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“That was delicious. Thank you,” he murmured, his cheeks on fire.
King reached out, grasping his nape, and squeezed. Liam closed his eyes, sinking into the warmth. He’d been with this family for a couple of hours, and in that time, he’d experienced more love being directed to him than he’d ever had from his own. King’s mum had hugged him tight the moment they’d met, welcoming him to their family. Who did that? She was amazing. King’s dad was quieter, but Liam instantly knew where King got his affectionate nature from. He’d patted the seat next to him, and as soon as Liam sat, Alfred had grasped his forearm and kept a hold of him the whole time. The man had ooohed and aaahed when Liam had explained what he did for a living and playfully smack-talked him when he realized it wasn’t soccer but rugby that he played. The only time he moved his hand was when Liam had needed his arm to eat. He loved it. He loved them. The way that they interacted was so filled with love that Liam wanted to soak it in and never leave.
He understood what King meant now about his mother feeding him, but she’d seemed to respect his wishes, stopping when he’d told her he had enough. King had grinned like a loon when Betty asked him if it was too much. He’d hugged her when she offered to take some off his plate and had happily trotted over to the table to place it down. He’d rejoined Liam at the bench, bouncing on his toes, a giddy happiness flitting through him. Liam had nudged him with his elbow, grinning at King’s happiness. Betty had noticed it too, and her corresponding laugh was hearty and happy.
Liam’s plate hadn’t resembled King’s. It started off as a small meal, but his stomach had rumbled and Betty scooped up another serving, raising her eyebrow for confirmation. In the end, his serving rivalled Alfred’s. He wasn’t sure he’d get through it, but demolish it he did. Liam rubbed his belly and sighed happily.
“I hope you have room for dessert.” She looked at him expectantly, eyebrow raised in challenge, and Liam laughed, joy suffusing him.
“Can I maybe have half an hour? Let dinner settle?”
“Be careful or she’ll have you changing your surname to Vella,” King warned with a grin, his hand still at Liam’s nape. His thumb brushed his skin gently, a tease that sent electricity through Liam’s body.
“Keep feeding me food half that good and I’ll take your old bedroom.” He winked at King, the grin he shot him cheesy. He was stuffed full, ready to be rolled into bed so he could sleep the food coma off, but at the same time he was light as air. Carol had welcomed him like this when he’d befriended Lij, opening her arms to him whenever he needed the love and affection only a parent could give. A decade later and he’d found another family. He pressed his lips together and blinked, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.
Lij hated Liam’s parents. Addy went out of her way to show them that she was ignoring them. Carol kept a cool politeness about her. King was infuriated by them. King’s parents didn’t know the full extent of what he’d been through but, like Carol, they’d shown him what it was truly like being in a family. Why then hadn’t his own parents? His sister? Was he that bad, that much of a disappointment that his own family hated him?
“Excuse me,” he whispered, getting up from the table and rushing to the bathroom. His throat closed on a sob and he couldn’t even get through the door before his legs gave out. He slumped against the frame, tears tracking down his cheeks as he bit his knuckle to stop his cries from being heard. What was wrong with him? He was a mess.
A hand landed on his shoulder. Strong and sure. King’s. He turned, expecting to find his friend, but instead it was Alfred waiting with open arms. “Shh, my boy. It’s okay.” He drew him into a hug, and Liam wrapped himself around the older man. He buried his face in his shoulder and cried. “Kingston explained a little. You are always welcome here, okay. Our door is always open. With King or not, you can always come home. We wanted so many more children. They’re a blessing.You’rea blessing. We’d be so proud to call you another son of ours.”
Liam didn’t have words. He couldn’t speak. The gaping void in his heart that his family had created was filled with a few sentences. With the affection of a man he’d just met. With the homecooked meal and pride in a mother’s eyes, simply for finishing her food. He cried harder, squeezed tighter, and Alfred held him, rubbing his back and letting him get it out.
What felt like hours later, he pulled back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Alfred reached into his pocket. “It’s clean,” he said as he handed a perfectly pressed handkerchief to Liam. He wrapped both hands around Liam’s when he took it and added, “Take your time freshening up. We won’t make a big deal of you coming back in when you’re ready.”
“I’m in love with your son,” he blundered unthinkingly.
Alfred patted his shoulder and smiled genially. “I can see that. God works in mysterious ways.”
He left Liam alone then. Leaning against the wall, he buried his face in his hands and shook his head. What the hell was he thinking? What had possessed him to open his mouth? How was he going to face any of them now? They were probably dissecting his confession while he was in the bathroom wallowing.
No, they weren’t like that.
Alfred had promised, and King wouldn’t use it against him. He was too caring, too sensitive to the needs of people around him to do that. They all were. They were a family who loved hard and with open arms. Who’d accepted him into their fold without question. Liam didn’t need to know Alfred and Betty well to know he could trust them. That was all he’d needed apparently to give voice to his deepest most taboo secret.
*****
“And time’s up. Pen down.” Liam dropped the pencil, his scratching on the notepad finally stopping after two hours of intense writing. It was the first time he’d completed a statistics exam, albeit a mock one. He’d walked out of every other exam without an answer for at least one question. But this time was different. King had challenged him, asking curly questions that required him to make multiple calculations before he could answer it. Liam’s confidence was buoyed but nerves still jumped around in his belly.
King had established exam conditions the moment he’d walked in that afternoon. With a sheet of paper tacked to the wall, he’d written down the start and finish times and had allowed a calculator, fresh notepad, pens, and pencils. The only thing he hadn’t insisted on was Liam wearing a shirt. When he’d placed the typed-out four-page exam before him, complete with a fake university crest in the header, Liam had swallowed hard. He’d looked up into those deep brown eyes searching for something—reassurance, encouragement, the unshakeable faith King seemed to place in him—and King hadn’t disappointed. With hands on his shoulder, King had leaned in and said, “You can do this, Lee. I believe in you.”
Liam hadn’t ever worked harder at anything in his life. Rugby was physically exhausting and the strategy involved was far beyond what most people thought, but most of it came naturally to him. Sure, he had to keep his fitness up, and Coach’s training regime killed him every pre-season, but it was muscle memory. It was reminding his body to do something that was as ingrained to him as the instinct to breathe. The strategy—reading other players and foretelling where the ball would be—was hours of practice watching the way other players moved and figuring out their tells. Statistics was like a foreign language, and every letter, every number he’d written on that page had represented days of work.
“Good job,” King murmured, his hand on Liam’s shoulder again. Liam closed his eyes and soaked up the encouragement, committed the memory of King’s touch to his heart. He leaned over Liam and plucked the notepad from the table, the warmth of King’s body a contrast to his always cool hands. “I’ll have your marks back to you as soon as possible—”
“No, please,” Liam cried, standing up and whirling around, ready to fall to his knees and beg if he had to. Instead, he found himself chest to chest, standing far closer than two friends would stand. But Liam didn’t back down; he couldn’t even if he wanted to. “Mark it now,” he implored, his voice a low rasp. Liam reached for the notepad and brushed King’s fingers, the simple contact sending a bolt of electricity through his veins. Their gazes clashed and King sucked in a breath, his nostrils flaring as his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. He held his breath on the inhale, his chest expanding and brushing Liam’s.
Liam didn’t know who moved first. One moment they were both holding the notepad, and the next it was fluttering to the floor as Liam reached for King, dragging him closer. King’s hands went to his chest, his fingers curling against his bare pecs as Liam wrapped his hand around King’s nape and brought their faces together. His body demanded that Liam climb King like a koala. But his mind pushed him to savour the moment. Running his hand down King’s back, Liam moaned and rubbed his cheek against King’s stubble.
“We can’t,” King whispered, shoving him gently away. “I can’t, I’m sorry.” The other man moved quickly, sidestepping to pick up the notepad and shoving it into his messenger bag. “I’ll text you your results later tonight, and maybe tomorrow we can meet at the library. Yeah, library might be an idea,” he added as if it were an afterthought. Without a backward glance, King was out the back door, dashing away.
Liam was pinned. Unable to move. Shock ricocheted through his body like tremors after an earthquake. What had he done? He’d promised himself that his crush would always be unrequited. That King and Addy would never know about it—despite him telling King’s dad—never mind ever having to shut him down. Looked like he’d failed spectacularly on both fronts.
The gate slammed and the sound of a rock hitting the fence reached his ears. When they’d moved in, his parents hated the grass up the side. They’d poisoned it and laid steppingstone pavers with palm-sized river rocks between them. It was murder on your feet if you missed the pavers, but the noise it generated was a great security measure to know when there was someone in the backyard. The noise meant one thing.
King hadn’t left. He was still there.
Twenty-one
