21. Liam
twenty-one
Liam
D inners are becoming a late-night event for me.
I’ve shut off the air conditioner and thrown the patio door wide open.
The weather has thankfully dropped to a breezy, low seventy.
Stas and Beau are seated at my new outdoor table, their chairs pushed together as they sleepily chat under the glow of the tiny lights Stas hung up there for the party.
She’s got her head on his shoulder while his arm is draped over her crossed legs.
I’m not sure how these relationship things go, but so far, this feels natural. Probably because I’ve known them both for years.
As I’m pulling steaks and vegetables off the grill, my phone buzzes obnoxiously, vibrating toward the edge of the table. Stasi manages to catch it.
“Probably your brother.” I nod for her to check the message and rattle off the passcode. Hail tends to forget what time zone he’s in with his boyfriend across the Atlantic. He’s always had a one-track mind.
But when I turn around, a plate of steaming food in my hand, I realize my mistake.
“It’s not Hail,” I murmur, dread filling my gut.
She shakes her head and sets my phone back on the table, doing her best to hide her hurt behind a mask. Beau’s gaze moves to me. His eyes are hardened blue gems.
Fuck .
Grabbing my phone, I slip inside and open the messages from an unknown number sexting me. I debate calling them to cuss them out for ruining the night.
But I only have myself to blame for this.
Scrolling through hundreds of messages in my phone, I wait for any of the names to register. I don’t recognize ninety percent of them. They never mattered to me as long as they agreed to give me temporary relief from the shit I didn’t want to feel at the time.
I block the number before wandering back onto the patio with made up plates for the two of them.
“I’ll delete them. All of them,” I say.
Beau glares back at me, and I feel the weight of his pain. Almost as if he's questioning if I would have deleted him, too, had he not shown up here. I doubt it will make him feel better to know he'll always have a place in my phone.
I have to imagine I’ve tread on more than my fair share of feelings in one lifetime. I’ve hurt people.
I’m hurting the two of them now, even if they don’t want to admit it.
“I didn’t ask you to do that,” Stas replies softly.
“I’m choosing to. I don’t expect exclusivity from either of you. Lord knows I haven’t earned it. But that’s what I’m offering. I haven’t been with anyone else since I came home, and I won’t be with anyone else for as long as we’re doing this together.”
Wide eyes hold me. I can’t say I’m not afraid, but my fear means nothing in the face of their happiness.
“No one else,” Stasi agrees.
Beau doesn’t answer. I know his trust won’t be so easily earned.
Moving over to Stas, I lean down to kiss her on the cheek.
“Only you,” I promise .
Then I move to Beau, dropping to a knee to press a lingering kiss to his jaw that makes him hum and melt just a little.
“Can we eat now, or are you going to carry on with sappy declarations?” he mumbles.
I knock the baseball hat off his head, unleashing his fluff of hair and a string of complaints.
As they both tear into the food, the vice-like tension around my lungs eases. I’m not good with words or showing affection or generally being a kind human, but at least I can cook them some comfort food. The rest will have to come with practice.
Beau holds firm to his guard throughout our meal, every now and then assessing me with a stern look. Part of me hopes he’s becoming protective of Stasi. If that’s the case, maybe he won’t leave. Maybe he’ll stick around to hold shit together when I inevitably fuck this up.
Stasi collects our plates and carries them into the kitchen after Beau agrees to wash them. He lingers at the table with me.
I brush my thumb along the back of his hand. “I’m sorry.”
He meets my gaze with heat. “For what?”
“For not replying. For hopping on a plane and never looking back.”
Beau deflates with a heavy sigh. “You weren’t ready.”
“No, I wasn’t,” I agree, glancing up at the night sky. “I’m the most afraid of myself when I get close to others.”
Beau flips his hand so our fingers entwine. “Does that have anything to do with your comment about not getting to be a kid?”
“Everything to do with it. I spent my childhood keeping an abusive, alcoholic father alive. In the end, I failed.”
“ Shit . Liam.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I prepare to let it all out tonight. “I spent a lot of years convinced love didn’t exist because I’d never experienced it. ”
He gives my hand a squeeze, and my gaze drifts back to him, my pulse thudding faster at the naked emotion displayed on his pretty face. That lock of white has curled funky over his brows, the ends sticking straight out to the side.
“And what do you think now?” he asks softly.
“I think it’s inevitable that I’m going to fall in love, whether I deserve it in return or not.”
The sight of a tear sneaking down his cheek stops my heart.
I reach over with my other hand to brush it away.
“Beau. I’m not sharing this to excuse my shitty behavior.
I’m truly sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for assuming you’d bounce back like I was nothing more than a way to waste time between shows. ”
He nods frantically, but then the tears really begin to fall. He pops up to his feet and paces. “Ugh, sorry. This is embarrassing. Here I thought I’d planned a perfect day, and I’m ruining it by crying.”
Stasi appears in the doorway. “Screw that.”
Her words are delivered with more force than I’ve ever heard from her. I fucking love it. I loved hearing her lay into Hail on the phone when he was having meltdowns about his performances. Her voice would take on a little southern twang she does her best to downplay.
Thinking about Hail has my jaw clenching. Is he going to understand any of this? I’ve been so adamant that a relationship wasn’t in the books for me. Add in the fact that he’s got a solid grasp on just how many one-night stands I’ve had…
I file away the troubling thought for another night.
Beau remains stunned in place as Stasi moves in front of him. “You didn’t ruin anything. It was a perfect day. ”
He crumples, arms winding around her waist and head resting on her shoulder. They rock side-to-side for a while, soaking up each other’s comfort.
“How do we finish this date, Beau?” I ask gently.
Sniffling, he eases away from Stasi. “Well, it’s after midnight. Technically, I think the date is over.”
“Only if you want it to be,” I reply.
Beau glances around in confusion. “Is this real life or a dream?”
“A dream, for sure.” I nod.
“Then I want to sleep forever.”
Taking their precious hands in mine, I lead them through the kitchen, right past the mess we made preparing food to cook, and into my music room. Other than my giant bed, it’s the most comfortable spot in my house.
Stasi sits with me on the floor, our backs supported against the couch. Beau doesn’t move from the doorway. He hasn’t quite bounced back to his normal, sassy, troublemaking self.
“You bought an 8-string acoustic,” he comments.
I glance at the newest guitar in my collection—a sexy, mahogany piece finished in a midnight blue that matches his eyes. I know it’s his favorite brand to play, and it’ll accompany his voice beautifully when he finally decides to record a track.
“It’s yours,” I say.
Beau’s brows knit together. “Oh, hell no. I don’t care how much money you have. I’m not accepting this.”
“Leave it here then. Doesn’t change the fact that I bought it for you.”
When we lock eyes, Beau looks adrift. I think about how Lithos was ripped out from beneath his feet.
He looks like how I felt when I stepped foot in my townhouse for the first time and realized I was on my own.
No shows to get me through each day. No band manager telling me what to do.
No tour dates or city hopping or structure to my life.
Thankfully, I’ve found a new purpose in helping artists. I’m able to wring out every drop of their talent by stripping back all the layers of bullshit keeping them from baring their souls to the world.
What’s it gonna take to give Beau a new purpose?
I haven’t reached the bottom of what’s haunting him in the moments he thinks no one’s looking.
I’m assuming it has something to do with the rapid success of his first album.
Imposter syndrome snuck in and wrapped ghostly fingers around his neck, tightening until he couldn’t breathe under the pressure.
“Beau. You don’t owe anyone anything. You can take as long as you need to work whatever this is out of your system.”
Without speaking, he comes to some sort of internal decision. Flexing and curling his right hand a couple of times, he reaches for the neck of the guitar and carries it over to perch on the edge of the other couch facing us.
My chest swells with the same warm pride I get when I watch any of the members of Atonement play.
Beau tips his head down and starts to pluck at the strings. It’s a soft tune to start. Nothing more than simple, resonant chords to embrace us.
And then he weaves a beautiful melody with quick, perfectly placed fingers and that deep, raspy tone that wraps around me like a summer breeze.
I’m not sure how to categorize him. Country? Blues? Folk? A little of all three blended together until you can’t tell where one genre ends and the other begins.
Beau has no labels. He redesigns what it means to be an artist.
Shit, he’s redefining me .
Stasi peeks up at me, and guilt claws at me as I come to understand the fear in her eyes.
In a way, I took Hail from her. Held up his chin and showered him with praise.
Booked him shows at grungy venues and kept him motivated to grind his way to the top of the charts, dragging Malek and Griff along with us.
And now there’s Beau with this big, promising future stretching wide before him.
I want to tell Stasi I know the key to keeping him here. That I can hold him back. But I can’t . Not when I’ve committed my life to elevating musical dreamers.
As his final note rings out, a heaviness settles in his bones, slumping his shoulders and weighing down his head.
He looks exhausted.
“That was so pretty, Beau,” Stasi murmurs. “Did you write it?”
“Something I’ve been working on, yeah.” He shrugs, returning the guitar to the wall.
She lets her head fall onto my shoulder. Gauging the way they’re both struggling to keep upright, I call it a night. “Time for both of you to sleep.”
I gather Stas up over a shoulder, pleased when she giggles. Beau looks at me, a smile curling on his face. “Gonna carry me, too, tough guy?”
I charge him, tossing him over my other shoulder. “Smart ass.”
My plans to tuck them in and clean the kitchen go up in flames the second I lay them down together in my bed. I find myself physically unable to pull away. When Beau crawls in to spoon her, I lay down on her other side so she can snuggle against my chest.
Just when I think the two of them have drifted off and I can sneak out, Beau whispers, “Liam?”
“Yeah, trouble? ”
He hesitates. “I think I’d like to record something, but if it ends up sucking, we trash it, okay?”
Shutting my eyes, I smirk. “It won’t be trash.”
“But if it is—”
“Beau.”
After another pause, he speaks in a sleepy tone. “It would be nice to leave a piece of me behind that I can be proud of.”