31. Liam
31
LIAM
I didn’t have hosting my father and mother-in-law under one roof on my bingo card for this year, yet here we are. Caroline didn’t say a word to me as I set up the pull-out couch for my dad, who insisted that she take the guest bedroom in his place. I don’t know how long she plans to stay, but for Whitney’s sake, I’m hoping it’s not very long. Whitney hasn’t told me much about her mother, but from what I overheard, I get the sense that their relationship is… strained.
My throat bobs, remembering the way that Whitney defended me earlier tonight. The things she said about me. She said I was kind. Considerate. Thoughtful.
Is that really what she thinks of me?
“Thanks for this, Li,” my dad says, gesturing towards the makeshift bed in the center of the living room. “Looks grand.”
Whitney pads into the room, pulling her hair into a bun as she crosses over to us. “I think my mom went to sleep,” she says, her eyes darting around the room. “Andy, I’m sorry?—”
My dad waves his hand, cutting her off. “None of that. I’m glad we got the weekend together. It was fun, yeah?”
Whitney nods. “It really was. It was so great to meet you.”
He opens his arms, gesturing for a hug, and Whitney wraps her arms around him with a laugh. He pulls back, patting her shoulder. “You’ll be meeting Charlotte and Simon for Christmas, yeah? I’m glad you’ll get to see where Li grew up. I’m sure they’re gonna love you.”
Whitney turns to me, her eyes wide with questions.
Shit.
Yet another thing I forgot to mention to her: my trip to England to see my mum and Simon. A trip they will certainly be expecting my wife to tag along with since I’m sure my dad will have put photos of us all up on Facebook by the end of the week. The worst thing about having amicably divorced parents? When they start a Facebook group with themselves and their partners called Team Liam.
“You’ll make sure he’s nice to Simon, yeah?” My dad continues, oblivious. “I’m sure you know how sensitive he gets, but Simon’s a great lad and Liam knows it.”
I glance over at Whitney, who still looks as confused as ever. “Whitney doesn’t like to fly, so I’m going to just go alone for a few days. Be back for New Years together.”
He frowns, glancing between us. “You can’t spend Christmas apart, Liam. It’s Christmas. ”
Another thing about my family — they absolutely love Christmas. For my parents, spending Christmas apart from the ones you love is akin to murder.
Whitney narrows her eyes at me, and I clear my throat, choking under the pressure of his moment. “Yeah, Liam. It’s Christmas,” she says with a biting smile.
“Dad,” I reach my arm around his shoulder for a side-hug. “Thanks for coming. See you in the morning?”
“I’m gonna hit the road first thing. I’ll just let myself out, if that’s alright.”
“Sure thing.”
Whitney hugs him again and retreats to our room while I linger with my dad, feeling like there’s more I want to say but not sure what.
He clasps my shoulder and looks at me, perhaps sensing my mood. “I meant what I said, Li. I’m real proud of you, and I love you so much. I know you like to handle things your own way, but if you ever want to talk, I’m just a phone call away, and if it’s really dire, just a-hop, skip, and a-jump down to Philly.”
I offer my dad a grateful smile. “Thanks, Dad. Love you too.”
I shuffle down the hallway towards our room feeling exposed, like a raw nerve sticking out. When I press open the door, I find Whitney in her PJs, sitting on the bed with her arms crossed.
“England? Christmas?” Whitney shakes her head. “What the hell, Liam?”
“I know, I know.” I sigh and cross to the bed, settling down next to her. “It’s been a long night. I’m exhausted. Can we please just talk tomorrow?”
Whitney quiets as I pull my shirt over my head and slip my pants off, sliding under the covers next to her.
“Okay,” she murmurs. “We can talk tomorrow.”
She leans over and turns the bedside lamp off, shrouding the room in darkness. Pulling the covers closer to her side, she turns over and lays down next to me. I reach for her, joining our bodies together so my arms are draped lightly around her waist.
“What are you doing?” she whispers.
“We agreed on cuddling,” I remind her.
“But I’m mad at you,” she says. Then, after a moment: “Kind of.”
I chuckle against the back of her neck and pull her closer. “Alright. You’re mad at me, then.”
She sighs, silence settling between us. Even though she hasn’t moved from my arms, there’s a stiffness in her body that isn’t usually there. Pressure clamps around my chest as I try to figure out what to say. How to be good enough for her.
“I’m sorry,” I say into the darkness. It’s easier without her looking at me. It reminds me of Vegas, the way the darkness in the room felt like an opening. A safety net. “I know it seems like I’m keeping secrets and just throwing shit at you, but that’s not been my intention at all. I’m just… I’ve been avoiding my family because I’m worried about their reaction to me dropping out and us getting married. I planned this trip home a while ago, but I haven’t even booked my flights ‘cause I’ve just been pretending it’s not happening.”
For a while, Whitney says nothing, but then she settles into my arms, the tension rolling off her as she exhales. “It’s fine. It’s not like we’re really together or anything. I just don’t like being taken off-guard or looking stupid.”
I squeeze her arm. “You never look stupid. Even if we aren’t… real, we’re still in this together, Whit. We’re a team.”
She turns over, our noses almost touching as we lay side-by-side.
“Okay,” she whispers. “I like that. Team Whit-lee.”
The corners of my mouth tick up. “Whitley? What is that?”
“Our couple name, obviously.” She grins. “It could be Lianey or Whitam.”
Chuckling, I nuzzle my head into her neck and inhale her scent. “Team Clark. Mr. and Mrs. Clark.”
She shoves me playfully, turning back over to her side. “You’re obsessed.”
Tucking her against me again, I close my eyes and settle into the darkness. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face at Whitney’s words. She might be joking, but she’s hinting at a truth I’m trying to ignore.
After a few moments, Whitney speaks again. “Do you want me to come with you?”
I hesitate, taken off-guard by her question. “I just assumed you wouldn’t want to or that you had plans for the holidays…”
I’m hit suddenly with the realization that I do want her to come. Whitney and I haven’t really spent any time apart since we got married, and the thought of spending a week away from her…
One thing I know for sure is that I’d miss her.
A lot.
“Never mind,” she says, pulling away. “It was just an idea.”
I pull her back against my chest. “No. I want you to.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. I’ll be terribly bored without you. Please come.”
I’m begging. I’m officially becoming pathetic.
“Okay,” she whispers. “We can book our flights tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I reply, and I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
In the morning, I find Caroline in the kitchen, her feet kicked up on the counter as she drinks a glass of orange juice.
“Good morning,” I offer.
She just nods her head at me and picks up a book on the counter, opening to a bookmarked page. I pull Whitney’s oat milk out of the fridge and fiddle with our Nespresso machine.
“Did you sleep well?” I ask, trying to make polite conversation. Hopefully, I can make a better impression this morning, now that I’m feeling less like a pressure cooker turned up to the highest setting.
“Yep,” she answers.
“That’s good,” I reply, setting Whit’s cup to the side while I prepare my own drink. “So, do you plan on staying for a while?” I ask.
She cocks her head at me. “Trying to get rid of me already?”
“Not at all. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. With Whitney’s blessing, of course.”
She clicks her tongue, her gaze dropping back to her book.
“What are you reading?” I ask.
She eyes me from above the book. “It’s a thriller. I like all that stuff. True crime, serial killers. Real gory, fucked up stuff. Reminds me to keep sharp.” She taps her forehead with a grin.
Great. My mother-in-law is obsessed with violent murder.
“Cool,” I manage, my throat dry. “I’m gonna bring Whitney her coffee.”
“I’m here,” Whitney interrupts from behind me.
I turn to see her shuffling into the room with a yawn, and I can’t help but smile. She looks adorable in the mornings. Hair strewn everywhere, all sleepy-eyed and tired.
“Morning,” I murmur, handing her a coffee and pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. Her eyes jump up to mine in surprise, but she covers it quickly, muttering her thanks as she sits at the counter next to Caroline.
“You hungry?” I ask, pulling a carton of eggs out of the fridge.
“Sure. Whatever you’re making is fine,” Whitney answers, then sips her coffee with a soft moan that sends a jolt straight to my cock.
Jesus. How does she make drinking coffee seem sexy?
“Caroline? Would you like anything?” I ask, trying to distract myself.
“Nah. I’ve got stuff to do.” Caroline stands and closes her book.
“Like what?” Whitney asks, turning to her mom.
“Just meeting up with some old friends…”
“So, you’re meeting up with a guy.”
Caroline rolls her eyes. “So what if I am? I’m a grown woman. Your mother. I can do what I want.”
“You always do,” Whitney mutters under her breath.
“You better quit it with that passive aggression. You got something to say? Say it.”
“I think we said everything we needed to last night.” Whitney sighs. “How long are you staying here?”
“Don’t worry. I can see when I’m not wanted. I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow,” Caroline says with a bite.
I see the moment when Whitney’s face falls and the careful way she tries to put it back together.
“Mom—”
“I’ll be back later. You got a spare key for me?”
Whitney sighs but grabs her keys and hands them to Caroline. Before Whitney can say anything else, Caroline struts out, slamming the door behind her. Whitney sits down at the counter, dropping her head into her hands.
Shit. This is just like last night. She’s upset, and as usual I’m ill-equipped to handle the situation.
“I can’t believe we got stoned with my dad,” I say with a smirk, hoping to lighten her mood.
It works. She lifts her head with a soft smile. “Never let me smoke like that again.”
I turn to the stove, cracking a couple eggs into the pan. “That’s nothing compared to you after a few tequila shots.”
She scoffs. “Excuse me? I handle my liquor very well.”
I laugh, throwing my head back.
“Why are you laughing? I’m serious!”
At that, I just laugh even harder, my shoulders shaking. Eventually, Whitney starts laughing too, until we’re both just cracking up in the kitchen.
“I’ll take you out to the pub in Surrey, then we’ll see how well you can handle your drinks.”
“You’re on. That reminds me, we need to buy our tickets today.”
I slide her plate over and sit next to her, digging into my own food. “You sure you want to come?”
She throws a death glare in my direction. “I said I would.”
“Just making sure,” I grunt in response, stuck on the fact that in a few weeks Whitney will be coming home with me. “What are you up to today?”
“Meeting with an interior designer for the salon. Construction has started, so I need to go check on how everything is going. What about you?”
“Not much. Probably go to the gym.”
She nods, and silence settles between us as we eat. Once I finish, I leave my plate in the sink and glance in her direction. I find her watching me, a look in her eyes that is starting to feel quite familiar, one mirrored now in my own expression: desire.
“When do you have to leave for your meeting?” I ask, my gruff voice betraying the heat coursing through me.
She bites her lip with a small smirk. “Not for an hour, at least.” She licks her lips, an invitation.
Crossing the room, I slam my lips against hers and lift her off the stool. I carry her back to the bedroom, depositing her onto her bed and crawling on top of her.
“Let’s be quick,” she manages through our kisses. “I don’t want to be late.”
I grunt in agreement, but underneath it, that feeling in my chest seems to swell and grow. The one that seems to lodge itself there when Whitney is around. When I feel her body wrapped around mine. When she looks at me like she wants me.
The bottom line is that when it comes to me and Whitney, there isn’t enough time in the world. That thought alone should scare me. I should be running for the hills. Shutting it down. But I can’t.
I need this.
I need her.
But with an expiration date on this… how long will I have her for?