Pardon me,” she murmured to the table at large, scooted her chair back and wound her way through the tables to the clearing and into a copse of trees on the far side.

Just a moment alone. That’s all she needed. Somewhere quieter to breathe.

She wandered through the trees until she got to the edge of the cliff, out of sight, somewhere she could see the water, and leaned over.

Now what?

It wasn’t long until she made out the sound of movement in the trees behind her. And voices. At first quiet, but then loud enough for her to recognize one.

James Rothsberg.

And he was talking to a woman.

Grace leaned around the tree just enough to see who was there, and considered her escape route.

This was what came from her going to the edge, there was nowhere to go besides over the cliff into the water and rocks far below, or past James and...

“Mila, you look good.”

Moonlight filtered through the treetops, a shaft illuminating the woman’s face. Romantic.

Oh, hell.

Grace leaned back again, looking at the ledge between the trees and the cliff face.

Was that wide enough for her to skirt the trees without plummeting to her death in her high heels?

The last thing she wanted was to see her boss having A Moment. Especially tonight. Could she not get away from the magic in the air anywhere?

“Do I? I looked better at our wedding.”

Their wedding? Okay, maybe it wasn’t going to be that kind of a moment.

Grace couldn’t stop herself. She had to look again.

Should she clear her throat? Climb the trees and see if she could get in touch with her inner primate and balance-beam her way across the limbs without breaking her neck?

There was some talk of another woman, which Grace didn’t entirely catch.

But then Mila raised her voice. “I don’t care who you’re dating. Or who you’re not dating. Or who you’re maybe thinking of one day dating. It’s not my business anymore. My business is Bright Hope and my patients, that’s what’s most important to me now. Let’s leave it at that.”

“A truce, then?”

“I haven’t been picking fights with you, James.”

“I’m not picking a fight either, but that’s how things keep going. So...truce. Let’s just try to keep things professional.”

“Yes. That’s what I’ve been trying to get across to you.”

“And once the photo shoot for the South LA Clinic is done, we’ll just keep to our separate corners. No need for further interaction.”

“Sounds good.”

Grace could feel the emotion tingling in the woman’s voice, but considering this wedding business and another woman...well, who could blame her for being roused to a quiet fight with her ex?

James and Mila had once been married, or something...and now they were stuck working together? Maybe not smoothly working together but they were trying. She knew she’d heard the word “truce” in there. Because that was the adult way to handle these kinds of relationship issues.

Which made her hiding in the trees until it was time to leave clearly not the adult way to handle this mess with Liam.

Freya wouldn’t notice if she slipped out before face-to-face congratulations, she had so much else going on this evening.

Grace peeked around her hiding tree again, but no longer saw James or Mila so she darted through the trees and back to the reception.

Get Liam.

Get out of there.

And just get it over with.

She should’ve stuck with just the one night.

Liam hadn’t expected her to want to leave before the first dance but, then, she probably wouldn’t have let him dance on his ankle. And she’d spent so much time away after dinner it seemed like his plan to make her dump him was working.

His stomach soured at the thought.

But if she did the leaving this time, she wouldn’t feel rejected. It would be her turn. And he could take it.

With her silent and tense at his side, Liam opened the door to their hotel room and held it for her.

Grace stepped past him and went straight to the minibar. Ten seconds later she’d poured herself a straight vodka and in less time than it took for her to lift the glass to her mouth the clear liquid was gone.

The drink must’ve burned as she breathed hard, coughed a little, and put the glass down. Pulling her shoulders back first, she turned around to face him.

“I don’t know how to do this. Never thought it would come to this, but it’s just one more way I’m delusional when it comes to you.” She stopped, rubbed her head and paced away from him, then back.

Self-comforting. Dispelling tension.

It was happening. He could smell it in the air like salt by the ocean. His stomach rolled and he stuffed his hands into his pockets, lest she see him shaking.

Unlike the dinner where he’d brought up the trench coat, she wasn’t hiding her gaze from him tonight. It was all right there, spelled out for him.

“Whatever stupid idea made me invite you tonight, consider me over it. I thought that things changed between us that night. I thought that you had finally stopped running from this. I thought you felt...” The words dried in her throat, and she looked back at the empty glass. “Something.”

“It was supposed to be one night,” he said, avoiding all that talk of feelings, because even now, even though this was what had to happen, he wanted to comfort her.

“I know!” Grace blurted out. “I know that’s what we’d said. But that was before we were together, and one time became one night, became one whole night, became yes to whatever I wanted. That was the perfect example of a situation changing, right? It seemed that way. It seemed like...”

She stopped facing him and went to the balcony doors and opened them, pulling the drapes back so that the cool night air could blow in, and breathed deeply.

He didn’t know what to say, aside from the apology clawing at the back of his throat. He shut his mouth so she’d keep going, make it go just as he’d rehearsed in his mind all day.

“I didn’t ask you to come with me because I was trying to collar you. I haven’t been writing ‘Mrs. Grace Carter’ on my notebooks. I just wanted to be with you and see how things went. I didn’t invite you here as some grand gesture to hint for you to start making commitments. I know that there are extenuating circumstances to be careful of with my family. And I know you’re just out of a relationship.”

“That relationship has nothing to do with this one.”

“No? Because you don’t care what people say about you and Simone?”

“No. I care about what your family could say about us. That would be true. Unless this leads to marriage, then it’s a betrayal of the trust that David and Lucy put in me when they welcomed me into your home.”

“Why?”

Damn. She was going off script. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to yell and leave. Demanding explanations meant she saw through his tactics, and there was a danger of this turning into him rejecting her again.

“Because you’re built for marriage, Grace. You are a cry-through-the-ceremony woman. But I don’t want to be married. Not ever. I don’t want kids. Any of it. I am not your white-picket-fence future. But that’s what you want, or what you’d come to want, because that’s who you are. And you would get hurt.”

“I’m hurt now! Because you’re lying to yourself and to me. I love you, and I know you love me.”

Rolling stomach turned to nausea at her words. Ignore it. Ignore them. He drew a deep breath, looked her in the eye, and said, “I don’t love you. Not like that.”

The words felt like mud in his mouth. Mud and blood. Acidic and wrong.

She shook her head, tears in her eyes. “Yes, you do. You might not want marriage and children, but you feel more for me than lust. I’m not nothing to you.”

“I never said you were nothing to me. But even if I did love you, love doesn’t make things magically work out. My parents loved one another. They did. They probably loved me too in some twisted way—why else would my father refuse to grant permission for me to be adopted for so long but to keep from losing me? They were full of love, for each other, for me, and for their heroin. They still spiraled into death and destruction together.”

How had this gone so far off course? There was no easy way out of it. No one else had forced him to say words he’d never wanted to give voice to, there was no one else he felt compelled to bare his soul to. Another reason to get out now.

She poured herself another drink.

“I loved my father, Grace. I loved him and I still couldn’t save him. When Nick went to school and I moved into my own place in LA? Before my acting took off, I sought him out, moved him in with me. I thought maybe if he was there and we had a relationship, if he had someone to count on, someone to talk with about Mom, I thought he could heal. But he didn’t. He died, Grace. He died alone on the living room floor of my run-down little hovel. Love didn’t help him. Not once. Not ever. Love doesn’t fix things, it just makes losing harder.”

The tears in her eyes spilled over her cheeks and she stepped toward him, her instinct to comfort him. Always to comfort. Even when they were fighting.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, stopping before she got to him, lowering the hands that had half reached for his face. “Your love couldn’t fix him. Are you telling me this now because you want me to come around to the notion that my love can’t fix you?”

“Yes.” He felt his heart hammering against his chest. “I’d ruin you. That’s what I’m built for. That’s the example I have to draw from.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are, because you don’t need fixing. You didn’t kill your father or your mother. Fate handed you a terrible situation, and you survived it. And you learned to thrive. You didn’t ruin Simone. You didn’t use me and throw me away, even when we were stupid kids and I offered you everything. You tried to do what was honorable at that time, you tried it later. I know you’re trying now, but it just so happens that you’re wrong.” Her voice stayed confident and certain until she got to the end, and then it broke. One aborted sob followed by a short, bitter laugh—a sound nothing like the full-throated laughter he loved to hear from her. “Don’t feel bad about it. I keep screwing up with you too.”

“You give me too much credit. I agreed to one night with you because I crave you like an addict craves heroin. And you have the same addiction. I didn’t care. Even now, I don’t care. I want to stay because I want to be with you, but for the need to do better by you than what I learned from them. And if we keep on the way we want to there would eventually be a child. Or you’d want one. And people learn from their parents’ example. My parents were abusive, neglectful junkies. Is that what you want for your children?”

“That’s not what would happen. I saw you with Brody. But if you want to blame someone for this situation, then blame me. I’m the one who couldn’t let go. And if you’re guilty of anything, it’s being too afraid to take a risk on me. I’m not afraid to take a risk on you. I know a sure thing when I see it. You might not see it, and I don’t think you even want to see it, but you’re an honorable man, Liam. Or else you’d still be with Simone.”

Grace swiped her cheeks, picked up her handbag and then went to grab the handle of her suitcase.

“Where are you going?” His palms started to sweat and the air felt thick, soupy, hard to breathe.

“We’re broken up, right? I can’t stay here with you in this hotel room.” She unlocked and opened the door. “Take care of yourself, Liam. You couldn’t save your father, what happened to him was due to his own decisions. And I can’t save you from this, because it’s your decision. Only you can save yourself. Don’t just do it in your rewind fantasies of this evening, and don’t take too long... I’m not going to wait for you forever, even though I know that’s how long I’ll love you.”

She pulled the door open, her head up and her shoulders back. And she was gone.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SWIMMING IN THE pool at work had rules, and one of those rules was the hours of operation. But at two thirty in the morning, after tossing and turning her sheets into a sweaty tangle, those rules meant very little even to the perennially law-abiding.

The last place Grace wanted to be was somewhere she’d spent so much time with Liam, but work was the only place she could find a pool where she knew it would be safe to swim alone at that hour.

It took a little explaining to get her past the guard, but as she flipped on the lights to the pool room she could already feel the stress starting to abate.

A swim was what she needed. Exercise to burn off excess energy. The comfort of the familiar. Maybe the water could give her even the metaphorical weightlessness she wanted, some way to return to her usual mental and emotional buoyancy.

She dove in and prayed the water would work its usual magic on her.

How long had it taken her to get over Liam the first time? Really get over him, not just take out her frustrations by kissing every cute boy who hadn’t immediately bored her?

Well, that was a depressing thought.

Because she’d never got over Liam. Not really.

She had eventually got to a place where it had hurt less and she hadn’t cringed when she’d heard his name. By the time his face had been plastered everywhere, it hadn’t even really hurt anymore. She’d built up a callus, which she’d vigorously exfoliated when she’d gotten tangled up with him again.

Kicking harder, she turned under the water, completing her first lap.

Three days and she hadn’t heard anything from Liam. Tonight she’d come to the conclusion that she wouldn’t. The paparazzi who’d found out where she worked had mostly given up following her—all except for a couple intermittent stragglers. Why bother watching her when Liam was clearly nowhere around? She went to work. She went home. She swam. It wasn’t terribly interesting.

Even if they saw what she did when she was home, it would probably only inspire pity in them.

She was considering getting some cats.

And learning a craft of some kind.

And moving in with people who shunned cell phones. Anything to keep herself from asking Nick about Liam. He’d stopped talking about his friend anymore when they spoke, and she didn’t know if Nick and Liam were even speaking to each other.

If they weren’t on speaking terms any longer, that would mean that her desires had interfered with her brother’s relationships. And if they were, it would be just as awkward between her and Nick, even if it was a different kind of awkward.

Cats, crafts, and shunning technology seemed like the safest outlets to turn her attention to.

Or maybe it was time for a change of scenery. Take another job with a sports team, somewhere other than California, New York, or Virginia. Maybe if she went far enough away, she could figure out how to put it all behind her.

Liam sat sideways on the sofa in his hotel suite, trying to wrap his ankle before his guest arrived. It had probably gotten to the point that he could stop wearing all the wraps and splints if he was careful, but he’d be cautious a little longer. He just couldn’t call Grace up and ask her.

He couldn’t call Grace up for any reason.

But Nick he had called, and Liam was now waiting for his oldest friend to arrive. With all that had gone on with Grace, and then with Nick’s reaction, he needed to figure out where they stood.

By the time he worked the little metal thing into the bandage to keep it in place, the door opened and Nick strolled in. “Hey, Miles let me in. He said you were working on your ankle.”

Nick stopped by the sofa and looked down at the bandaged limb. “That looks like the same technique you use to wrap gifts.”

“I don’t wrap gifts anymore. Hailey does it now,” Liam said, dragging a smile on his face even if it was just for show right now. He used to also have someone who would wrap his ankle for him, but that was over. And the reason why seeing Nick for the first time in more than a month felt like walking to an execution he’d volunteered for. “Thanks for coming. Want a drink? Bar’s stocked, as always.”

Liam got his sword cane and used it to meander over to the bar. Talking at the bar felt better than talking on the sofa. Less intimate, and Nick wasn’t the Watson who Liam had a history of getting intimate with.

Nick followed and reached for the Scotch and two short tumblers. A minute later they had ice and whiskey in them. Liam had given up the pain relievers last week, just in time for this conversation that required alcohol.

“So, do you want to talk about my sister?” Nick slid a glass to him.

Right to the point.

Liam nodded, took a drink of the Scotch and looked for the words. Unlike with the Trench Coat talk, he hadn’t planned any of this beforehand. He was by turns apologetic with Nick and angry with him, but before he got to his apologies, there were things he needed to know.

“Yes. And I asked you here because you’re my best friend so if there isn’t honesty with us, then this friendship isn’t worth saving.”

“Is there some reason it’s going to be in jeopardy?”

“You might think so after I tell you what happened with your sister.” Liam downed the Scotch and slid the glass back to Nick with a nod to refill it. “But first I need to know something.”

Nick didn’t sit. He stayed standing on the other side of the bar where the booze could be easily reached. “I think I know what happened with my sister. You dated her. You kissed her. You said you weren’t going to do anything else, and then you ended up at a wedding with her. So I’m guessing that something else happened in there somewhere.”

“Something else happened.”

Another two fingers of booze slid back to him and Liam took another good pull at it—they always stocked the good stuff at this hotel, but this bottle could be smashed over his head just as successfully as rotgut.

“More happened. A lot happened. But, speaking of things that happened... You’ve known about her feelings for me for a long time. So I have to ask—when she had her accident and was in the hospital, why did you never tell me? She’s got scars, she said that a motorcycle wreck derailed her from her career goals, and I would swear on a stack of bibles that you never said one word to me about her getting hurt.”

“That’s because I didn’t.” Nick rubbed the back of his neck and then leaned on the bar. “Your dad died that day, Liam.”

It was a week and two days since the wedding, Grace spent most of her evenings alone with wine and movies. Tonight she’d added her cell phone, and now sat replaying a voice mail over and over, with her thumb hovering over the delete button, unable to bring it down.

Liam’s bosses—the producers and whoever she’d spoken to on the phone about him—had called to offer her a job on their set.

High action, medieval, dragon-chasing fantasies could injure the actors and stunt crew just as effectively as thrillers and movies where the good guys fought the bad guys with high-speed chases and pyrotechnics.