Everyone Underestimate Liam Cross

6: Rebuild

LIAM CROSS.

The sound was faint at first, like a whisper drifting through fog. Then it grew louder, pressing into the silence. “Wake up.” The voice was soft, pulling me from the darkness I’d sunk into. My eyelids fluttered open.

“You’re awake,” the voice said again.

I turned my head, and there he was... the same man from the bridge. The one who’d stolen my escape and peace, his presence made my stomach tighten. I hissed, the memory of his grip still burning in my mind. He sat by the bedside, his broad shoulders relaxed.

I pushed myself up, my body feeling stiff. “Careful,” he said, the word filled with concern that only fueled my anger.

“Who are you?” My voice was rough. “And where am I?” I glanced around, feeling disoriented. The room was too peaceful for the chaos I carried. It has cream walls with framed photographs.

He leaned back in the chair, studying me for a moment before answering. His jaw was square, his expression unreadable. “You’re in my home, Liam.”

The way he said my name made me pause, it made my pulse quickened. I searched his face, trying to read the lines etched across his features... he looked like a man who’d seen more storms than he’d spoken of.

“You know my name?” I asked, confusion threading through my voice.

“Liam Cross,” he said clearly, almost reverently. “Award-winning champion. The holder of the Iron Track Trophy, The Monarch Sprint Cup, which is given to the fastest sprinter of the season. You are also the holder of The Horizon Award, The Legacy Baton.”

He stopped, his eyes softening as though he were speaking to someone he once admired. “I can go on and on, Mr. Cross.”

His words got to me, it made my chest tightened. Those titles used to mean something, they used to be me. Now they were ghosts of a life that didn’t exist anymore.

I swallowed hard feeling my throat dry. My hands trembled slightly against the blanket, the memory of stadium lights and roaring crowds flickering through my mind like dying embers.

He looked at me with quiet pity, and that... more than anything hurt. Because pity was worse than hate. It meant he saw what I had become: a broken man clinging to the edges of who he once was.

And for the first time since the accident, I wished he hadn’t saved me... I wish I had jumped over the bridge and died, because that was what peace meant for me.

"That’s not me. You’ve got the wrong person," I muttered, my voice dry and cracking at the edges. My hands fidgeted over the blanket, as my fingers twitching like they didn’t know where to rest. He chuckled low.

“Yes,” he said, leaning back slightly, his jaw clenching as if holding back another laugh. “You’re right, that wasn’t you. And I did get the wrong person… because the Liam Cross I knew wouldn’t jump off a bridge.”

My throat went dry. I swallowed hard, the taste of bitterness coating my tongue. My knee bounced under the sheet, an old habit that came when I was cornered.

He tilted his head, with his eyes unrelenting. “And if you think I’m going to sit here and join your little pity party, you’re a fool. In fact...” He paused, his lips curving into cruelly honest. “You’re pathetic.”

That word... pathetic, stabbed deep into my chest. Mrs. Davenport’s voice echoed in my head, her sneer, her sharp tone: "You’re pathetic, Liam. Look at you." I flinched as though she’d just said it again.

“Stop.” My hands flew to my ears, pressing hard like I could shut it all out. It made my breathing hitched. “Just stop.”

He didn’t. His voice grew louder through my plea. “What? You don’t want to hear the truth?”

“Stop!” I screamed, my voice so loud. My shoulders trembled, and my lips quivered as hot tears began to slip down my cheeks.

He took a step closer, his boots thudding softly against the wooden floor. “No,” he said. “That’s what you are. Liam Cross… is a pathetic loser.”

The words broke something inside me. I covered my face, my chest heaving as sobs tore out uncontrollably. My fingers curled into my hair, tugging hard as if pain could drown the noise in my head. My throat burned, I couldn’t even look at him.

That was the truth, though. And I hated that it was true.

Then... his tone changed to a softer one this time, and he was trying to sound careful. “Liam…”

I felt the mattress dip slightly as he sat beside me. His hand rested on my shoulder firmly. I stiffened at the touch but didn’t pull away.

“Let me help you,” he said quietly.

I turned slightly toward him, I already knew my eyes would be red by now.

“Help me? What do you mean by help me?” I snapped, wiping my tears with the back of my palm. My voice came out trembling somewhere between disbelief and exhaustion. “Did I ever tell you I needed help?”

“You do, Mr. Cross,” he said quietly, his tone sounding too calm.

I scoffed, shaking my head. My throat felt tight, my lips trembling as I tried to laugh, but it came out hollow. “What more help do I need?” I bit out. “I’ve done the surgeries. I’ve gone through rehab. None of it ever worked.”

My breath came uneven. Another hot and stubborn tear slipped down my cheek, and I swiped it away roughly with the back of my palm. My fingers trembled as I did. “There’s nothing left to fix.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“My name is Victor Hale,” he said at last. “I used to be a coach. Now I’m a sports manager.”

I blinked, my brows knitting together. “Good for you,” I muttered under my breath, my voice dripping with bitterness. I raked a hand through my hair, tugging at the strands until my scalp stung. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” he continued evenly, “I want to offer you a deal.”

That made me pause. A deal? My gaze darted to his, searching his expression for mockery. “A deal?” I repeated, letting out a humorless laugh. “Is this some kind of joke? You’re offering a crippled man a deal? What kind of deal could that possibly be?”

Victor’s lips twitched. “The kind that brings you back to life,” he said simply.

I stared at him, my jaw tightening. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” he replied sounding unfazed. He leaned back slightly, crossing one leg over the other. “But hear me out.” His tone softened. “I’ll give you your career back.” The moment he said those words, it made my heart stuttered.

“In return,” Victor continued, “you let me train your body, and your mind. You let me rebuild you, Liam.”

He looked straight at me. “I want to help you regain your fire.”