Chapter 89 Think I Don't Know That?

• His heart did that thing again—a nervous little leap like it couldn’t decide whether to flee or brace itself. He hated how familiar that feeling had become lately. It wasn't just apprehension. Not entirely. It was tangled with something softer, harder to admit—an almost reluctant affection for his oldest friend, the kind that never quite went away no matter how much history got piled on top.
• Alistair glanced at his phone. Liam’s name stared back, glowing faintly. Then he looked over at the closed guest room door. Rosie was in there, probably scrubbing the day off her skin, maybe scrubbing off Liam, too—what was left of him clinging to her after everything that had happened. Water running, distant and steady, like a metronome for the silence in the room.
• He didn’t have to guess why Liam was calling. It wasn’t just about Rosie. Not really. Or not only. Liam had handed him the green light, sure—like a man tossing away the last bite of cake, trying not to watch someone else enjoy it. It had been a clean gesture on the surface, noble even, but Alistair could see the hidden blade under it. A quiet kind of pain, buttoned-up and folded neatly, like Liam did with most things. That hurt—tight, controlled—was what twisted inside Alistair now. Not guilt, exactly. Not yet. But something in the family.