Chapter Twelve

CALVIN HAD somehow taken control of the job assignments. Liam wasn’t sure it made sense; the old man really didn’t have any experience in construction or management. But nobody seemed to want to argue with him, and since Liam, Ben, and Seth all ended up on the same crew, Liam didn’t have any reason to object either.

“Is Dinah going to be pissed she’s not with us?” Ben asked Seth.

Liam looked around; he was pretty sure he’d seen a pregnant woman earlier, presumably Seth’s wife, but he wasn’t sure where she’d gotten off to.

“Nah,” Seth said. “She’s pretty good at making friends. And really, she knows all the people on her crew anyway.”

“But Uncle Calvin assigned Julia Bindermans to the same group,” Ben said. “A child. So clearly they’ll be doing less demanding work. Aren’t you worried Dinah’s going to think he’s sheltering her because she’s pregnant? Like she can’t decide for herself what’s safe?”

“Why are you trying to make trouble? Why do you want to ruin my marriage?”

“You think that’s exactly what Calvin did, and you’re glad he did it, because you’d be worried about her otherwise, but you know Dinah won’t like it?” The affectionate teasing in Ben’s voice made Liam’s chest ache. There’d been a time when he’d been the one to make Ben sound like that.

“I’m very busy with the tasks I’ve been assigned,” Seth said. “And I’m afraid I just didn’t notice anything about Julia Bindermans. I absolutely wasn’t monitoring the jobs my wife was assigned, because why would I? She’s an adult and can take care of herself and doesn’t need me hanging over her shoulder and worrying about her all the time.”

“That’s good,” Ben admitted. “She might actually let you get away with that.”

“I’ve been married for a while. Learned some tricks.”

Then they both turned to Liam and seemed ready to get the conversation back to business. “Have you done this before?” Seth asked. “Framing? I know you’re an architect, but—hands-on?”

It was tempting to build himself up, but Liam opted for honesty instead. “I’ve never even supervised this kind of construction. Most of my projects are—well, bigger. Steel and concrete and glass. Not nearly as much wood. I’m an absolute amateur.”

“But you can use a hammer,” Ben put in. Was Liam imagining it, or did Ben sound almost defensive, as if he didn’t want Liam to denigrate himself too much?

“Yeah, I can use a hammer,” Liam agreed cautiously. “Haven’t for quite a while—the last thing I built was probably that deck for your uncle. But it’s not a really sophisticated skill.”

“Okay, then,” Seth said. “We’re on.” And he took charge of their little group, apparently able to exercise his tradesman’s authority over the white-collar types even when the job at hand had nothing at all to do with his actual trade.

They didn’t talk much, not about anything more intense than moving a two-by-four a shade in one direction or the other, but it all felt totally comfortable. When Seth grumbled about the sun being too hot, Ben shot an amused look in Liam’s direction and mouthed the words “delicate redhead,” and it was like the heat of the day had melted the years away, as if the three of them were back to who they’d been so long ago, when they’d been perfect.

But they weren’t perfect anymore, and Liam’s shoulders started aching far too early. He worked out regularly, but of course trips to the gym weren’t quite the same as actual physical labor. He hadn’t even known a muscle existed in that particular spot between his shoulder blades and couldn’t quite figure out what job it performed or why it was complaining so much about its current exertions, but he managed to work through it.

Still, he wasn’t sorry when they took a midmorning break. He and Ben had been doing similar work, and they both ended up stretching their arms and backs in almost exactly the same way when they got a chance. If Liam took the three steps to stand behind Ben, he’d know exactly where to press his thumbs, exactly how to ease them apart and stretch the pain away.

It was an excuse, of course, but it might be one he could get away with. If he was providing a service, touching would be okay, wouldn’t it? A friend was in pain. What kind of asshole wouldn’t do what he could to ease the discomfort? What kind of loser wouldn’t walk over, lean in, let himself feel the sweat-dampened fabric and beneath it the warm, living muscle of a body that used to be so familiar, so treasured—

“Liam!” Seth said, obviously for the second time. “You okay? You kind of zoned out for a minute there.”

“Sorry. Uh—work. Just thinking about something at work.”

“Everything okay?” Ben asked. He tossed Liam one of the Nalgene water bottles the crew were using instead of disposable plastic and turned to lean against a sawhorse next to the one Liam was leaning on. “You had a crisis or something last weekend. That worked out okay?”

“Yeah. It—well, I was going to say it worked out really well, but my boss had a heart attack, so I guess it’d be pretty insensitive to be too happy about it. But it was a professional opportunity I was able to capitalize on.”

“You—you were able to capitalize on your boss’s heart attack?”

Shit. Liam could have anticipated how that statement would sound to someone like Ben, couldn’t he? “Not really my boss, actually, at the time. My ex-boss. And it was kind of an unfriendly end to the business relationship.” Was he making this better, or worse? “But when he realized he needed me….”

Yeah, this was making it worse. Making it sound like Liam was taking revenge, gloating over an old man’s medical emergency.

“I didn’t steal his company away from him or anything.” And it had been Tristan’s own fault that he hadn’t set up a better support system, hadn’t trusted Liam earlier. The heart attack hadn’t been Liam’s fault! He wasn’t responsible for Tristan’s health or his stress levels or any other damn thing. “We’re going to be partners now, that’s all. I’m buying into the company. And, yeah, his heart attack was what made him realize he needed a partner, so that’s how it worked out okay for me, but he could have chosen anyone else to work with. I wasn’t blackmailing him or anything!”

“Okay,” Ben agreed. “So—congratulations? You’re a partner now?”

“Not formally. Not yet. But, yeah, it’s in the works. Thanks.”

“And you’re feeling really good about it,” Ben continued. “Not at all conflicted. Not defensive in any way.”

“Shut up.” But Liam didn’t want Ben to shut up. It had been way too long since someone had talked to him like this. Since someone had actually expected him to be a decent human being, and expected him to care if he fell a little short of the mark.

Ben grinned at him as if he knew his comments were welcome, and for a moment everything was comfortable and friendly and wonderful. Then—it stopped. The warmth faded from Ben’s face, and he looked away suddenly, almost shamefully, as if he’d been caught looking at someone else’s secret.

“I’m going to check in with Uncle Calvin,” Ben said.

There was no reason for him to do that, not that Liam could think of, but he nodded anyway and sat there as Ben walked away from him.

The moment was over. Liam had to let it go.

STUPID. BEN was so stupid, letting himself get dragged back into the old patterns with Liam.

Sure, he was easy to talk to. Easy to work with, look at, be around. Easy to admire, easy to care about.

Easy for Ben to get his heart broken. Again.

“My back’s a bit sore,” he told Uncle Calvin. “Maybe there’s a different job I could do for the rest of the morning? I don’t mean to wimp out—” I just can’t trust myself around Liam Marshall.

Uncle Calvin, in some sort of modern miracle, nodded. “That’s fair,” he said. “I can make some changes.” He pulled a well-folded sheet of paper out of his back pocket, peered at it, then bellowed, “Seth! Liam! You two and Ben are going to do some painting.”

“No,” Ben started, but Uncle Calvin steamrolled over him.

“We’re painting the trim before we put any of it on,” he explained. “Once it’s installed we’ll just touch up the nail holes and be done with it. And it’s all white, so that’s easy too. You can set up over there, by the shed.”

“No,” Ben started again, but by then Liam and Seth had both joined them.

“No more framing?” Seth asked. “I thought we were really getting into the rhythm of things.”

“Little Benny’s back is hurting him,” Uncle Calvin explained.

Seth nodded. “It’s been a while since Little Benny has done any real work.”

“He did okay with your raspberry bushes,” Liam said. Then he added, “And, honestly, my back’s sore too. I know, I’m just another spoiled office drone, right?” He turned to Ben. “Right between your shoulder blades? Feels like someone’s cutting you with a razor blade every time you move your arms?”

Well, yes, damn it, that was exactly what it felt like, but the idea had been to get further away from Liam, not to have the man stick up for him and commiserate about their shared pain.

“Maybe we should just fight through it,” Ben suggested. Not that it really mattered—going back to work on the framing with Liam would be just as intolerable, just as irresistible, as shifting over to work on painting, still with Liam.

“Take a break, stretch out, come back to it later,” Uncle Calvin advised. “This is a weekend-long marathon. Can’t have you falling apart the first morning.”

Falling apart. A melodramatic way to refer to a sore back, but strangely apt as a description of Ben’s actual issue. He felt like he was dissolving—well, no, not all of him dissolving, just the outer parts. The barriers he needed in order to protect himself from Liam were crumbling. Ben was left exposed and vulnerable. And he didn’t like it.

Or at least he shouldn’t like it. But when Liam grinned at him and wondered out loud when they’d turned into old men, it was impossible not to grin back. And having started grinning, so very difficult to stop, or to persuade himself he should feel bad for not stopping.

They got back to work, and after a while, Ben gave up on trying to resist. The whole day started to feel like it existed inside a bubble. A bubble full of hard work, sure, but also sunshine and friendship and butterflies dancing around the weeds at the edge of the building lot and the insides of Ben’s stomach every time he spoke to Liam or looked at Liam or thought about Liam….

It was horrible and wonderful and terrifying and comforting. Ben couldn’t stand it for another second but never wanted it to end.

He knew exactly what was happening, of course, although he wasn’t sure what to call it. Falling in love made it sound like something new, and there was nothing new about this feeling. It would have been easier to dismiss it if he’d never felt it before, never felt it for Liam before. He could have called it infatuation or said he had a crush, or had fallen in lust. But none of that was right.

His love for Liam had never gone away, he realized. He’d rejected it, done his best to crush and ignore it, but it hadn’t died. It had smoldered away, hidden under all the layers of crap he’d—no, they’d—thrown on top of it. But now the embers were being exposed to oxygen, were being fanned back to life, were bursting into beautiful, warming flames.

He was so screwed.