Chapter Ten
“No!” Liam kicked, and his fists flew up. Blinking, he tried to make sense of what was happening, but the suffocating cloud disappeared. His heartbeat drummed. Sweat dampened his chest, and he blinked again, making sense of his surroundings. The guest room. He’d been sleeping. “Damn.”
His fists fell limp, and he kicked away the tangled sheets. He hadn’t had a nightmare since… well, never. He didn’t often dream.
But that nightmare could’ve been real. Linda and Frank and even Chelsea had called for help. They’d begged for a savior. The closer he came, the farther they slipped away.
He walked to a window overlooking pine trees lining the backyard and pressed his forehead against the cool glass as afternoon sun poured over him. He hated the orange glow of the late day. It made rooms too hot and promised time was slipping away.
Liam rubbed his eyes and checked the alarm clock.
He hadn’t meant to nap for this long. Though his sluggish mind had cleared, he had a duty to Linda and Frank.
He walked to the bathroom, only allowing a few minutes to pull himself together, and hustled downstairs, uncomfortable that he’d burdened Chelsea.
Protecting the Nymans was his duty. The situation was his fault, and Chelsea couldn’t understand the gravity of the threat.
At least, not when he couldn’t share information.
Senator Sorenson would have his ass thrown in a black hole so fast, he wouldn’t even see the black helicopters swooping in to take him away.
“Well, well, well.” Chelsea straightened in the oversized chair. “Good afternoon, Sleeping Beauty.”
Liam slowed, taking her in as though she were the one who needed a psych consult. Perhaps no one had ever called him a Disney princess before.
“I didn’t mean to sleep that long,” he said gruffly. “Sorry.”
Chelsea stretched. Other than quick trips to the bathroom or to snag fast meals from the fridge, she hadn’t moved. “Not a single hiccup to report.”
Rest had brought color back to his face, but his eyes danced around. “Thanks—” He walked to the window and glanced toward the driveway. “They left?”
“Uh, yes.”
“You let them leave?”
She chewed the inside of her mouth, trying to remember that Liam was losing his mind and that swiftly kicking him in the ’nads wouldn’t be kind. “I did.”
He paced and muttered. Chelsea could’ve sworn she heard something about reckless irresponsibility.
“Sorry,” she snipped, all her do-gooder sentiments gone as he continued to grumble. “I forgot my bags of chains and restraints at home.”
He stopped cold and gawked as if she’d thrown off her shirt.
The weird comparison made heat skirt up her neck, but she brushed the awkward thought away. “You should try asking what day it is after you say hello.”
His face pinched. “Excuse me?”
“Or even how long you slept…” She tried to control the snark, but given that the alternative was shouting, Chelsea didn’t fault herself too much.
He hesitated. “How long did I sleep?”
“You walked upstairs yesterday morning.”
His lips parted, but he smacked them together. “Damn it.”
“You’re welcome, Chelsea,” she offered. “Thank you, Chelsea, for taking part in this elaborate charade—”
“You stayed there?” He gestured toward the oversized chair in disbelief.
“The whole time? Yup. Don’t ask me why,” she answered.
Liam cast a self-conscious look her way. “You didn’t sleep.”
“I’m exhausted like I’ve never been. And hungry.”
“You didn’t eat?” He straightened.
“Of course I did. And I peed too. If you want to know every little detail.” Perhaps now he was piecing together how her offer had turned from a minor inconvenience into a marathon of boredom. This entire pantomime was ludicrous.
He staggered to the couch, dropped, and buried his face in his hands.
That might’ve been the right moment to slip out. With all of the bickering, she was going to need a smoothie. One with extra protein for strength and whatever could be added for sanity—a miracle drug all blended up. It might be the only thing that could keep her from wringing his ungrateful neck.
But he didn’t pick his head up, and worry got the best of her again. “What is going on with you?”
“Nothing.”
Nothing, of course. Why should I expect him to clarify his erratic behavior?
Still, Chelsea waited for him to provide a real answer and tidied the mess of work papers, magazines, and books she’d piled around the chair.
But she couldn’t ignore how the end of the world pressed on his shoulders. “Look, Liam.”
He didn’t unbury his face.
“I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be,” he mumbled. “I’m the one person you don’t have to worry about.”
“Would you stop talking in code?”
But he didn’t explain. She never should have volunteered to sit watch over a living room. Enabling him had made the situation worse. Her aggravation surpassed a level which a smoothie could salvage.
In need of something much more potent, she stomped toward the kitchen pantry, on the hunt for feel-good food, and came face-to-face with a beautiful jar of queso.
Times like these called for fake cheese. The unnaturally orange container beckoned for her to drown her exasperations in junk food. She grabbed the jar and a bag of tortilla chips.
His footsteps approached.
She stepped away from the pantry, armed with her snacks. “What? Your special lookout post can be unmanned now?”
Liam stepped in front of her path to the kitchen table. “Real nice.”
Chelsea elbowed by him. If ever a time existed to throw a temper tantrum and demand to be alone, the present moment seemed right. But she couldn’t. Instead, Chelsea held the queso in one hand and the chips in the other and shook them. “This is the only thing I want to deal with right now. Go away.”
“There are so many things going on right now,” he said, explaining nothing.
She shook the jar and bag again for emphasis then sidestepped him.
“I’m tired and angry—” Suddenly, the loss and how their lives had changed over twelve months hit Chelsea like a ton of coffee cake.
Overwhelmed, she wanted to cry. But that sure as SpaghettiOs wasn’t going to happen in front of him.
“I don’t have to explain anything to you. ”
“You should go home.” His jaw ticked. “Really, you shouldn’t stay here anymore.”
She choked off a scream. Who died and made you king? Her throat seized. Julia had died. Everything had changed. A tear threatened to spill down her cheek. He would not make her cry.
“You can take the chips and cheese with you,” he offered.
The junk food wasn’t the problem! A fat tear spilled down her cheek. His sharp green eyes narrowed, and his scrutiny was as draining as it was infuriating. She wanted to make him understand but couldn’t, and she slammed her fists down.
The chips crunched on the stone floor. The queso jar shattered.
Orange cheese splattered around her bare feet.
The glass jar lay broken, shards strewn around the point of impact.
Her breath shook, but even as she stood like an island surrounded by cheese and glass, letting loose provided relief. Even if it were just for that second.
“Shit, Chelsea.” Liam stepped forward.
She put her arms up to keep him at bay. All she’d wanted was queso and now she had to escape. She pushed onto her bare tiptoes and spun, wishing she could disappear.
“Hang on,” he ordered. “I can help you.”
No way.
“Dammit, Chelsea.” He reached for her and wrapped an arm around her waist. Despite her protests, Liam swooped her from the mess.
The next thing she knew, her butt was on the cold granite counter, and he’d positioned her feet to drop into the sink.
“Do you mind?” She slapped his hands away. “Stop.”
Ignoring her, Liam blasted cold water from the faucet, and Chelsea jumped, twisting from the basin. He clamped a hand on her knee. His fingers flexed to hold her leg in place. “Stay put.”
She froze. He’d never touched her before. Not like that. Not with that kind of voice. She didn’t move a muscle. Water rushed over her feet, and he took a step back, folding his muscled arms against his chest.
Though his hand had moved, he pinned her with a look, and finally asked, “Are you okay?”
She tore her gaze back to the sink. “I’m okay—I don’t know why I did that.”
“Sure you do.”
Chelsea chuckled and cocked an eyebrow his direction. “Why?”
He half laughed. “Let’s just say that I’m grateful the floor took the beating and not my head.”
She tried not to laugh. “I wouldn’t have slugged you with the cheese.”
Liam bobbed his eyebrows in a weird way that made her wonder if he’d found another person to be bananas with.
“I would never intentionally harm a jar of queso,” she quickly followed up.
The corners of his lips quirked. “I don’t know.”
“I have too much respect for the healing properties of food.”
He snickered and stepped closer, giving her feet a cursory inspection under the running water. The cheese had washed away, and after they both took an uncomfortable moment to glance at her toes, Liam turned the faucet off. He handed her a towel. “I think you’re going to make it.”
When she finished drying off her feet, she folded the hand towel and braved a quick glance at Liam busying himself around the kitchen. She found no judgment etched onto his face, which was more than she could say for herself earlier.
He paused and leaned against the edge of the counter. His stance reminded her of a mountain, resolute and unmoving. The silence didn’t feel awkward, but she couldn’t define the thick air or how the kitchen seemed smaller. Finally, he said, “Thanks.”
She adjusted on the edge of the counter. “What for?”
His jaw ticked. “For staying in the living room. Even if you think I’m nuts.”
“Bananas.”
He grinned, mouthing, Bananas. “I needed sleep.”
“You did.” She unfolded the damp towel and wound it around her hands, drew in a long breath, then glanced at the cheesy mess. “Maybe I do too.”
“Maybe so.” He eyeballed the floor, shaking his head with a small grin. “That was perfectly innocent queso.”
She snorted then laughed. “I’m sorry. I just lost it—And I can’t believe I cried.”
She never cried.
“It was more like a single tear.” He moved next to the sink where her legs dangled over the counter. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
What kind of person does he think I am? Her brow furrowed and lips rolled together.
“I didn’t mean that,” he retracted. “However you took it.”
She waved the apology away but stayed mum. Emotion had lodged itself in her throat.
His hand touched her forearm. “Seriously, Chelsea. It’s been a charged couple of days after a hard year.”
She stared at the ceiling. Tears wanted to fall again. Everything she’d kept pent up inside her fought to be free. Her shoulders tightened, and she squeezed her eyes closed.
Liam draped his arm around her shoulder as though he wasn’t sure how to hug. “Maybe you should just… cry.”
“I don’t want to.”
His hand gripped the opposite shoulder, hugging. “If it keeps you from hurling queso…”
She choked on laughter, then inexplicably, tears fell. Chelsea tried to hold them in. If she cried, she felt as if she’d somehow failed, and couldn’t fail right then. Someone in the kitchen had to be strong.
Then again, she couldn’t remember anyone ever hugging her when she cried. Against his shoulder, Chelsea let go and sobbed for everything she’d held in for a year until she could take a deep, tearless breath.
“Better?” he asked.
She draped her head back onto his shoulder. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“Wouldn’t dare.”
He held tight until she finished, and she prayed that she’d never lose control like that again.