by J. P. Oliver
I shrugged a shoulder, only because I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to say anything. Liam looked like he had a lot more to say, a lot more to process, and I wasn’t about to interrupt him. The concern in his eye made me feel like I was looking at a stranger. There was no way Liam actually felt remorse, right? That wasn’t like him at all. It wasn’t like him to look so beat up about something he’d done. This was Mr. Macho, the star quarterback who had everything handed to him. Was it really possible he could feel bad for a poor little geek like me?
“That wasn’t cool,” he continued. “And I’m sorry. For treating you the way I did. For calling you names and shit. I should have apologized sooner, but I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. Not that that’s an excuse but...” Liam chewed on his bottom lip, keeping his gaze on the dash in front of him. He nervously picked at his fingernails. “You probably don’t believe me. And I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t forgive me. I just… I’m sorry. That I gave you such a rough time when you were dealing with– Well, that.”
I took in a slow, deep breath through my nose. The traffic light turned yellow, so I gently applied pressure to the brake. The car came to a standstill in traffic, offering me a moment of quiet to gather my thoughts. I was both relieved and confused. Did Liam Porter really just say these things? Was this a joke? He sounded so sincere that I didn’t know what to believe. It was sweet, in a way, how conflicted he seemed. It was obvious in the way that he sat, shoulders slightly hunched and head pointed down, that guilt was eating at him. It made me a little upset to see him so upset. I was an empathetic mess that way, always had been.
“I guess I should apologize, too.”
Liam frowned. “For what?”
“For thinking all this time that you were an irredeemable idiot.”
“Oh? And what about now?”
“You’re just an idiot,” I shrugged, smirking.
Liam threw his head back and laughed. “I guess that’s progress.”
The traffic light turned green and the cars in front of us started to pull forward. I continued to drive for another couple of blocks, allowing Liam’s words to settle down in my mind. The things he’d said were long overdue, but I supposed it was better late than never. I had to admit that I felt a little lighter, the smallest bit of satisfaction and closure making it that much easier to breathe. I realized that I’d been right before.
People really did change.
“May I ask a personal question?” Liam piped up after a while.
“Shoot.”
“Has he always been like this? Your dad, I mean.”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Probably.”
“Probably?”
“He used to make an effort. I think he stopped trying to hide his drinking problems when he lost his job during the recession.”
“That really sucks.”
I glanced to my side and gave Liam a suspicious look. There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm in his tone.
“Yeah, I guess it did,” I finally mumbled.
“Has he… Has ever hit you like that before?” he inquired, voice softer than warm sand slipping through my fingers.
I cleared my throat and shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. Did I accidently turn the seat warmers on? Why was it suddenly so warm in here? I knew I didn’t have to answer him. It really wasn’t any of his business. We’d gone practically our whole lives without knowing one another, there wasn’t any reason to start now. Except Liam had been really helpful, and I felt the slightest bit of gratitude for his assistance.
“Yeah,” I bit out. “Yeah, he did. Once or twice, but only when I tried to get in the way.”
“Shit,” Liam hissed under his breath. “I’m sorry.”
I frowned at myself when I realized he meant it. He really, really meant it.
I pulled out onto the road and started our drive back to his apartment. It was obscenely late, even for a Saturday. We didn’t say a word to one another, just listened to the gentle rumble of the car engine and the wind whipping past the hood of the car. There was still a fair amount of traffic, but it was to be expected from the city that never sleeps. I was personally very exhausted. First Liam kissed me, spent the night flirting with me, and now he was helping me clean up the awful mess that was my family. But not once did he complain, didn’t look for an excuse to dip and bail. It was weird, but oddly wonderful.
“Thank you,” I said finally. I almost didn’t hear myself over the soft hiss of car tires on asphalt.
“For what?”
“For helping me. With my Dad.”
“Don’t worry about it. That’s what friends are for?”
Friends. Were we friends? We definitely weren’t enemies anymore. But did friends kiss friends to make their mutual friends jealous? Did friends volunteer to come along to find drunk fathers? Did friends make their friends feel like they were simultaneously drowning and burning alive? Did they make it difficult to breathe, make hearts beat at uncharacteristically rapid speeds? There was something electric here, something undeniable that I couldn’t put my finger on. There was no way Liam was into me. That couldn’t have been the answer. But all those gentle touches, the sly glances, the kind words –I didn’t know what to think.
We finally arrived at Liam’s apartment complex. He hesitated for a moment before getting out of the car. He reached for me, slowly so as to not startle me, his dazzling blue eyes lingering on the shape of my lips. For a foolish moment, I thought he was about to lean in and kiss me. The air was tense and warm, thick enough to run a knife through. Instead, he pressed his forehead to mine as he gently grazed the tips of his fingers along my swollen jaw. It was a brief, shy gesture that had me holding my breath. And just like that, he was gone again, almost immediately pulling away.
He smiled at me fondly. “Remember to keep ice on that.”
“Right.”
“We still good to see the venue tomorrow?”
Oh, yeah. The venue. I’d completely forgotten. In the whirlwind that had been this evening, venue scouting had fallen to the very bottom of my to-do list.
“Yeah,” I nodded, forcing a polite smile. “I’ll meet you there. Noon, right?”
Liam nodded. “Noon.”
He then got out of the car, leaving me alone with the singular, burning thought of how badly I wanted to kiss him.
12
Liam
All night, I ached to touch him. It was ridiculous how I couldn’t rid Mason from my mind. I woke up and thought about making myself a pot of coffee, but I knew that anything I made would be shit in comparison to the coffee Mason could prepare. I hopped into the shower to take a cold rinse, but wondered the entire time what delectable shampoo he used in that wonderfully dark brown hair of his. I brushed my teeth, immediately plagued with thoughts of what it would be like to run my tongue over his. I bet it’d feel good. I could probably get him to whimper against me again like he did at the bar.
I slapped myself across the cheek.
“Get a grip, man,” I hissed to my reflection in the mirror, mouth full of spearmint toothpaste. I let the foamy bubbles rest on my tongue, let it sit there until it started to burn. I was looking for anything to distract myself.
I missed my morning workout, accidently sleeping well past eleven after a long, seemingly never-ending night spent dreaming about a certain someone. The scent of cologne lingered in my nose, the sound of his voice echoed in my mind. I wondered what he was doing right now. Was he already up and awake, eager to start his day? He was probably already dressed, already getting ready to meet me at the venue Drew requested us to check out. Should I get him something? He brought me breakfast the other day, maybe I could return the favor.
Just as I slipped into a pair of jeans and a plain white shirt, my phone dinged on the nightstand where I had it plugged in. There was a text message waiting for me.
[Mason] Hey! Just wanted to let you know that I’m going to be a little late, maybe ten minutes. Something came up at work.
I wrote back immediately.
[Liam] Np! Ill meet u there
I snatched my wallet and keys from the little ceramic bowl that sat on the hallway dresser before making my way out. With the address Drew sent me in mind, I headed toward the subway. If Google Maps was being accurate, I’d arrive at the venue ten minutes earlier than our agreed upon time. But I was eager to get there, even if Mason was going to be late. The thought of seeing him made me antsy, filled me with an energy I hadn’t felt in years. The sooner I was there, the sooner I got to see him again.
I made my way down the station platform. The next train wouldn’t be arriving for another few minutes or so. It wasn’t particularly busy, but I had to stand with my back against a platform column to keep out of the way of busy tourists and suited businessmen. My phone buzzed in my pocket again –another text from Mason.
[Mason] Sorry, make that twenty. Stupid meeting’s dragging on forever.
[Liam] u better not bail on me lol
[Mason] You worried I’ll stand you up?
I snorted, smiling stupidly at my phone.
[Liam] should I be?
My attention was suddenly ripped away when somebody bumped hard into my shoulder. I looked up to find a man glaring at me. He had dirty blond hair and dark green eyes, framed by thick brows and high cheekbones. There was a scar along his jawline, which he tried to hide behind a scraggly beard. He stood a few inches taller than myself, but he was significantly scrawnier. He stood facing me, squaring up like he was trying to start a fight. I frowned at him when his lips curled into a sneer.
“Excuse you,” I muttered.
“Don’t get in my way,” he said firmly. There was an edge to his words, the inkling of a threat.
“What?” I snapped.
But the stranger didn’t answer. He brushed past me, checking my shoulder again with his own. I scoffed, indignant. If the train hadn’t arrived at that very moment, I probably would have gone after the guy to ask him what the fuck his problem was.
Ding.
[Mason] Hey now, I’ve got manners. If I was going to stand you up, I’d at least text you to let you know.
And just like that, my anger melted away. I rolled my eyes, not even fighting the grin that stretched across my face. I boarded the train, shooting Mason another text before the automatic doors closed.
[Liam] how very considerate of u
The restaurant Drew wanted us to check out was massive and incredibly fancy. I contemplated whether or not I should hurry home and change because even the freaking floors had me feeling underdressed. It was one of those really modern, super chic places that I would never feel comfortable eating in, even if I tried. The restaurant sat at the base of a shining glass building which served as a classy four-star hotel. The lobby was made almost entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows that let in an amazing amount of natural lighting and offered a gorgeous view of the New York City streets. There were two separate sections to the restaurant. In the front, regular patrons were busy enjoying the steak lunch specials. The back part extended around the corner, kept empty for the express use of special occasions and VIP guests.
I approached the hostess, who was dressed to the nines in a black knee-length dress that hugged her curves. Her golden hair was curled in a series of loose waves, falling over her shoulders like a beautiful, captivating waterfall. “Hello,” she greeted calmly. “How may I help you?”
“Er, hi, yeah,” I clicked my tongue awkwardly. “I’m a bit early. I’m supposed to be scouting this place out for a bachelor party.”
“Oh, of course. I can give you a tour, if you’d like.”
“I’m actually waiting for someone,” I said quickly. “Is it all right if I just wait here?”
As if on cue, Mason walked in through the restaurant doors. He was a little out of breath, cheeks a light shade of pink.
“Did you run here?” I asked, partially amused.
“Maybe,” he grimaced. “You weren’t waiting long, were you?”
I smiled and shook my head. “No, not at all.”
It was alarming just how happy I was to see him, as sweaty and out of shape as he was.
“Perfect timing,” said the hostess. “I can show you around, if you’d–”
“Liam?” interrupted a man’s voice.
I turned, heart sinking into the pit of my stomach. I hadn’t heard that voice in over seven years. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. I forgot how to blink. I was frozen in place, too upset with my own shitty luck to do much else. My eyes fell upon my mother and father, their frigid stares just as stern and demoralizing as I remembered them.
Isabelle had aged significantly, the hair at her temples streaked white. The wrinkles around her eyes were more prominent, her lips had thinned out, and her face was losing its firmness. She was smaller than I remembered, the top of her head barely reaching past my shoulders.
Frank was still Frank, a general asshole with a superiority complex. He stood two inches taller, providing him the perfect opportunity to literally look down his nose at me. He was completely bald now, but sported a perfectly trimmed beard of white. He looked snobbish, what with his fancy suit and obnoxious cane.
“What are you doing here?” asked my mother, voice icier than a winter’s storm. She looked at Mason, examining him from head to toe. “And who’s this?”
Before I even got the opportunity to introduce Mason, my father cut in. “Don’t bother with the pleasantries, dear. He’s probably just another fairy boy.”
“Excuse me?” scoffed Mason, insulted. He tried to take a step forward, but I grabbed him by the wrist before he could do anything stupid.
“Let’s go,” I bit out.
“You still a degenerate, boy?” Frank hissed. “Who do you think you are, coming to a classy place like this? You’re an embarrassment, you know that?”
“Where do you get off?” snapped Mason. I gripped him tighter, did my best to keep him from swinging his clenched fists.
“Mason, let’s just go.”
“Can’t believe this,” sighed Frank. “Can’t even take my wife out to lunch without running into these libtard faggots. They’re fucking everywhere.”
I just wanted them to go away. I’d gone this long without them in my lives, so why did they have to show up now? The adrenaline surging through me had my hands shaking. I looked over at Mason, who was thoroughly appalled, brows pulled together into a stern frown. His mouth hung open, shocked at the encounter. I was too embarrassed to feel upset.
“Frank,” warned Isabelle, “you’re making a scene.”
“This your little fuck-buddy?” asked Frank, jabbing a finger into Mason’s chest. “Or is he the one who fucks you in the ass like the little bitch you are?”
“Fuck off, Frank,” I growled.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, smothering us with your disgusting displays of perversion. How dare you show your fucking face to me.”
“What fucking century are you from?” hissed Mason.
“Mason, please,” I said, voice distressingly weak and pathetic.
“You’re the ones who should be ashamed,” Mason continued. “You’re the one with his head so far up his ass that you’ll never be able to see how great Liam is. He’s a self-made man. Runs his own business. What do you do? Sit on that old oil money, collect pension checks, and complain that taxes are still too high?”
“Frank,” called Isabelle, wearing a worried expression as she saw the restaurant manager appear from around the corner. She tugged on my father’s arm, nervous. “Let’s go.” Reluctantly, Frank allowed himself to be led out by his wife, fuming and muttering curses under his breath as he was escorted from the building. There was something apologetic in her eyes, but I was too busy trying to keep Mason from flying off the rails to really think much of it.
“Yeah, get the fuck out of here, Frank,” Mason yelled after them. “You smelly old geriatric! Go learn to play shuffleboard or something.”
“Come
on,” I urged as I placed my hand on the small of his back. “Calm down.”
“Calm down?” he echoed, incredulous. “Are you serious? Who the fuck was that?”
“My father,” I mumbled.
Mason immediately fell silent, something akin to horror on his face. He was seething, chest rising and falling with every heated huff.
“Excuse me, sirs?” said the manager. He didn’t look too pleased. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you two to leave. You’re disturbing our guests.”
“We didn’t do anything,” protested Mason.
The manager raised his hands before him, tilting his head to the side in a diplomatic manner. “I understand that’s how you feel, sir, but I must insist that you leave. We don’t want any trouble.”
“Come on, Mason,” I said again, this time applying pressure.
“But the venue–”
“We’ll find another,” I reasoned. “Besides, I’d rather not pick this place for Drew’s wedding if homophobes like to come here.”
With a massive sigh, Mason finally allowed me to lead him out the way we’d come. We walked down the street, trying to take a moment to refocus. Mason had parked his car along the curb, just beneath the shade of an ornamental tree. He ran his fingers through his hair, pacing back and forth along the sidewalk as he slowly came down from his rage.
“Why aren’t you more upset?” he asked me.
I swallowed. “I am upset.”
“You don’t look it.”
“Practice makes perfect, I guess.”
Mason scratched behind his ear, glared at the ground for a lack of anything better to do. “Are you…” he hesitated. “What happened?”
I shrugged my shoulders, avoided his eyes. “I accidently came out to them day after we graduated high school.”
“Accidently?”
“My then boyfriend, Thomas, we… We were fooling around in my room.”
