Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Liam
I lift Hemi’s suitcase into the boot of the car and slam it shut.
It’s time to drive him to the airport so he can catch a flight to South Africa to play in the deciding game for the Freedom Cup.
I knew he would only be here for just over a week, but it’s harder packing up his stuff and forcing myself into the driver’s seat than I thought it would be.
When I told Daisy he could stay with me, I expected to hole up in my office the entire time and barely see him.
Not hike with him or plan a The Lord of the Rings film location day or practice fucking rugby with him.
I definitely didn’t envision sleeping with him or having his mouth wrapped around my dick.
Nothing could have prepared me for that.
And now he has to leave, and I don’t know when I’ll see him again.
The logical thing to do is tell him to call me and say my door is always open for him, or just bloody tell him I’m in love with him.
I shake my head sharply.
No. I can’t tell him that. I’m not in love with him.
I can’t be after ten days. That doesn’t make any sense.
Just because I’ve followed his career the last few years and found him attractive on screen doesn’t automatically translate to anything in person.
I’ve loved having him here and spending time with him and finally getting to know him.
That doesn’t mean I’m in love with him. Does it?
I shake my head again, inhale slowly, blow it out, and get in the driver’s seat. “Got everything?” I ask Hemi who’s buckled in the passenger seat with his backpack at his feet.
He didn’t want it in the boot in case the bag got crushed, apparently the signed books are in there and he’s become extremely protective over them.
Seems silly to me that he’s taking them on a long-haul flight now, but when he gets to Auckland there’s no time to drop them off at his flat.
It’s straight on to the next flight to Singapore and then South Africa.
Then he hits the ground running and trains for the week before the game. No downtime.
I’m not sure if that’s his way of hinting he won’t be able to message me much or straight out telling me he won’t.
I’m too scared to ask. Which is stupid. I should ask, “Hey, Hemi, were you looking for a one-time thing, or can I message you throughout the week and expect you at my house when you arrive back in NZ? No? That’s fine.
” Then I can cry over my keyboard and move on with my life.
The writing’s on the wall. A gay rugby player who isn’t fond of the media doesn’t want a relationship with me, or anyone, probably, because the media would jump down his throat.
Being gay is one thing. Being in a relationship as a professional athlete is another.
Then you’re shoving it in people’s faces, and unless you’re straight, people take issue with that, which they don’t like admitting is homophobia. Assholes.
Hemi doesn’t deserve that.
And that’s fine. Totally fine. Hemi deserves privacy, and I’ll give him that.
Even if it feels like someone’s squeezing my heart in their fist and dragging it out through skin and bone while it’s still beating.
Daisy would tell me I’m being dramatic, but since I woke up from our nap, there’s been a persistent burn behind my eyes and the need to clutch Hemi and not let him go. But I can’t.
So I drive through Wānaka to the gorge with the winding mountains that Hemi still flinches at and park at the airport.
Neither of us felt like talking during the drive.
Hemi hasn’t tried to drag me into conversation, so either he’s noticed I don’t want to chat or he’s spiralling again.
He’s rolled his shoulders a few times during the drive, so I’m guessing he’s anxious.
Definitely spiralling about his shoulder and worried about training, and what Daisy and the coaches will say.
I sigh quietly and drop my hands from the wheel. “You ready?”
Hemi huffs. “No.” He scrubs a hand through his hair and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I would rather stay here.”
My heart clenches, and I reach my hands over to take his in mine. “I’d rather you stay too, but you have to do this. Otherwise you’ll beat yourself up about the fact you never went back and tried.”
Hazel eyes meet mine, soft and sad, downturned at the corners, and he leans forward until his forehead rests on mine.
“I know,” he whispers, his breath tickling my mouth.
I lean in to kiss him softly, but Hemi turns it hot and hard, thrusting his tongue in my mouth and clutching the back of my head, dragging me closer until the fist around my heart eases.
We part panting, and Hemi glances at the airport where planes fly over us and yanks me into a hug. He rests his head on my shoulder, digging his nose into my neck.
“You’re gonna be awesome, I know it,” I say through my tight throat.
I clear my throat and swallow a few times, trying to breathe easier and stop the stinging in my eyes.
“Hemi, you’ll hate yourself if you don’t try.
You can do this,” I say firmly, infusing all the confidence into my voice so he believes me.
Hemi bites his lip and nods. His thumb brushes my cheek, and he sits back in his seat after a gentle kiss.
“I know. Thanks, Liam.” He takes my hand and plays with my fingers.
“When I told Daisy I’d come here, I didn’t know what to expect.
I was hoping for someone who would leave me alone and wouldn’t want to talk about rugby.
And I’m so glad it was you. That I got to meet you and spend time with you.
To l—” He shakes his head, and my breath catches, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.
“Thank you, for everything.” He squeezes my hand and looks at me intently, making sure I’m listening and believing him.
I nod and grin at him, though it feels forced and foreign on my face.
“And thank you.” I don’t elaborate, but I think he knows what I’m thanking him for.
For unlocking the plot in my mind, for making sure I eat, for being interested in what I say, and for sitting on the couch with me while we both read.
The burning in my eyes returns, and I drop his hand and open my door before I lock the doors and drive home with him.
“Let’s head to check in. You don’t want to miss your flight. ”
“I might wanna,” I hear mumbled behind me, but I ignore the longing and grab his suitcase from the boot. I need to leave him before I get on the plane with him or do something embarrassing like tell him I love him and beg him to message me. To not forget me.
Hemi takes the suitcase from me, and we walk to the entrance side by side.
Hemi’s put his cap on. The way I first found him here ten days ago, and it kills me being reminded why he doesn’t want a relationship when I watch people do second takes as we walk to the self check-in booths. I put more distance between us so our hands don’t brush together as we walk.
Hemi dumps his suitcase at the check-in booth and enters his details quickly. I take the printed sticker strip and loop it around the handle, brushing a finger over the South Africa destination, and secure it carefully so none of the sticky substance is showing.
“You’re good at that. I never line mine up properly,” Hemi says.
“At least it won’t stick to anything now.” I smile and wander to the bag drop-off with Hemi at my side.
Hemi lifts the suitcase onto the conveyor belt easily, the employee directing us a young white guy who casts awed glances in our direction but doesn’t say anything. Hemi tugs his cap lower, and I follow him to a café where he grabs a chair and I order us both coffee.
We sit with our coffees clutched between our hands, barely talking, soaking in each other’s presence until Hemi can’t avoid it anymore.
“I gotta go through security now, otherwise I’ll miss the flight.” He blows out a breath and lifts his cap to run a hand through his hair.
“Okay.” I stand and grab his backpack, and we find the line for security. I hand the bag to him and rock back on my heels, unsure what to say. There isn’t really anything else to say. Or nothing I’m willing to say.
Hemi rolls his shoulders and slings the bag on, glancing at the line. “I gotta go, darling.”
I flinch at the endearment, knowing it’s probably the last time I’ll hear it. I nod, throat too tight to say anything.
“I’ll tell Daisy you were the best host.” Hemi smiles, but it’s strained.
I snort. “Don’t do that. She’ll think I forced you to say it.” And after the text exchange she still hasn’t responded to, I’m sure she’ll figure out what Hemi doesn’t say.
Hemi shrugs. “You were, though.” He checks the board displaying flight times. “Fuck. I have to go.” He squares his shoulders. “See you, Liam.”
“See you,” I whisper and watch as he turns and joins the line. As I turn away from him, movement catches the corner of my eye. I frown and turn back to the line and stumble as someone crashes into me.
Arms wrap around me, turn me, and clutch me so tight I have to stand on my toes so I don’t fall over. My arms sling around Hemi, and his hand presses my head to his shoulder.
“You better fucking text me, Liam,” Hemi whispers urgently in my ear, “or I’ll fly back and take you on a harder hike than the one we did.” He releases me as quickly as he appeared and jogs to the line without looking back at me.
I stand there staring at him, biting my lip against the goddamn fucking tears in my eyes that won’t go away. I wasn’t expecting any of this when Daisy sent me Hemi. Wasn’t expecting to become invested or be so devastated watching him get in that line.
He said to text him. Surely that means this meant more to him than a one-time thing. It must.