**CHAPTER 7** **RACHEL** "Am I really going to burrow?" The thought dances in my mind as I gaze at him, my heart fluttering like a startled bird. How incredibly adorable is this guy? Inside me, a wave of warmth washes over, almost melting me into a puddle of sweet, gooey feelings. “That’s precious.” But then my thoughts twist to Theo. The sweetness of his charm had ensnared me once, lulling me into an illusion that he was my forever. I had believed in the protection of his embrace; I had believed I was safe. Safe. The mere word incites a bitter scoff from my lips as anger and heartache intertwine in a venomous swirl within my chest. There he sat—so close, yet helpless—as Matt unleashed his fists and feet upon me. Clenching my jaw, I cast a furtive glance down at Liam’s hand. Strong and confident, it could eclipse my frail fingers, probably splinter them in a heartbeat. Yet, instinctively, I know he never would. Still…hopping aboard the love boat again feels like a reckless venture. I’ve learned my lesson on diving headfirst into emotions, and this time around, I refuse to take that leap. With deliberate grace, I slip my fingers from his grasp and tuck them beneath the table, forcing a smile. “You’re just so sweet,” I murmur, attempting to lighten the tension of my withdrawal. His cheeks flush a delightful pink as he slightly clears his throat, fidgeting in his seat. Just then, our breakfast arrives, the scent of the omelets enveloping me like a nostalgic hug, reminding me I haven’t savored a decent meal since my lunch break two days ago. My stomach growls, a tight cramp punctuating my urgent need, as I sprinkle salt onto my eggs and take hold of the ketchup, dragging it across my plate in a vibrant red line that zigzags atop my meal. Liam stares, an expression of bewilderment etched across his face, and a laugh slips from my lips. “Ketchup on your eggs?” he teases, his eyes alight with mischief. “What can I say? I’m just a saucy girl,” I retort with a playful grin. His wink sends a jolt of warmth coursing through me, and I try to redirect my focus to the food before me, ignoring the fluttering sensations shooting down my legs. We indulge in our meal in a comfortable silence, stealing glances at each other before reverting our gazes to the quirky decor that adorns the walls. This place is a delightful chaos, reminiscent of an old attic in desperate need of a good cleaning, but it feels welcoming—like coming home. The flavors of the food wrap around me, and soon enough, my plate lies empty, prompting me to request a refill on my coffee. Liam raises an eyebrow as I push the empty plate away. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but for someone so slim, you can definitely pack it away.” With a playful smile, I take a moment to savor my coffee before replying. “Fast metabolism,” I shrug. “Always been this way. No meat on my bones, but believe me, it hasn’t come without a fight.” He grins—his laughter a nice counterpoint to the heaviness inside me. I find myself babbling on, almost convinced that the flow of chatter will chase away darker thoughts. “I can’t imagine it’ll be like this forever. My grandma, bless her soul, used to eat like a horse. She was as skinny as a beanpole until she had kids, then she rounded out and stayed that way.” A soft chuckle escapes me, called forth by the cherished memory of Dad teasing her, both basking in the joy and the laughter of their love. A pang hits me unexpectedly—sharp, familiar. I ache for her. I ache for him even more. The heartache I’ve carried since I was fourteen sears through me, ebbing and flowing like a restless tide. Some days it knocks me down; others, I barely notice its presence. In this moment, though, part of me longs for my dad to burst through the door, scandalized and ready to put Theo in his place, to scoop me up and take me far away from the suffocating shadows that linger around my past. “Hey.” Liam’s gravelly voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts. “Where’s your head at?” I blink, confusion etched across my face. “The look on your face,” he says, pointing at me earnestly. “Are you thinking about that night?” My chin dips reflexively, hesitant to revisit those painful memories. A part of me feels that admitting it would grant Theo a victory—a trophy of sorts, showcasing how his actions continue to haunt me. “You know… talking about it can help,” he suggests gently. “Really? Reliving it is therapeutic?” I ask, skepticism lacing my tone. He winces slightly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Burying trauma doesn’t help in the long run.” With a sigh, his fingers glide to the back of his neck, and I find myself wondering—has he faced his own demons? “I’m not saying you need to see someone. Unless you feel that’s the route you want to take; that’s valid and could certainly help. But sharing the burden… sometimes it lightens the load.” His expression is a mix of concern and visible torment, but he tries to rein it in. “I feel like I’m fumbling my words. I don’t want to intrude on your privacy… but I can’t help but think that my imagination might be torturing me.” The distress in his gaze deepens as he leans closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “He didn’t… he didn’t force himself on you, did he?” My eyes widen in shock. “No,” I manage to croak out, swallowing against waves of relief surging through me at the memory of that narrow escape—the moment Theo, drunk and exhausted, didn't push for what he wanted one more time. “Thank God,” I murmur under my breath, almost in prayer. “So, what happened, then?” His voice is a gentle nudge, coaxing me out of my shell. He asks softly, like a feather landing upon a still pond, and for a half-moment, a part of me wants to unveil everything. But the words elude me as they scramble in my throat. I open my mouth multiple times, only to succumb to the weight of silence. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, genuine concern lacing his words. “I’m not trying to pressure you. This isn’t about me.” He rubs his forehead, the weight of his own emotions battling against the boundaries I’ve thrown up, yet he remains patient and understanding. Something within me stirs at his compassion—the stark contrast of his desperation to know, yet his refusal to pry. Even amid his own internal strife, he prioritizes my feelings, a tender light in the obscurity of my thoughts. And for reasons unknown, the dam within me begins to crack; the words spill forth with little regard to my reservations. “I’d just come home from a double shift at work…”