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As I nodded, I tried to keep the heartbreak from my eyes, but it seemed like an impossible task. The last thing Liam would want was my pity.
I didn’t pity him. But I couldn’t help my natural reaction to imagining him as that young boy either.
“No wonder,” I murmured as I watched him get into his car, slam the door with a mighty heave, and rest his head back against the seat for a moment.
It all made so much sense now that I had the last piece of the puzzle snapped into place. His absolute terror at the beginning. His reticence toward getting close to either of us.
Liam would have done anything to make sure history didn’t repeat itself. He’d even built an unscalable wall that no one could attempt to climb.
I kept thinking about it in the hours he was gone. Kept thinking about what I might’ve said if we’d been alone in that moment.
I’d simply need to add it to my list of questions that might never be answered. It was something I might ponder in the middle of the night. My curiosity rode a knife’s edge, but I knew he’d only sate that curiosity if he felt safe enough to talk through it. More than anything, I wanted to wrap him in my arms and tell him a thousand times—a million times—that I trusted him. That we felt safe with him.
But I wasn’t sure that would be enough.
All day, I replayed his face, his words, the tense way he’d held his body as he delivered them. Something he’d said niggled at the back of my head, and I pulled out my laptop, then carefully typed “Liam Davies father” into a search engine.
Numerous articles popped up immediately, along with pictures of an older man who looked so much like Liam that I exhaled in a sharp gust. I scrolled, picking up on a few key details that locked everything into place.
His dad was an athlete too. There were older pictures, older articles talking about wins and losses and promotions and relegations related to a British football team. He wasn’t quite as large as Liam, but the fierce look on his face was stunningly similar to that of the man I’d known for a decade.
I covered my mouth as I read, trying to imagine a young boy making peace with something of this magnitude. A man revered by so many because of his talents on the field was a complete nightmare at home. Coaches would esteem someone like Liam simply because of that connection, never knowing what it did to his young brain to be constantly held up in comparison.
My eyes lingered on an article about Liam during his college days. There was a mention of his famous footballer father, the writer making it very clear where he got his strength and speed and determination, and I had to rub at my sternum to quell the growing ache.
Slowly, I closed my laptop and pushed it away with a sigh.
Mira and I stayed busy. We went for a walk through the neighborhood, and while she took her postlunch nap, I ignored the fact that I had work to do and decided instead on some self-care in the form of a small nap of my own and a sinfully long shower afterward.
We ordered pizza for dinner because the entire day felt so heavy with anticipation that it was hard for me to focus on anything.
I hadn’t touched my phone in hours, and as we finished eating, I stared at where it lay face down on the counter. I didn’t flip it over until Mira was done and I’d cleared our dishes. My eyes quickly scanned the messages waiting for me.
One from my mom.
Mom:How did the session go this morning? I’m off tomorrow if you want to call.
The temptation to call her and process all of this was strong. My entire life, I’d done that. I’d learned that having someone to listen to what lay between the lines was crucial.
But there was a stronger impulse gnawing away at that one.
I found myself wanting to protect what Liam had told me. It wasn’t fodder for anyone’s consumption. Not even hers. For now, I ignored her text.
There was one from Rosa.
Rosa:Martha picked an alien romance for next month. Not sure how I feel about tentacles, but I’m nothing if not open minded. You in?
I smiled and told her I’d let her know.
The third had my brow furrowing a little.
Tyler:I found something of yours when I was cleaning out a closet. Let me know if you’re home later. I can drop it off.
I didn’t have the mental bandwidth to touchthatone, so I sighed and swiped out of the message.
The last one was from Rochelle.
Rochelle:Let me know if you want to join us for training camp! It’s one of my favorite parts of the year. You and Mira should be there.
