Tears streamed down my face, but this time, they were tears of relief. For the first time in months, I felt like I had permissionto be honest with myself, to explore what I truly needed without fear of judgment.
"Hey... listen," Liam said quietly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "I think we should take advantage of you going back."
I frowned. "What? How?"
He exhaled slowly, like the words were heavier than air. His gaze found mine and held it. "I think we need a break. Not to run away from each other to give you space. Space to hear your own voice without mine in your ear. To focus on you. On what you want. Who you want and to choose only what truly calls to you."
He leaned back slightly, eyes steady, searching my face as if he could read the thoughts I wasn't ready to say. "Maybe it means forgiving and moving forward. Maybe it's giving a six-year relationship another shot, seeing if the cracks can be mended. Or maybe"—a faint, almost boyish smile flickered across his lips, the kind that looked like it wasn't sure it had permission to exist—"it's jumping in with me, letting me spend a lifetime wrapping you in affection and scattering stardust at your feet until you forget what it's like to feel alone. Or maybe it's choosing yourself. Traveling the world, chasing sunsets until you forget which horizon you started from, collecting fragments of who you are from every city, every shoreline, every stranger's story... until one day you realize you're whole in a way you've never been before, and the missing pieces aren't missing anymore."
"Liam... I—"
"But if you come back to me," he cut in gently, his voice deepening with a certainty that seemed to anchor the air around them, "that's it. You'll be mine, not in the way of possession, but in the way the moon belongs to the night sky. My princess. Myqueen. My compass in the dark and my dawn after the longest night. My safe harbor after storms, my fire when the cold sets in. My beginning and my end, and everything between that makes life worth living.
We'll still be two bodies, but one soul—threads woven together so tightly that no distance, no shadow, could pull us apart. I'm not here to play at this. I'm not here for half-measures or for something beautiful but temporary. My intentions are a lifetime, commitment in its truest, most stubborn form. If you take my hand again, I will spend every day making sure you never doubt the safety of where you stand with me. it's a vow."
His hands framed my face, thumbs brushing along my cheekbones like he was memorizing them. "I don't want to scare you. But if you're back... you're mine and I am all yours."
My throat tightened. "What if I don't come back to you?"
Liam's smile was small, steady. "Then I'll still be here. Cheering you on from wherever I am. Because your happiness, whatever shape it takes, is all I want. Even if it's without me."
Chapter Twenty-Three: Shadows and Spotlight
That night, Liam and I made love one more time—slow, unhurried, the way you savor a sunset you know you won't see again for a while. He was, as always, that impossible balance between power and kindness, holding me firmly but touching me like I was made of something precious. Every kiss felt like a promise, every whispered word an anchor.
When morning came, we kissed goodbye at the door. His hand lingered at my wrist as he fastened something around it, a delicate silver bracelet with a small charm shaped like the Northern Star.
"So you can always find your way back to me," he murmured.
My throat tightened. We kissed again, longer this time, until I finally had to pull away before I changed my mind entirely about leaving.
Packing was quick. I'd done it a hundred times for shows, residencies, deadlines. Dad was in the kitchen when I brought down my bags, sleeves rolled up, rinsing out a coffee cup. The moment he saw me, he dried his hands and pulled me into a hug, one of those real, rib-cradling ones that said more than words ever could. He rocked me gently from side to side, the way he used to when I was small and the world felt safer just because he was holding me.
"Take care of yourself, Junebug," he murmured into my hair, his voice soft but steady.
"I will," I said, but my throat was already tightening.
As I kissed his cheek, I whispered, "Love you, Dad. You'll always be my first best friend... and my king."
He smiled at me, a little misty himself. "And you'll always be my princess, Junebug. No matter where you go, no matter how far, you're my girl."
I carried his words with me as I walked out, heavy in my heart in the best possible way. Before heading out of town, I stopped at the cemetery. The grass crunched lightly under my shoes, sun-warmed and dry, as I made my way to my mother's grave. I knelt, brushing a few crisp leaves from the polished stone. My fingertips traced her name slowly, like I was holding onto her in the only way I could.
"Last time I stood here," I murmured, my fingertips brushing her name in the stone, "I was shattered. I didn't know how to breathe without breaking." My voice caught, and I had to swallow hard before I could go on. "But now... I'm stronger."
I let out a long breath, filling my lungs slowly, as if the air itself was trying to steady me.
"I have decisions to make, Mom. Big ones. Ones that could change everything and I need to be sure of myself—of who I am, and what I want." I pressed my palm flat against the cool stone. "So keep guarding me, okay? Keep me steady like you always did. You were my compass, my safe place, my princess crown when I was small, my biggest cheerleader when I grew. I still need you—just... in a different way now. I'm going to try to live in a way you'd be proud of, but I'd give anything to hear you tell me I'm doing okay."
A warm breeze swept past, rustling the leaves above, and for a heartbeat, I could almost feel her hand in mine—soft, sure, and still guiding me forward. I smiled, got up, and left.
The city felt sharper when I arrived, louder, brighter, almost impatient. January's building was as flawless as ever—sleek black marble in the lobby, soft golden lighting, and the faint smell of expensive candles that probably had names like "Noir" or "Champagne Mist." The elevator doors opened to her floor, and I stepped into her apartment, instantly greeted by a wave of perfectly curated chic: cream sofas, glass coffee tables, and art that looked like it belonged in a gallery.
January herself emerged from the kitchen, hair pinned up in a way that looked effortless but definitely took effort. Her blazer was razor-sharp, her lipstick lethal.
"Well, well. If it isn't my runaway little friend," she said, crossing her arms. "Do I need to frisk you for contraband emotions before you settle in?"
I smirked. "I've missed you too."
