Liam
"Enough," Eric's voice growled.
"Enough of what?" Liam asked, not bothering to go to the coffee machine like he normally would.
"This moping bullshit."
"I'm sorry, have I been crying on your shoulder, bemoaning my fate?" he drawled, closing his book because he got the distinct feeling that Eric was not going to let this go. He'd gotten himself all worked up.
Like he had when the shop had been closed - and he had been MIA - for two weeks, nearly breaking down his apartment door after picking the lock of the shop. Then he had ranted and raged until Liam agreed to open back up again, having to deal with a bunch of very angry ladies who wanted their romances, and the almost misty eyes of one of the town teenagers who was almost as voracious a reader as he was himself.
He didn't feel better.
He didn't go above and beyond.
But he did what he could.
He opened. He ordered stock. He kept the place clean. And then he escaped into the books some more
Shower, rinse, repeat.
Day in and day out.
He felt like shit, but he functioned.
And it seemed to work well enough.
It wasn't like anyone noticed he was off, never having been friendly to anyone in the first place.
But, apparently, Eric could not so easily be fooled.
"You think I don't see you just going through the motions? Know you've been at the bar more lately? This the route you want to take? Turning into our old man?"
"I'm not drinking every night. And I'm not drinking that much," he defended himself. More so than anyone else, he would never allow himself to turn into his father.
"I get it. She walked out on you. You need to grieve and shit, but drinking and locking yourself away isn't going to help."
"I hated her books," he mumbled.
"What?"
"She came to Stars Landing to track me down because I tore apart her books online on a review site. Wrecked her self-esteem. She wanted to put a face to the review."
"But if she knew who you were, why did she run off?"
"Because she released a new book. And I didn't like that one either. While she was here. I didn't know it was her," he added, shaking his head. "Not until the morning she left."
"Well, shit. Where's the whiskey?" Eric asked, giving his brother a smirk. "What a clusterfuck."
"Yeah."
"You had feelings for her? More than the 'I like having her in my bed' kind of feelings."
"Yeah," he agreed, turning away, making the coffee just because he needed something to do, a way not to look his brother in the eye.
"That's it? Yeah?"
"What more do you want?"
"Was this simply a fling that got cut short sort of issue, or were you seeing a future with her? Committing to labels, getting a place with enough bookshelves for all your combined paperbacks, getting a pet, making babies kind of future?"
"The latter of the two."
"Well, shit," he sighed. "And you just let her go?"
"I didn't let her do anything. I tried to talk to her, reason with her, tell her we could move past all of this. But she had her mind made up. She wanted to go. I can't make her stay. Go all barbarian, throw her over my shoulder, and lock her in a room somewhere. She's a woman who knows her own mind. And her mind said she didn't want to be with me. That we couldn't get past this."
"And that's it. You're just giving up?"
"What else is there to do?"
"I dunno... drive your ass back up to the city? Try again?"
"Bring a rabbit?" Liam suggested, remembering when Eric had done the exact thing when Lena had gone back to her life after her stay in Stars Landing.
"Does she like rabbits?"
"She damn sure doesn't like cats."
"I'm just saying, if there is still something inside you that says it is worth the effort, put it in. Don't just move on without knowing if you absolutely have to do that yet."
"She was pretty sure that she wanted to go," Liam said, tone defeated as he passed his brother his usual coffee.
"Okay," Eric said, treading carefully. "I get it. Maybe just think about it, yeah?"
"Yeah," he agreed as his brother turned and walked away.
He thought about it.
He thought of every possible scenario, thought about what he would say each time, what she might respond, how things might end up.
But the fact of the matter was, she didn't reach out. She wasn't even active on any of her social media accounts.
She was off the grid.
She didn't want to be found.
Least of all by him.
So he stayed where he was, getting by.
Until something popped up on his alerts.
R.A. Barry had released a new book.
He clicked the link, expecting the classy historical fiction covers with the fancy font and the beautiful gowns with scenic views behind them.
But no.
What he saw was huge bold neon lettering on a mostly blank background, just what seemed to be the outline of an red-brown-orange planet way in the back.
Breaking Jupiter.
And the tagline?
A space opera.
She'd done it.
She'd written something she'd loved.
It was too early for reviews, all the details not even live on the site yet, but he ordered a paperback.
But then he did something he had never, ever done before, being a complete and utter paperback snob.
He downloaded the ebook so he could start reading immediately.
The second he was finished, he read it again.
The next day, his paperback was on his door.
And Riley announced something on her Twitter and Facebook accounts.
He packed a bag with the book on top, closed the shop, and did what he knew he had to do.
He went to the city.
FOURTEEN
Riley
She'd done a few book signings before, always having a table at a giant convention, watching most people just walk right by her table, leaving her feeling bored and useless, but still somehow anxious, belly in knots. In case someone did walk up.
But this felt different.
Because this was just for her.
Just hours after Breaking Jupiter went live, she had gotten an email from a little indie sci-fi store in the city, some place so buried that if you didn't literally have the directions from the owner himself, you would have missed it, walked right past it. But he loved her book. And he wanted to know if she wanted to do a signing.
I don't have a huge clientele, but they are loyal and voracious readers. If I recommend you, they will read your book.
Feeling like the walls in her apartment were closing in despite trying to make some connections outside of it, she'd agreed.
If nothing else, even if it was an epic fail sales-wise, it would make a good photo-op for her social media. The social media she'd been woefully ignoring while she frantically wrote her next book, went through edits, and tried not to think about him.
He was always there.
A ghost in her empty bed, hands not making her meals, a voice not discussing books with her when she finished them, a body not moving with hers, making her wake up thrashing, sweaty, having another dream of his hands on her that she had to deny her body while conscious.
He was always there.
He was there through the writing process, then the editing process, her little inner critique, reminding her that she didn't have to try so hard, that the best writing came on its own with very little help, reminding her to cut out her ten-dollar words because they weren't appropriate in her genre, telling her to stop describing every sunset.
He was there with her, even though he couldn't have been further away.
She was sure that Breaking Jupiter wouldn't have turned out nearly as well as she felt it was without his voice whispering to her, reminding her to be true to her own voice,
not to borrow from anyone else.
In fact, she had gone ahead and mentioned him in her acknowledgments section at the end of the book - the part where authors thanked everyone from their great editors to their grandmas for making them lasagna while they wrote. You know, the part that no one ever really reads.
She'd thanked him there.
By name.
Because she knew down to her marrow that if it wasn't for him, it never would have happened, she never would have known what that fire burning bright inside her felt like, the sense of utter contentment to be able to write exactly what lit her up inside, not for anyone else but herself.
She never would have gotten to experience that.
And even if this title was an epic fail for her, even if no one read it except a handful of dudes in a dingy little sci-fi store, that was okay.
She could work on her historical fiction stories to bring in her income, having found her niche there, and then she could pepper in her true passion in-between those.
She could live with that.
It seemed like a fair trade-off.
She dressed for her signing, always feeling like it was a matter of utmost importance. There was no rhyme or reason to it, she felt. One signing, half the women were all dressed up in either dresses or slacks with blouses, while the other half wore jeans and tees.
But figuring she should cater to the audience here, she dragged out a somewhat faded Doctor Who shirt, paired it with spaceship-printed leggings she had bought as a gift for herself on the day she finished writing the book, threw on an oversized sweater, knowing summer had given way to fall, and the air was steadily set at bracingly chilly. Her hair was up, her shoes flat, looking like she was every bit the carefree sci-fi nerdy girl. Which, in a lot of ways, she was. She didn't need to pretend to be anything she wasn't. She was going to be with her peeps.
So, her peeps, it turned out, were about fifteen guys with varying levels of a creep vibe who gathered around the store, lounging on the faded, threadbare armchairs and loveseats that seemed set up solely for them with how comfortably they relaxed into the place.
She had to press her lips together to hold back a smile when she realized three of them also had on Doctor Who shirts, something they all pointed out to her when they got up the nerve to approach.
"I know they are all a bit, ah, socially awkward," the owner told her when one of the guys had asked her to sign his hand, and she strongly suspected it was just because he wanted her to touch him. "But they're good guys," he added.
"I can see that, Jack."
Jack was a nerd in the less socially awkward, creepy way, and more in the trendy nerd kind of way - tall, thin, reasonably attractive with his good jaw, straight nose, and blue eyes, he kept his red hair short, and talked with a very slight - like he'd worked years to lessen it - lisp.
He was kind of the sole reason she wasn't feeling entirely uncomfortable with all the roving eyes on her.
"This is a pretty good crowd for this time of day," he added, nodding, likely thinking of his cut of the sales they had agreed on, something she couldn't begrudge him.
She turned his head to him, holding back a smile, lowering her voice. "I get the distinct impression they are only here because I have boobs, Jack."
To that, he snorted, reaching up to rub the back of his neck in a gesture that was so Liam that it hurt. His cheeks went a bit pink, bashful. "You might not be wrong about that," he admitted. "But they will read your books. That's what counts, right?"
"Fair enough," she agreed, nodding.
As a whole, she didn't sell many paperbacks. So selling a dozen just two days after her release was pretty epic for her.
So when another crowd trickled in in the afternoon, buying her out, she couldn't have been happier.
"Hey, sorry, man, she actually sold out of copies," Jack's voice said as she was bending low to pack some of her swag stuff back into the bag she'd brought. "We are going to have her back next month, though, if you'd like a copy then."
"I got my own," a voice told him.
A voice that made her heart seize in her chest, made her body lose all ability to move or regulate her breathing, making her chest get tighter and tighter by the second.
"Oh, a fan!" Jack said, pleased for her, already her biggest cheerleader. "That's great, man. She was just packing up, but I'm sure she has a minute to spare for a fan of her work. Her, Ry, we have one more for you," Jack's voice announced from the other side of the table as though the shop wasn't small enough that she could hear every word of conversation - a fact she had learned earlier in the day, and wished she hadn't.
"Riley," Liam's voice said from above her, the way his tongue rolled over the sounds seeming obnoxiously intimate to her, leaving her to wonder if Jack felt the connection between them as she found the nerve to sit back up, lift her chin, face the ghost that had been haunting her life for two and a half months.
He looked good.
As if it was possible for him to look any other way.
He hadn't dressed up for the occasion, and she was glad for it, for having the real Liam - her Liam - there how she expected him, in jeans, a band tee, and his gray oversized grandpa sweater.
His light gray eyes looked a bit tired as he raised his book, her book, their book up to his chest, tapping the cover.
"Read this three times," he told her, tone earnest.
"It didn't make you Wish you had lost your sight before you could assail your eyes with this trash?" she asked, feeling a little guilty bringing one of his old reviews up, feeling in the moment as though it was akin to trying to reanimate a corpse.
The words didn't cut anymore when she thought of them, her anger, insecurity, disappointment all long-since buried.
"Haven't checked your Goodreads today yet, huh?"
"Well, this seems... personal," Jack announced awkwardly, as awkwardly as he felt no doubt, backing a few feet away like he had walked in on two people having sex instead of been standing by during a conversation, turning, and disappearing into his group of loyal patrons.
"Have you?" Liam pressed when they were - for all intents and purposes - alone.
"No. I've been preparing to come here and being here all day. I haven't had a chance to read it yet."
"Read it," he demanded, pushing her phone from the edge of the table to right in front of her.
Thankful for a little distraction, and possibly a bit anxious to see the review, she unlocked her phone, refreshing Goodreads which had been one of the three internet tabs open - the others for her sales page and then Amazon to check reviews there.
She scrolled down, stopping when she saw the logo for Stars Books, the sight of it making her miss the store so badly it hurt.
She opened the review in a new tab, finding a gif as the first thing in it.
The one of John Bender from The Breakfast Club throwing his fist up in the air in victory.
And just like that, the anxiety washed away, leaving her nothing but curious as her eyes scanned the words - the praise - found there. Paragraph after paragraph, quote after quote.
She swallowed hard, fighting back tears, something in her becoming defensive quickly, suspicious.
"Are you just trying to make amends?" she asked, taking a deep breath before she could lift her eyes to face him.
"Amends? No. I was maybe not kind in my earlier reviews of your books, Riley, but I stand by my opinions of them. I wouldn't lie just to make you hate me less. This," he said, shaking his copy of Breaking Jupiter, "was everything I told you that you could do, could be as a writer. You have developed a completely unique voice, a distinctive universe. Your world-building was on-point. I understand exactly how the magic works, the cultural customs, the unique political system. It's all there. It's strong. And your characters, Jupiter especially, are as close to perfect as possible. I can feel it."
"Feel what?" she asked, shaking her head, not understanding.
"You. I felt you in her. This woman who travels to a new pla
net and unexpectedly loves it, only to be forced to leave it because of betrayal and heartbreak. Though," he said, lips tipping up, "I wonder if it was necessary to murder me in such a brutal way in it."
"It was necessary," she insisted, but didn't tell him that when she wrote the scene, she had ugly-cried so hard that her eyes were swollen for two whole days. Jupiter's love interest had betrayed her, gotten her tortured and kicked off the planet. So she'd had him ripped apart by her hell beasts she had befriended while living there in an act of final revenge.
It was fitting.
"You want me to be torn apart by hell beasts?"
"It's fiction, Liam."
"Partly," he agreed, shrugging. "This was good, Ry. Really fucking good. I'm proud of you."
I'm proud of you.
If ever there were four words that could completely wreck her, send a wrecking ball through her defenses, it was those ones.
I'm proud of you.
She never realized how badly she needed to hear those words, how much they meant coming from him. More so than from anyone else because she knew how hard he was to please, knew how critical a reader he was.
Tears stung at her eyes before she could blink them away, making Liam's head dip to the side a bit before he moved, coming around the table, dropping down to a squat to her side, his free hand grabbing her thigh, giving it a squeeze.
Unable to stop it, not even sure she wanted to if she could, her upper body twisted, her head falling until her forehead met his shoulder, taking a deep breath, breathing him in, her air leaving her body with a shiver when she heard the book hit the ground so his arm could go around her, rubbing up and down her spine like he had done so many times before, like she had dreamed of every night since she had left him.
"I needed to hear that," she admitted, her voice small.
"I meant it," he told her, head turning a bit so the side of his face brushed hers, his lips pressing into the spot on her cheek just beside her ear.
And because she felt it, because she was someone who said things when she felt them, she told him the truth. "I missed you," she admitted, moving her head until her face met his neck, her lips pressing in.
"I missed you too," he told her. And she knew he wasn't someone who always said things when they felt them, so she knew the sincerity behind his words. "I had no one to bitch to about that fucking circus book." A chuckle moved through her, her smile spreading wide enough to make her cheeks ache. "I ate your cookies," he added, surprising her enough to pull back.
What The Heart Learns Page 19