Chapter 13
Jordan
Liam acknowledged I was right. Twice. And in between his orgasms, he made me pay, torturing me by not touching me until I was ready to claw my eyes and pull my hair out. But I’ll admit, when he did finally touch me, it was worth the torture.
He’s wrapped around me now. One arm tucked under my head, the other around my waist where he’s drawing random little patterns across my belly.
His finally soft cock is pressed intimately against my ass while his legs are entwined in mine.
My body feels like mush, but I wouldn’t be surprised if tomorrow morning it hurts in the most delicious way.
This has got to be what cloud nine feels like.
We should both be sleeping by now because it’s late—or early, depending on how you look at it—but despite our silence, neither of us has fallen into it. I’m soaking it up. The time with him. The feeling of calm and comfort. Being with him is like the biggest, coziest, warmest blanket I’ve ever had.
The type of blanket that wraps around me during all the best and worst moments.
The one that you wrap around yourself when you’re sitting in the backyard having a few drinks with friends, or the one you cuddle with when you’ve had the worst night at work and just want to cry until you fall asleep.
It’s the blanket that knows all of your secrets but never judges you for any of them.
The one you never want to get rid of, let go of, or share.
“Are you usually a cuddler?” I ponder out loud, though my voice is quiet in the darkness of the room.
“Depends.” His answer comes so quickly you’d think he was reading my thoughts. “Was it good sex? Do I want another round? Does the girl feel like a clinger?”
His questions make me smile. That sounds like a Liam answer if I ever heard one.
“I like cuddling with you,” he adds, pressing a kiss to the spot just behind my ear. It doesn’t sound like a line, either. He sounds genuine.
“Me too.”
We fall back into comfortable silence. Two lovers who don’t feel the need to fill the emptiness with anything but the steady sounds of breathing. Content to just be in each other’s company.
I wonder if he’s thinking about the things I said to him earlier.
Contemplating letting someone in. I hope he takes what I said to heart and thinks about it.
There’s no part of me that can imagine not having anyone to share with.
To bottle whatever it is that affects him so deep inside and never let it out.
“My mom.”
His words come out of nowhere, and they’re so out of place that my eyes open, and I blink into the dark. His mom? His mom what?
“Weird topic to bring up after sex, but okay,” I laugh softly, turning my head an inch to peer over my shoulder. Not that I can see him properly. “What about your mom?”
His chest rises and keeps rising as he inhales deeply before burying his face into the back of my neck like he doesn’t want me looking at him. I turn back towards the window, my eyebrows pulling together, waiting him out.
“You asked me earlier why I was the way I was,” he murmurs into my hair after a minute or so of silence. “It’s because of my mom.”
My heart skips in my chest, and I fight the urge to react with any sort of surprised movement, even though that’s how I feel. While I had hoped he would open up to someone at some point, I didn’t think it would be tonight, or to me.
I knew that his mom wasn’t in the picture, but I’ve never known why. It’s not something Nate and I ever discussed, and thinking back, I don’t think I’ve ever heard Liam mention her. Honestly, I guess I’ve never given it much thought.
“She deserted us when I was seven.”
His heavy exhale ruffles my hair as he pulls his face away from my neck. Taking his movement as an indication that I can move without spooking him, I run my hand down his forearm, sliding my fingers between his to give them a tight squeeze, offering my silent support.
It seems to be what he needs to continue. “She wasn’t the nurturing type. You know how most moms will cuddle a kid when they’re hurt, or had a bad dream?” He waits for me to nod. “Well, not my mom. She was the type to say, ‘Buck up, Liam, that’s not how men act’ instead.”
I can’t stop my head turning sharply toward him this time. “You were only a child.”
“I don’t think she knew how to deal with a kid.”
My heart goes out to him. I couldn’t imagine a mother acting like that. Not to console their own child when they’re feeling vulnerable and unsafe feels wrong on so many different levels. I may not be a mother, but I can’t imagine allowing any child to feel like that in my presence.
“She did enough to get by. Made sure I had clothes on, and food in my stomach. I ate a lot of hot dogs and mac and cheese in those early days. More than most kids.” His fingers slide out of mine to take my hand in his, his thumb running over the back of it, absently distracting himself from what he’s telling me.
“But she wouldn’t do anything more than that.
Events at school, or that other moms would do with their kids, weren’t things she was interested in.
Not that I knew the difference at that age. ”
It’s completely the opposite of what my mom was like. She was involved in every aspect of Nate’s and my life. So much so that it was annoying at times. At least that’s what I thought back in the day. Listening to Liam, though, I realize how lucky I was to have that.
“The one thing she would always do, without fail, was bedtime. It was like she knew she was finally done being a mom for the night, so she could give me a different piece of her for those fifteen minutes every day.” He chuckles but it lacks any ounce of humor.
“Unlike most kids, I looked forward to bedtime every fucking day.”
“She would always read me a story, and then she’d lean over, kiss my forehead, and tell me she loved me. And it was…” He pauses for a moment, and though I can’t see him, I know he’s wrestling with emotions that have been locked away for a long time. “It was the best moment of every day.”
The ache in my chest is so severe that tears sting the back of my eyes for him.
I can picture him as a little boy, ready for bed, waiting for that single moment every day, and it makes me hurt.
All he wanted was to feel his mother’s love, something every child should feel, and yet all he got was this small glimpse of it.
“I remember the night before she left was so different than every other night. It started out the same, but then…”
He blows out a breath, pausing both his words and his roaming fingers along my arm.
Reaching for his other hand, the one beneath my head, I take it in mine and squeeze, offering him my strength to continue with his story.
I want to offer so much more than that, but I fear if I turn to face him he’ll lose whatever confidence this is that has him telling me in the first place.
“Then instead of her normal ‘I love you, Liam. See you in the morning,’ she said, ‘I love you, Liam. Never forget that.’ It sticks out in my mind because I remember telling her that’s not what she was supposed to say.
She was supposed to say, ‘I love you, Liam. See you in the morning.’ And she smiled at me, gave me another kiss on the forehead, and told me what I wanted to hear. ”
His voice is a whisper when he adds, “The next day she was gone.”
A second later he’s releasing his hold on me, his legs unwinding from mine so he can roll onto his back, away from the comfort of my body.
A shiver runs down my spine at the sudden lack of heat against me, but I know he’s looking to put space between his confession and me.
Like he’s physically running from the memory that he’s brought forth.
Turning over to face him, I give him a little of the room that he was looking for but keep my head resting on his bicep. Reaching out, I place my hand on his chest, letting him know my comfort is there if he wants it.
“The neighbor brought me home from school the next day, and when I got there, my dad was sitting on the couch, which was unusual. He always worked past dinner. Always trying to make ends meet for us.”
Liam releases a shuddering breath, his eyes pointed up at the ceiling.
“I asked him where mom was, and he said, ‘She’s gone.’ Not that I understood that.
I thought he meant she was gone out for groceries, or to the mall or something.
” He chuckles again, but it’s hollow and doesn’t contain an ounce of his usual lightheartedness.
“I asked that question every day after school for weeks, and it was always the same answer.”
My stomach churns at the thought. What it must have been like to go through that at such a young age. I can’t even imagine.
“Then one day when I asked, he fucking snapped. I’ll never forget it.
” Liam’s free hand gestures upwards toward the ceiling angrily, his voice bellowing around the room as he imitates his dad, “She’s gone, Liam!
She’s never coming back! Don’t you get that?
She left us! She doesn’t want no part of us anymore!
Stop asking about her! Stop fucking talking about her!
Just fucking stop! I can’t handle it anymore! ”
Biting my lip, tears prick the back of my eyes again.
I can feel the pain radiating through him, pulsing in the air around us.
The fear he must have felt being yelled at like that when he hadn’t done a thing.
The hurt he must have felt realizing that his mother wasn’t coming home.
The silence he had to endure for years when it came to her.
No wonder he’s never talked about this with anyone. He was told not to. That poor seven year old boy was shown that it wasn’t safe to talk about. So he didn’t.
“Then he started to sob. I’d never seen my dad cry, and to this day I’ve never seen it since. But he cried like a baby that day. He was fucking heartbroken. A broken fucking man with a son whose mother didn’t want him.”
His hand drops from the air to where mine is on his chest, the pads of my fingers pressing into his skin.
“My dad is a good man. He did the best he could with me. He worked hard, made sure there was food on the table, and he always came to school functions and football games. He stepped up, and we got through life together.”
Curling his fingers beneath mine, he brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles.
“But every single day I saw the heartbreak in him. I watched him hurt. He loved my mother with all his heart, and her leaving devastated him.” He pulls in a breath, letting it out slowly.
“I vowed that I would never put myself in that position. I would never allow someone to have that kind of power over me.”
Any part of my heart not broken for him before, shatters now.
The things he missed out on because of a woman he deserved to have love from makes my chest hurt.
A tear falls from the corner of my eye, but I don’t dare swipe at it for fear of him seeing it and thinking they’re tears of pity.
They aren’t. My heart is only deeply distraught for the young boy he was, and the man he grew up to be that didn’t get all the things he should have.
“It was her loss,” I whisper once I’m sure my voice won’t betray my emotions.
Liam’s head turns to the side, his eyes finding mine, brows furrowed as if I’m speaking a foreign language.
“She’s the one who missed out,” I tell him quietly but firmly.
Pushing myself up onto my elbow, I half roll, my body pressing into the side of his.
“Look at the incredible man you turned into despite her not being around. Look at all the amazing things you’ve accomplished despite her.
Think of all the people you’ve saved with your career, and the families you’ve kept together because of the man you’ve become. Despite her.”
I bow my head to press a kiss over his heart.
“You deserved a mother’s love. You should have had it, and my heart aches for that little boy who didn’t get it.
But despite it, he’s become this caring, respectful, protector of a man.
” Lifting my head, I smile softly at him.
“A man that I am so grateful to have in my life.”
He offers me a wobbly smile. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so insecure and unsure of himself.
I add, with conviction, “You may not believe any of that, and that’s okay. I can believe it enough for the both of us.”
Without warning both of his hands are in my hair, and he’s using his strength to roll us over until he’s hovering over me, his lips crashing down to claim mine. I gasp at the suddenness, but let his mouth move over mine without protest.
Sex and alcohol. The best therapy out there as per Liam. And after the major confession that’s been locked away for more than twenty years, I imagine he needs therapy. I don’t begrudge him that. In fact, I’m happy to help.
But first…
Gripping his face with my hands, I gently urge him to take a breath and break the kiss. As I knew he would, he complies, his eyes opening to gaze down at me as he settles between my legs.
“Thank you,” I whisper softly. “Thank you for trusting me.”
His forehead touches mine briefly in response. I know it’s his way of saying you’re welcome without words. Or maybe his own thank you for giving him the space and safety to tell his story.
Then the normal Liam is back, grinning his half smirk at me before offering me a warning. “This is going to get rough.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Because even though he may act like the normal Liam, I know the last ten minutes weren’t easy for him to face. And if I can alleviate any of his pain through the pleasure of my own, I’ll do it. Every damn time.