AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“First of all, he’s not a kid,” I say before taking a breath that’s loud enough to make me sound like a frustrated school teacher. “And secondly,” I edge on, “he’s not my boyfriend.”
I watch as his face knits together, as if it possibly could anymore.
“You said he’s your boyfriend.”
“No, you said he was my boyfriend,” I tell him with a smirk. “I didn’t say anything of the sort. Crow’s my best friend and maybe he will be more but right now we’re just – in between,” I explain, using my hands to express the said in between space.
“So, you don’t have a boyfriend?” he questions. “At all?”
“Well, I mean, I wouldn’t say not at all, but no I don’t have an official boyfriend.” I’m not sure if I would call it relief I can see on his face, but there’s definitely something there that wasn't before, but it flashes by so quickly, it’s hard to place. I remind myself that it's just because he looks at me like a daughter, or a sister, like family, that he’s relieved. Though with the way he’s been treating me since he’s been home, it’s been the complete opposite of care that he’s shown.
“Huh,” he grumbles, finally starting the engine. “Your dad’s out tonight, won’t be back until morning.” He puts his left indicator on to take us onto the village. “Just you and me.” Of course it is.
“And Crow,” I tell him.
“Afraid not, he’s going with your dad.” I imagine that would be Liam’s doing. Why did he even ask where he was before if he knew? Does he genuinely just enjoy winding me up?
“Where are they going?” I ask instead of asking what I really want to know.
“He says he has to go and meet some friends,” he tells me. Not that my dad doesn’t have friends because he does, but that is a lie. Dad doesn’t go and meet some friends, all of his friends are Cobras and they either meet at the Club or come to our house. More lies. Why am I not surprised?
* * *
“Shit, that smells good!” I turn to find Liam walking into the kitchen, taking a seat opposite me. I place a plate in front of him, and head to the freezer in search of some ice cubes for my juice. My dad bought us a juice machine a few years ago, and I’ve used it daily since. It’s the most incredible tasting thing ever. Even better with ice, though I normally forget to fill the trays up every night so it’s not often I actually have the ice parts of that equation.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask.
“Juice will do, please,” he says as he investigates the cottage pie.
“No beer?” I ask. It’s not very often any of the Dark Cobras go long without a drink of alcohol in hand.
“You trying to say I’m some alcoholic?” he asks as I roll my eyes at his argumentative tone.
I pass him the juice and sit down to start. It does smell good.
“It’s not often you used to go without a drink. I just assumed you’d want one now, too, especially after going so long without,” I tell him honestly.
I dig in, and he soon follows suit.
“I’m changing, Charlie, is that so hard to believe?”
“What type of change exactly?” I wonder aloud. The only change I’ve noticed is that he seems to have it in for me since coming home.
“I’m making some changes to the Club and the Cobras to start with,” he says, and with that I find myself frozen. This is exactly what Crow has been worried about.
“I’m cleaning my act up, taking charge like I should have back in the day,” he tells me. “I want a family one day, a wife, a child or two, and I want the Cobras to be a safe place for them.” What a contradiction. Dad always told me that Liam had a rough home life as a child and that’s why he insisted on helping my dad raise me well and give me good experiences as well as keeping me away from the Club and the Cobras. Surely if he wanted a safe life for his future wife and child, he would want out. That’s the safest way. Anyone related or attached to any Club member is in danger, no matter what.
We eat in silence for a little while.
Before I get too caught up in my own thoughts, I take my plate and his, expecting him to go back to wherever he came in from before he smelt the food, but I turn towards the fridge to find him sitting in the same position, no move to be made.
“I take it you’re after dessert?” I ask. He used to take me nearly everyday to a cafe that specialises in desserts after tea as a child. It closed down a couple of years ago when the owners moved away.
“Well, if it’s on offer, I’m certainly not turning it down.” He sniffs the air like some dog before turning back to me.
“You get the chocolate, it’s on the counter, and I’ll get the fruit,” I tell him, shaking my head at him.
We’re soon enough sat back around the table with a bowl of melted chocolate in the middle and skewers filled with fruit and marshmallows by the side of it.
