Capture

Finding The Right Idiot

Sleep must've taken me quickly, because the next thing I knew, morning light was spilling through the window. I rolled over—Liam wasn't beside me anymore. Voices filtered in from the living room.

"You slept with her?" Louis' voice snapped me awake.

"No," Liam said, his tone clipped. "I shared a bed with her. There's a difference."

"So what does that make her?"

"Drop it, Louis."

"I'm just trying to figure it out," Louis pressed. "You wouldn't even talk to me when we met, and now this girl—who you swear means nothing—is tangled in all this shit?"

"She's my neighbor," Liam replied, voice sharp with warning.

"Neighbors don't sleep in the same bed, mate."

There was a pause.

"What do you want me to say, Tommo?" Liam snapped. "That I care about her? That she's more than a neighbor? Is that what you want to hear?"

I held my breath.

"I just want to know how far you're willing to go when she gets dragged too deep into this storm," Louis said, his voice suddenly softer. Cautious.

"Trey wants Danielle. Emma has nothing to do with this."

"Had nothing," Louis corrected. "You let her in, now she knows too much."

"How about you focus on finding Danielle before Trey does?" Liam snapped.

"I'm telling you," Louis muttered, "this is gonna end badly."

I flopped back onto the bed with a huff. If they were going to argue about me, they could at least do it where I didn't have to hear it. Eventually, I got up, changed back into my now-dry clothes, and headed out of the bedroom.

Liam sat at the counter reading from a folder, tension stiff in his shoulders. Louis stood by the window, scanning the street below.

"Morning," I said, trying to sound casual.

Both men turned. Liam's voice was clipped, distant. "Morning. There's food if you want it." He stood abruptly. "I'm going to take a shower."

I watched him leave, his retreat louder than any words.

"You know," Louis said from the window, his voice quieter now, "I didn't think I'd ever see Liam fall harder than he did for Dani. But I was wrong."

I turned toward him, keeping my tone light. "What are you talking about?"

"He's in love with you."

I laughed—too loud, too quick. A reflex. "He's not in love with me."

But even as I said it, my chest tightened.

Louis shrugged. "I know Liam. I've seen him in love."

My instinct was to argue, to deflect. But the words wouldn't come. Because the truth was, I had seen it too.

Not in some grand confession. Not in a sweeping, cinematic kiss or poetic speech. But in the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn't watching. In the way his voice softened when I was hurt. In the way he asked me to stay—not just in the room, but in his mess. That wasn't just care. That wasn't just survival. That was love. Messy. Unspoken. Real.

And some part of me... I think I loved him too.

But Louis didn't need to know that. No one did. Because love wasn't always enough.