Chapter 69 Care
LIAM
The fever hit hard, pulling me under in a wave of exhaustion I couldn’t fight. It didn’t creep in gently. It swallowed. My body ached, my skin burned, and my head felt stuffed with cotton. Every movement felt delayed, like I was underwater and gravity had doubled just to spite me. The only thing keeping me from slipping too deep into the haze was Liam. He barely left my side, missing practice to stay with me. He forced me to drink water, made me eat even when I had no appetite, and pressed his warm hands to my forehead every few hours to check my temperature.
Even half-delirious, I noticed everything.
The way his brows pulled together every time I coughed. The way he muttered under his breath when the thermometer took too long. The way he hovered, pretending he wasn’t hovering.
“You don’t have to do all this,” I murmured, voice hoarse from sleep.
The words scraped on the way out.
“Yeah? And who’s supposed to take care of you if I don’t?” he shot me a look, his deep brown eyes filled with something fierce.
Protective. Almost offended that I’d suggest he wouldn’t.
I didn’t have an answer for that, and he knew it.
Because the truth was, I’d always taken care of myself. Or let my dad take control in the name of taking care. I wasn’t used to someone choosing to stay.
The next two days passed in a blur, hot soup, medicine, and the feel of his large hands stroking my hair when I shivered too hard. I’d wake up in the middle of the night to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me with concern, his phone lighting up beside him with ignored calls.
His jaw would tighten every time it buzzed.
I knew who was calling, and I knew exactly why he wasn’t answering. But it didn’t prepare me for the knock on the front door.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was sharp. Demanding. Familiar.
Liam turned first, his entire body going still as the sharp sound echoed through the apartment. His phone buzzed again on the nightstand.
The name flashing across the screen didn’t need to be said out loud.
Then his voice came, low and warning. “Stay here.”
Like I was capable of chasing anyone down in my condition.
I pushed myself up, my head still swimming, as he stalked to the door and yanked it open. And there he was. My father.
A wave of nausea rolled through me, but it had nothing to do with my fever.
It was the tension. The history. The years of decisions made for me, not with me.
Liam didn’t move to let him in. His entire frame blocked the doorway, tense and rigid.
He looked bigger somehow. Broader. Like he’d turned himself into a barricade.
“Now you show up?”
My father sighed. “Move, kid.”
“No.”
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic.
But it was absolute.
His voice was a threat, a wall of steel between me and the man who had spent years deciding what was best for me.
“Liam,” I croaked, my voice weak.
“Not until he tells me why he’s really here.” Liam didn’t even glance back at me, his attention fixed on my father like he was ready to throw him out himself. “Because last I checked, he wasn’t too concerned about your well-being.”
That hit. Hard.
Because it was true.
“Let me see my daughter.” My father’s jaw tightened.
Liam stared at him for a long moment, the air thick and electric between them, then, to my surprise, stepped aside.
Not because he backed down.
Because he trusted me.
My heart pounded as my father’s gaze finally settled on me. He looked… hesitant. Like he wasn’t sure what to say.
That alone unsettled me more than anger ever could.
“You’re sick,” he stated, his voice softer than I expected.
“I’m fine.” I swallowed hard.
It was instinct. Automatic deflection.
Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.
The kind that used to end with him making a decision and me accepting it.
“You didn’t answer my calls,” he said.
I let out a hollow laugh, sinking further into the pillows. “Didn’t think you had much to say that I wanted to hear.”
There it was. The truth I’d been swallowing for weeks.
His lips pressed into a thin line, and for the first time in my life, I saw something uncertain in his expression.
Regret.
Real. Unpolished. Regret.
“If you’re here to push her away from me again, save your breath.” Liam crossed his arms beside me.
He didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
“I was wrong.” My dad sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
I froze.
The room felt smaller suddenly. Quieter.
He shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable. “I thought I was protecting you,” he admitted. “But I wasn’t. I was controlling you. And I see that now.”
The words didn’t sound rehearsed.
They sounded heavy.
I stared at him, waiting for the catch, for the part where he told me he was still right.
For the condition. The compromise. The fine print.
But it didn’t come.
Instead, he sighed again. “I wasn’t prepared for this and I hate that I trusted you two to live together.” He glanced at Liam, then back at me. “But I don’t want to lose you or him over it.”
That cracked something inside me.
Not completely. Not cleanly.
But enough.
A lump formed in my throat. I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to process hearing those words from him.
This was the man who built his entire life around certainty. Around control.
And now he looked like he was standing on unstable ground.
Then, beside me, Liam’s fingers brushed mine, grounding me. He didn’t speak for me, he let me decide. After a long, shaky breath, I swallowed.
“I don’t need your approval.” My voice was soft but firm. “I never did.”
The fever made my voice weak.
But it didn’t make it small.
My father nodded, as if he had expected that answer.
Then, to my absolute shock, he turned to Liam and extended a hand.
The gesture felt monumental.
Liam didn’t take it immediately. He eyed it, wary.
Protective even now.
“I’m not saying you’re completely right with all the things you said in my office,” my father said, voice even. “But I can respect that you’re not going anywhere.”
There was history in that sentence. Challenge. Acknowledgment.
“Yeah. I’m not.” Liam smirked slightly before shaking his hand.
The handshake wasn’t warm.
It wasn’t friendly.
But it was firm.
And it was honest.
I watched them, my heart a mess of emotions I didn’t know how to untangle. Relief. Residual anger. Hope I didn’t want to admit to.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t a full apology.
But it was something.
And for now, that was enough, I guess.
Because for the first time, it didn’t feel like I was standing between them.
It felt like they were finally standing beside me.