We haven’t needed handcuffs so far, and I think if we go easy on Freddie, we won’t need to resort to them . . . not until he’s asking for them anyway.
I bounce in my seat as I drive away from the station, and there’s a big smile slapped to my face. Freddie didn’t shoutthatname, and afterwards, after he came for the second time, he pressed into my neck, going limp against me. It must be instinctual in him to trust us when he’s at his most vulnerable, and that makes me feel big and powerful in a way that’s left me giddy.
Liam watched him with a smile on his lips, the first smile I’ve seen in ages. He said Freddie’s name until he groaned awake, but his blinks were slow, and he seemed confused as Liam heaved him off me and helped him stand.
The numb arse and the messy trousers had been totally worth it, but I didn’t enjoy the pins and needles that suddenly assaulted me when I got to my feet. Freddie swayed, then clutched onto Liam, a sure sign of how out of it he was, and Liam stiffened, overwhelmed with physical contact before relaxing and holding Freddie back.
“Bed,” I’d said.
Freddie ended up in Liam’s, and Liam ended up in mine, and in the morning we both checked on him before we went downstairs for breakfast.
I drive to the closest supermarket to get what we need, then I’m back on the road, tapping a tune out against the steering wheel.
It doesn’t surprise me that Liam’s there first. When I asked whether he could get a half day, he’d frowned and replied “Of course” in a tone that suggested I was an idiot.
He’s parked his car along the curb, but he’s not got out yet.
We’re doing this together.
I grab the roll of gardening-strength bags from the passenger seat, then leave the car, cueing Liam to do the same. How we go about things might be different, but we agreed this morning that Freddie was moving in with us. I’m willing to give up Liam’s bedroom for him. Liam had glowered at me but agreed that Freddie needed some space from us if he wanted it.
Space meaning a few metres.
Even the bedroom door is too much for Liam and he mumbled about removing it from the hinges. I pretended I didn’t hear him. Freddie’s always felt safe with us . . . and while riding his post-orgasm bliss he still does, but without that or the escalating fog of arousal, he’s cagey and unsure. He needs to feel safe in our house, and I bought a lock to fit on the inside of the bedroom in case he wants it.
Liam will kick my arse when he finds out.
I don’t know where Freddie’s been staying, no one does, but according to Mel, who is now my mole on the inside, Freddie hasn’t been back to his and Keegan’s place for his things.
All he’s got with him is his battered rucksack, but eventually he’ll need more clothes.
That’s where Liam and I come in. We’re taking them. Liam’s car will be loaded with his stuff when we go to collect him later. He won’t have to come here again. He won’t have to see Keegan. Liam won’t grind his teeth to dust thinking about them meeting up behind closed doors.
It doesn’t matter that I tell him infidelity ishugefor Freddie and he won’t go back there, Liam still fears he might, and that Keegan will get her claws into him and rip him away from us.
“Ready?” I ask.
Liam doesn’t answer. He just strolls up the garden path, which I guess is an answer in his world. He wants this done, and quickly. Liam knocks on the door, but when it opens a crack on Keegan, he doesn’t say a word. Her hand grips the edge of the door and her purple nails gleam. I can only see one of her eyes, heavily made up and fixed on me.
“We’re here for Freddie’s things,” I say, holding up the roll of bags.
“Right.” Her head lowers, and she takes a step back as she opens the door.
Liam doesn’t look at her as he snatches the bags from my hand and goes inside. His feet stomp on the stairs as he goes to clear Freddie’s drawers, and Keegan’s lips part in shock as she stares after Liam, but she doesn’t protest.
Her hair is up in a messy bun, and she’s wearing cotton-candy-pink pyjamas. At first I think she might be sick, or perhaps mourning her broken-down relationship, but the ruby-red lipstick, the smoky eyeshadow and blush to her cheeks tell me a different story.
Keegan’s getting ready and she started with her makeup.
“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” she tells me. Her eyes close in a long blink. “He’s a great guy—”
“You don’t need to tell me, and he didn’t deserve finding out like that.”
“You know.” She slumps dramatically. “You know, don’t you?”
“That you were sleeping with the stepbrother and he walked in on you going at it? Yes, we know.”
Keegan shakes her head. “It’s not like that. Ben and I . . . we have history. We were involved once, and with everything happening with Freddie, he was there. He told me how he felt about me, how he still feels about me, and things . . . things escalated.”
