Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Hemi
I’ve stayed in Liam’s room since he first let me in. Five nights wrapped around him. He hasn’t asked me to leave, so I’ve slept by his side since our hike and bath adventure on Sunday. Strange to think that all happened two days after I arrived.
Monday, I got to see his office and watch him sign books, which shouldn’t have been as sexy as it was.
I shiver as the image of him surrounded by all his ideas runs through my head.
Seeing the red signature splash across the page and crowding him against his desk.
The signed books lie carefully in my room, even though I’ve only been in there to get changed since Sunday.
We spent the rest of the day in his office, sprawled on the plush couch, browsing through his different sheets of paper full of complicated plot things I didn’t understand.
Then we had two days of lying around and wandering beside the lake before he surprised me on Thursday with a day driving through Otago to visit famous film locations.
I don’t know when he found time to organise it, but it was an unexpected and appreciated surprise.
Charlie got a message full of photos, and there must have been a few of Liam in there—thankfully Mum didn’t get those—because all she sent back were suggestive emojis and winky faces. I didn’t deign to respond.
We even managed to explore the small town near Queenstown called Arrowtown, which was close enough to the tourist hot spot for me. We weren’t there long before word spread I was there, and we headed back home after the long day.
I shouldn’t call his house home because it isn’t my home, but it’s hard not thinking it. It feels like home.
He feels like home.
And now it’s Saturday.
The day before game day.
And I’m not there.
It’s Saturday afternoon, and hours yet before the game airs at five A.M. New Zealand time.
Liam’s sitting on the couch, watching me pace to one end of the lounge and back.
I do it again and again. I gave up on reading a few hours ago when I read the same sentence three times and couldn’t understand why there was a double up of the word the, only to realise my eyes were going cross-eyed and I was seeing something that wasn’t there.
After that, I’d regretfully shifted Liam’s legs from my lap where he was writing in his notebook beside me, and began striding through the house, thinking it would help the restless energy buzzing under my skin and the tightness in my chest.
It didn’t.
All I’ve succeeded in doing is distracting Liam and stressing myself out more every time I glance at the blank TV, knowing my team is playing in a few hours and I won’t be there.
I’m here with Liam because my stupid arm refuses to catch the fucking ball even though it isn’t fucking injured.
Not that being here with Liam is a bad thing. It’s been the best week and a half of my life…but there’s a part of me that wishes I was with the team. Not at the expense of never meeting Liam, I just wish I could do something to help the team. I feel like I’ve failed them.
And to top everything off, tonight is my last night with Liam, and I’ll be distracted by the game in the early morning before flying to Auckland Sunday afternoon.
I shake my head and run my hands through my hair, tugging strands at the nape of my neck. Hoping it will distract me and the slimy feeling of inadequacy sliding over my skin.
I must be becoming more erratic because Liam frowns at me.
“Would going on a run help?” Liam suggests, his eyes following my pacing across the lounge.
I shake my head. “Too much time to think.” My eyes dart to the windows framing the damp grass.
There’s a fairly large spot without any chairs or trees.
I bite my lip. Would it help or make things worse?
I bounce on my toes and roll my neck. Surely it can’t hurt at this point.
If I don’t do something, I’ll pace until the carpet’s gone and ruin Liam’s house.
I turn to him. “Will you throw a ball with me?”
His eyebrows raise. “Oh.” He glances outside at the dark clouds. “I don’t have a rugby ball.”
“I’ve got one,” I confess.
“You brought a rugby ball with you?” Liam says in disbelief.
“Do you go anywhere without your notebooks?”
Liam tilts his head. “Fair point. But I’m shit at rugby. My skills start and stop at playing couch referee.”
“Please?”
Liam crosses his arms, chews on the inside of his cheek, and stares outside. “Do you expect me to catch the ball?”
“No.” I need something to distract me. I need a rugby ball in my hands, even if I can’t play with the team, I need to feel like I’m doing something.
I don’t want to think about my shoulder.
I just want to throw the ball around before we eat dinner and attempt to get some sleep before we wake early to watch the game.
To have some fun. To remember why I play rugby. I need to do this. To see where my stupid shoulder is at in a nonjudgemental place. Where the coaches and physios won’t scrutinise my every move. I just want to play footy.
“Okay. But I haven’t held a rugby ball since PE touch rugby, and I can’t guarantee I’ll remember how to throw it,” Liam warns. He stands from the couch, leaving paper spread across it, and pads to the door leading to the garden, slipping into sneakers. “Do I need to change?”
He’s wearing track pants and a thin, long-sleeved beige shirt. “Only if you think you’ll be cold.”
Liam stares pointedly at my shorts and athletic long-sleeve shirt. “You’re going to make me run, aren’t you?”
I shrug helplessly. I don’t really know what I need, but I need to do something. “I need to stop thinking,” I say quietly.
Liam’s eyes soften. “I know.” He opens the door. “Go get the ball, baby, and let’s throw it around. And by us, I mean you.”
I find Liam outside with his arms crossed against the breeze and toss the ball to him. He flinches as it bounces off his arms and rolls on the ground. I stifle a snigger, which turns into a laugh when Liam turns a thunderous glare on me.
“If you’re expecting anything better than that, then you’re in for a disappointing time,” Liam says, bending to pick up the ball and throwing it to me like you would in netball. Thrusting the ball from his chest rather than throwing with his arms in line with his hips and following through.
I catch the ball and stick it under my arm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were goal attack,” I tease, referencing the netball position.
“Do you want someone to play with or not?” he asks, annoyance in his voice.
I hide my amusement. My head is already clearer being outside with a ball in my hands with Liam standing opposite me, hands on his hips with a tinge of embarrassment on his cheeks.
I don’t want to embarrass him. I’m grateful he’s here and don’t want him to leave, so I say, “I do, and I’ll take your netball skills over nothing.
But remember you’re allowed to move when you have the ball. ” The opposite of netball.
Liam rolls his eyes and walks to the other side of the garden, his shoulder slightly behind mine, so we aren’t directly in line with each other. I’m on the right side of the garden. Where I would be if I was on the field.
I take a long breath, close my eyes, and when I open them, I pass the ball to Liam. My arm follows through, and my body twists slightly to give momentum, and I feel…fine.
My shoulder doesn’t twinge.
It wasn’t the greatest pass, but if Liam can catch it, my teammates certainly can. A slow smile spreads across my face, and I bounce on my toes, shaking my arms out.
“Jesus fucking Christ, I think you grazed my nipple off.” Liam rubs his nipple with a pout, holding the ball under his arm.
“It wasn’t that hard.” At least I don’t think it was, but I haven’t played with anyone except professionals since I was nineteen, so I could be entirely wrong.
I cross the grass to his side and take the ball, dropping it on the ground, and run a gentle finger over his fabric-covered nipple.
“I’m sorry. I’ll kiss it better tonight.
” I bend to kiss him, enough that when I pull away he’s dazed, and I’m reconsidering if I want to throw the ball around when I could throw Liam around in the bedroom instead.
“Mmm, okay,” he sighs.
I kiss his temple. “Come on, it’s your turn to throw.
” I pick up the ball and hand it to him and head back to my position.
This is the real test. Will I be able to catch the ball from Liam, someone who I’m not even sure knows how to throw a rugby ball?
If I don’t catch it, I’m gonna have a much bigger issue on my hands than anticipated.
I position myself slightly behind him so I’d be on-side in a game and wait for Liam to throw it.
Liam chucks it from his hips this time instead of his chest and manages to follow through with a twist, and I launch forward to catch it.
It drops into my hands with a familiar slam and sting, and I dart towards the end of the garden as if I had the opposition chasing me.
I reach the fence, tap it to the grass in a try, and spin to Liam with a grin on my face.
He stares at me with a confused but amused look on his face, and I charge him.
He must trust me because he doesn’t duck away or flinch, but opens his arms. I wrap mine around his waist and lift him.
I spin us around, and when Liam starts laughing with me, I set him down and pepper kisses over his face.
“I caught it!”
“Yeah, you did.” Liam runs his hands up my arms and squeezes my shoulders. “How’s it feel?”
I roll my shoulders under his hands and grin.
“Fucking great. Let’s go again.” I clap and rub my hands together, the itchy, uncertain sensation turning into the need to play, to push myself, and see how much I can take.
Even if it’s with Liam, where I have to be careful not to hurt him and don’t have the team’s familiar plays, I need to see what I’m capable of.