Chapter 8: I can’t let go

She leaned back into the car, grabbed the blanket that had slipped earlier, and when she turned again, her gaze instinctively dropped to his legs.

He’d kept them covered with a blanket all this time. She’d considered a lot of things before—atrophy, illness, maybe even amputation.

But just now, when he’d stood with the door’s support, she’d gotten a glimpse. There was nothing sickly about those legs. Wrapped in tailored trousers, they looked strong—long, lean, powerful.

She remembered Knox once raving about some alpha model he and the guys had seen on vacation. “Yeah, his face is great,” he’d said, “but it’s his legs that kill me. Just stands there and I’m halfway to heat.”

Back then, Amelia couldn’t quite picture what Knox was talking about.

Now she could. Those were the legs Knox meant.

Liam noticed her staring and tilted his head. “Feeling better now?”

She blinked, dragged back from her thoughts.

“About what?”

“That my legs aren’t atrophied. Or amputated.”

“You…” Amelia started, then stopped, shut the car door, and leaned against it. “No. I mean—no. You’re reading too much into it.”

Liam gently brushed his hand over the blanket covering his legs. “Double negatives make a positive. Wanna count how many times you said ‘no’ just now?”

Amelia straightened up, a faint smile on her lips, and slowly stepped toward him. She stopped just half a step away.

Then she bent down.

Her hands rested on either side of the wheelchair, hair falling naturally over her shoulders. Most of it was swept back by the breeze, but a few strands fluttered down, brushing against Liam’s face.

She leaned in. He looked up.

Their eyes met in that tight, fragile space between them—eyelashes trembling.

Amelia was the first to break the gaze. She straightened, took a step back, and said seriously, “Liam, I’m sorry.”

Liam looked at the distance she’d left between them—one and a half steps. “Why are you apologizing?”

His hands, hidden under the blanket, were clenched tightly. He was nervous.

Amelia played with the cigarette box in her hand. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“No.”

She gave a slight nod, pulled a cigarette from the box, and placed it between her lips. The flick of a lighter sparked in the night, casting a faint glow across her face.

Liam watched as she smoked in silence, finishing half of it.

Then his wheelchair rolled toward her. He reached out, took the half-smoked cigarette from her fingers, and put it to his own lips. The taste hit him like he expected—dry, bitter, a little harsh.

They shared a cigarette, one after the other, without exchanging a word.

Amelia tossed the empty cigarette box into the backseat, then picked up where she left off. “They were talking shit about you in the group chat. I’m sorry—for them..”

“It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t get used to it,” she said. “Words can fuck you up just as bad as anything else.”

A long silence settled between them.

Finally, Liam spoke, his voice softer. “Okay. I accept your apology.”

He turned and started wheeling himself away.

Amelia stayed where she was, watching his back. She took out another cigarette and lit it, but didn’t smoke—just let it hang between her lips.

When Liam finally disappeared from view, she crushed the half-burnt cigarette underfoot, turned back to the car, and drove off.

The jeep’s taillights had barely faded when the gate creaked open again.

Liam sat still in the driveway, eyes on the road where the car had vanished. His hand moved to his neck, fingers brushing the gland that still ached faintly.

“You were the one who hugged me first, Amelia.”

He pulled the blanket up and buried his face in it, inhaling deeply. The scent of redcurrants lingered—barely there, but real.

His voice was muffled, like it came from under the weight of something heavy. “So don’t blame me if I can’t let go. I’m looking forward to our life together, fiancée.”

......

Inside the jeep, Maverick’s voice piped up from the speaker. “Captain, you on your way back?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

Maverick sat in the Langley family’s ornate living room, glancing sideways at the older man seated beside him. He lowered his voice slightly. “Grandpa August wants to know if you’re coming home for dinner.”

Amelia snorted softly. “I’ve been gone a few hours. What, did Grandpa do something that turned you soft?”

Maverick muttered. “He’s… different than I imagined.”

“Knox and the others said the same thing,” Amelia said as she spotted the mall up ahead and changed lanes. “I’ll be back soon. Go ahead and eat with Grandpa—but don’t eat too much. Knox and the guys are almost back, and I already booked a restaurant.”

“Got it, Captain.”

After the call ended, August looked at Maverick and asked, “She’s not coming back?”

“The Captain said she won’t be back yet. Her team’s returning, and she’s taking everyone out to eat.”

A flicker of disappointment passed through August’s eyes. He stood up slowly and patted Maverick’s shoulder. “Alright, then let’s eat. No need to wait.”

The lavishly lit living room was filled with polished furniture and expensive decor, but all that elegance couldn’t hide the emptiness.

Maverick quietly slipped his phone into his pocket and followed August to the dining room, offering a steadying hand along the way.

Meanwhile, in the gleaming mall, Amelia stepped out of the elevator and headed straight for the top floor.

The concierge recognized her instantly. “Good evening, Miss Amelia.”

She gave a slight nod. “Pick out something casual. Light, clean-looking. Same size as your boss.”

“Right away.” The staff member set down the tea tray, poured her a cup, and placed it on the low table before leaving the lounge.

Not long after Liam left, the lounge door creaked open—and in stumbled Charles, drunk.

Amelia didn’t even look up. “How’d you know I was here?”

Charles dropped into a single armchair, slumped back, and reached for the tea. After downing the whole cup in one go, the flush on his cheeks faded slightly. He fished out his phone, unlocked it, and tossed it into her lap.

“See for yourself.”

On the screen, a live video feed played. Amelia blinked. It was showing this room—right now.

“You installed surveillance in here?”

“Wrong,” Charles snorted, shooting a glare at the ceiling corner. He raised his middle finger at the camera. “Tyson did. Fucking creep.”

Amelia stared at the screen. “So I’m part of your little pervy boys’ club now, huh?”

She tossed the phone back at him without ceremony. “You guys are having way too much fun.”

“We?” Charles caught the phone, lowering his hand. His eyes were clearer now, but still glazed. “There’s nothing going on between me and him.”

“You might not think so,” Amelia said dryly, “but he might have other ideas.”

Charles didn’t argue. He just poured himself another cup of tea, sipping it in silence. His lashes were low, mouth quiet, face unreadable.

Amelia knew that look.

“What are you thinking?” she asked. “I’ve got shit to do. I can’t sit here babysitting you.”

She took out her phone, about to call Tyson, but before she could even unlock it, Charles leaned over and snatched it right out of her hand.

His breath hit her—alcohol, tea, and layered pheromones.

She frowned. “Tyson let you run and play loose like this?”

“It was just a wrap party. Don’t be so dramatic.” After two cups of tea, his mind was sharpening.

Amelia scooted away slightly, giving him a look. Charles leaned in again, closer this time. They tussled silently for space until she was practically wedged into the corner of the couch.

“Say it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Say what?”

“That you do understand me.” Charles grinned like a kid who got away with something and let up. “Those clothes earlier… were they for that guy whom you brought home?”

“Still drunk?” Amelia shot back. “What do you mean, ‘that guy’? He has a name. Maverick.”

She watched Charles more carefully now. “Wait… have you met Maverick before?”

Charles didn’t answer the question directly. “What did he say?”

“He didn’t say anything.”

Charles smirked. “Yeah, I figured. That tracks.”

Amelia frowned. “Charles, I really don’t want you getting dragged into this. Whatever happened between you two—just tell me. Please.”

They’d known each other since they were kids. There wasn’t much they could hide from each other.

Charles leaned back on the couch, head tipped against the cushion. “It’s nothing. Last time I went out without inhibitors… I ran into him.”

“You were in heat?”

“Yeah.” His voice didn’t waver. “We kissed.”

Amelia stilled.

Charles glanced at her reaction, then added with a smile, “He knows I’m an omega.”

She asked quietly, “And?”

“That’s it. Nothing else happened.” He hesitated. “You know he—”

“Yeah. I know.”

Given rules in the barracks, Charles didn’t press. The conversation fell away like a curtain, both of them silently choosing not to step through.

After a moment, Charles changed the subject. “You guys heading to dinner?”

Amelia checked her watch and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Do you mind if I come with you?” Charles raised an eyebrow, half teasing.

“Yes.”

“You mind? Seriously?” Charles blinked like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You actually mind?”

He jumped up and started pacing around the sofa like a restless cat. Amelia watched him spin in circles until she felt dizzy and reached out to grab him, yanking him down beside her.

Right at that moment, a store staff member appeared at the lounge door, holding a stack of clothes. He took one look inside—and immediately looked away like his eyes had been scorched.

“S-Sorry… I knocked…” the guy stammered.

Charles lazily got up from where he’d flopped into Amelia’s arms. “It’s fine. I won’t tell anyone if you won’t,” he said with a smirk.

The staff member looked like he wanted to evaporate on the spot. His inner monologue was I didn’t see shit, I didn’t hear shit, I’m just a decorative plant.

“I didn’t see anything…” he muttered quickly. Then he added, completely unconvincingly, “I’m super nearsighted and forgot my glasses today.”

Amelia stood and smoothed out her coat, then walked over to grab the bags from him. “Thanks. You’ve been working hard. Put it on your boss’s tab.”

The poor guy nearly dropped the clothes. Our boss is getting played like a damn fiddle.

Amelia turned, ready to leave. She glanced back at Charles still standing in the lounge. “You coming?”

“Obviously!” Charles trotted after her. “When did I say I wasn’t?”

As he passed the stunned staffer, Charles pulled a few tickets from his pocket and handed them over. “Concert’s next month. Come if you’ve got time.”

The guy accepted them with both hands. “You giving these out ‘cause no one wants to go?”