“I don’t care,” Liam replies. “I’m good at waiting.”
I sigh as I get out of Liam’s car, then jog over to mine.
He’s eager to get going and takes off before I’ve even got the key in the ignition.
Freddie’s car is not in the car park.
We’ve parked up outside the factory, and I’ve gotten back into Liam’s car. I wish I hadn’t. His teeth grinding makes me want to gag. Freddie isn’t here, and at first I calmed Liam down by telling him Freddie had probably nipped out to get something for a late lunch . . . an hour later I tell him Freddie’s probably goneoutfor an early dinner and is wolfing down a pizza someplace close by. But as time ticks on, it becomes apparent that Freddie isn’t returning.
“He got a half day too . . . or a whole day,” I sigh.
“He knew we would come here to get him.”
“Jeeez.” I shake my head. “Can you make it sound any more like a kidnapping?”
“This is serious, Ryker. We don’t know where he is.”
“He said we’d talk tonight, and I trust him. Hell, he might’ve driven over to ours already.”
“Or driven far away,” Liam murmurs. “What if it’s caught up with him?”
“What’s this ‘it’s’you speak of?”
“Us, all over him. He’s straight, and he’s broken up with his fiancée, and we keep touching him. What if he freaked the fuck out and ran?”
I hadn’t thought of that.
“This is why I wanted to handcuff him to the radiator this morning.”
“It’s illegal, Liam.”
“It’s worth the prison time if we can stop him from freaking out.”
“I’ll call him,” I say, but of course the call goes unanswered.
Liam shakes the wheel. “His dad. What the hell was she thinking?”
The change in topic comes as a surprise. Liam’s spiralling.
“Maybe she thought she was doing something nice.”
“You’re defending her?”
“No,” I snap. “I’m answering your question.”
Liam deflates with a long sigh, like he’s got a slow puncture. “I’m sorry,” he says. “But I keep thinking about that day he turned up on the doorstep when you were in Tenerife. He pretended he happened to be nearby, acted all normal, but . . .”
Liam folds all the way over until he’s half hugging, half hanging from the steering wheel.
“But?” I press.
“That damn rucksack,” Liam says. “He had it over his shoulder. Do you remember when we were kids and he used to knock on our door and ask if he could sleep over? He’d be smiling but it never reached his eyes, and there was always a faint tremor going through him.”
“I remember,” I whisper.
“And we both knew he only came over like that on the worst nights. He never told us about them, but you could see how haunted he looked, how he’d protect his body like he’d already been hurt. We’d ask Mum and Dad, and they’d always say yes because they knew too.”
“The relief on his face when we said he could.”
