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I tapped out my reply carefully.
Me:I’ll talk to Liam. He hasn’t mentioned anything about it yet.
Rochelle:Trust me, he’ll want you there.
I pinched my eyes shut and fought the churning sense of unrest in my gut. It wouldn’t have shocked me if Liam wanted to hide for the next month after what he’d admitted this morning. He could hardly look at me before he sped out the door for training.
There was no other choice but to compartmentalize all of it. Tuck it away in a safe place, locked tight, even if I was the one not allowed to poke at it.
Understanding often came at a heavy price. And you didn’t always know what that price was until you were forced to pay it. It didn’t really matter if you were talking about understanding a person or a situation.
Understanding grief came saddled with the loss. You couldn’t extricate one from the other.
Understanding what it was like to become a parent came with an irrevocable shift in your entire world. No one could adequately prepare you before it happened, no matter how hard they tried.
Understanding the fears that made up someone’s foundation came only when they were at their most vulnerable. The hardest part came next. Once you knew ... you had to decide if you could handle those fears or if they were too much for you.
Liam knew mine, but it wasn’t a fair comparison. The groundwork of my fears didn’t hold nearly the same consequences as his did. I didn’t have to face them every time I looked in a mirror.
Mira begged to watch her movie while I cleaned up the kitchen, so I turned it on in the playroom before wiping down the counters, then sliding the leftover pizza slices onto plates and setting them in the fridge for Liam.
Not that he’d eat them. Based on the state of his abs, the man hadn’t touched pizza in a decade.
I set my hand on my fluttering belly because I did not need to think about the muscles anywhere on his body. Those were a distraction.
But, then again, everything I’d done in his absence was a distraction. There were no decisions to be made when it was just me doing the thinking. All I could do was wait until we could talk.
Talk without the help of whiskey or a therapist or kissing with wandering hands.
The sound of the door opening had me blowing out a slow breath.
Liam looked tired when he tossed his bag down onto the kitchen floor. He was in different clothes than when he’d left, his hair still dark and damp from a shower. “Where’s the little bit?”
I nodded toward the playroom. “Watching her movie.”
One side of his lips hooked up. “How many times you think she’s seen it?”
“A hundred at this point, if not more.”
Liam rubbed the back of his neck, wincing as he pressed against the muscles there. “I’vewatched it at least that many times. She’s got to be rounding closer to five hundred.”
“Your neck okay?” I asked.
He grunted. “Didn’t take the time for them to work on me after we practiced.”
I leaned up against the counter and watched him fill a glass with water. “I’d offer to help, but ...” My voice trailed off. “I have a feeling I know what you’ll say.”
Liam gave me a wry look. “Probably not the best idea, yeah?”
I sucked in a quick breath and prayed for some courage. “I liked what happened last night when you helped me.”
At my answer, Liam’s eyes burned into mine. He didn’t drink his water, and he didn’t move from where he stood.
“Did you?” he asked, voice low and intensely charged.
Slowly, I nodded. As I did, I took a few steps closer to him, and he watched warily.
“I think you did too,” I told him. “You just don’t know what to do with it.”
