Chapter Thirteen

 

 

THERE SHOULD have been some sort of festivities that night. Liam wasn’t sure exactly who would have had time to plan anything, or energy to take part, but even sitting around the building site with a few cases of beer and ordering some pizzas would have been something. Instead, the teams just sort of dissolved around dinnertime, dragging tired bodies home for some well-deserved rest. But no beer or pizza, at least not with everyone all together.

Ben didn’t even say goodbye. Well, he waved, but the wave was for everyone, with nothing special for Liam.

Because you’re nothing special, he told himself. Because you’re just some guy he used to know, some idiot who keeps driving up from the city for weird reasons. There’s no cause for him to pay any more attention to you than he does to anyone else.

Except… as Ben and Seth and the pregnant woman who must be Seth’s wife reached the corner and were about to turn, Ben did look back, and it really seemed like he was looking right at Liam. But when Liam raised his hand and waved, Ben turned away as if he hadn’t seen the gesture.

So Liam climbed into the passenger seat of Calvin’s pickup truck and sat quietly as they drove through the still-sunny evening.

“I’m not getting any younger,” Calvin said. He sounded—well, he sounded sincere. But that didn’t mean too much, not with Calvin.

Still, Liam tried to be sympathetic. “None of us are. I’m going to be creaky as hell tomorrow.”

“You did good work today, though.”

It had to be a trap, didn’t it? Liam waited for the punch line, but it never came.

Neither of them said anything for the rest of the short drive, and they stayed quiet as they pulled into the driveway of Calvin’s house and slid stiffly out of the truck.

“I worry about Ben sometimes,” Calvin said. Liam stood frozen on his side of the truck, and Calvin leaned his forearms against the hood and looked across at him. “His parents are—well. My sister was always a flake, and she sure picked a hell of a guy to have a kid with. They’re both useless, obviously, or Ben would never have come to live with me. When I’m gone, Ben will be all alone.”

That didn’t sound right. “You’ll be around for a long time, still. And he’s got good friends, and a place in the community.”

“Right.” Calvin stayed still for another breath, then pushed away from the truck. “Right. He’ll be fine, and it’s a hell of a long way away anyhow.” But there was something strange in Calvin’s voice, an unfamiliar emptiness that Liam didn’t like at all.

“Why did you invite me up here this weekend?” A bit of a jump in the conversation, but if anyone could handle that, it’d be Calvin.

Calvin turned and started slowly toward the house. No answer? No rambling, nonsensical explanation from Calvin the Verbose?

And he was walking like an old man. Liam had never given much thought to Calvin’s age—when they’d first encountered each other Liam had been a snot-nosed kid who thought any adult was hopelessly over-the-hill, and after that there’d never been much reason to think about it. Calvin was just Calvin. But now?

“Are you okay?” Liam took a few long steps and caught up to Calvin before he made it to the front door. “Did you overdo it today, or is this something more serious?”

“I’m fine,” Calvin grumbled. He shoved the front door open—of course it hadn’t been locked—and stepped inside. At least, he tried to step, but he stumbled over the low rise, and Liam reached forward to steady him. Calvin shook himself free from Liam’s grip. “Mind your own business.”

“That’s pretty rich, coming from you.” Liam kept his hands half-outstretched, ready to reach forward and grab Calvin again if necessary. A bruised ego was better than a broken hip.

Calvin shuffled off without a reply, which was just one more sign that things weren’t quite right. Resisting the urge to verbally spar? That wasn’t the Calvin he knew.

The Calvin he had known, at least. But maybe things had changed. Maybe this was all normal, now. But if it wasn’t normal, Liam had to do something about it. He wasn’t sure exactly what that “do something” would look like, but he’d figure it out when the time came. If the time came. If all this wasn’t just what Calvin was like these days.

Well, it wasn’t a question Liam could answer for himself.

And it wasn’t just an excuse. It wasn’t another weird reason for contacting Ben. It was totally legitimate to be worried about the health of a friend, especially if that friend was elderly. Did sixty count as elderly? Sure, it was close enough.

Liam let himself make the phone call. The pleasant fluttering in his stomach? That was probably just relief at the idea of getting some help. Everything was fine. He was just being a good friend.

 

 

BEN FELT unsettled. The day had gone well enough. Certainly from a practical standpoint, they’d gotten a lot done. And there’d been nothing unpleasant, nothing painful between him and Liam.

No, it had all been a bit too pleasant, really, and that was probably what he was reacting to. He just needed some time alone to center himself. Maybe he’d meditate, or do his breathing exercises—they’d have the same effect, he was sure.

But maybe he didn’t want that effect. Maybe he didn’t want to get rid of the unsettled feeling, the sensation that something was about to happen, something wonderful and terrifying and important. Maybe he wanted to savor it, feed it, let it grow and expand—

His phone rang from the front hall, and he scolded himself as he went to answer it. Of course he didn’t want drama, didn’t want to encourage himself to wallow in whatever nonsensical emotions he was coming up with. He was a mature adult, and he would behave in a rational manner.

His call display showed Uncle Calvin’s number, and Ben schooled himself against remembering who was staying at the house. If Calvin was inviting Ben over for dinner—dinner with Liam Marshall—how would Ben respond? He knew exactly what he should say, but—

“Hi,” he said as he tucked the phone between his cheek and shoulder. “What’s up?”

“Ben? It’s Liam.”

Ben was temporarily speechless. Liam. On the phone. Calling Ben. As if that was just something they did whenever they felt like it.

But Liam continued with, “I’m sorry to bug you, but I’m a bit worried about Calvin. Obviously it’s a bit hard to be sure of anything with him, but he seems—not right. Maybe he’s just tired? But he’s acting kind of dazed. Stumbling around—shit, I think I just heard him knock something over. He’s in his bedroom.”

In his bedroom? When he had a guest to entertain and/or torture? “How long’s he been in there for?”

“Not long. I could be making a big deal about nothing. But you know, all the stuff about getting treatment for strokes as soon as possible—not that I’m saying he’s having a stroke! Seriously, he might just be tired.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“He’ll be pissed if he thinks you’re checking up on him.”

“Let him be. He doesn’t get to invite himself into every aspect of my life and then expect privacy in return.”

“I was worrying more about him being pissed at me for calling you.”

“You’re tough, you can handle it.” Ben managed to bite his tongue before pointing out that Liam had quite a bit of history with pissing off members of his family. Why drag up ancient history when Liam was trying to help Uncle Calvin?

So he ended the call, grabbed a few beers out of the fridge, and jogged out to the car. By the time he was at Calvin’s he was regretting the beers—he’d thought they’d be a good cover, a way to pretend he was just stopping by for a little visit, but maybe he shouldn’t be creating a cover. Maybe this was his opportunity to make it clear to Uncle Calvin that they were a family in both directions, and Ben was just as entitled to interfere in Calvin’s life as the reverse.

But that would be a fight, probably, and if Uncle Calvin actually was sick, Ben shouldn’t be fighting with him. And even if he was fine, it wasn’t too gracious to start a family brawl with Liam as an audience. Although Liam might actually be a good ally in the argument; he cared about Uncle Calvin enough to want to—

Shit. No. No, no, no.

Ben grabbed the beers from the back seat. Liam wasn’t a damn ally, he was a temporary visitor with unclear motivations. He’d had his chance to become part of the family fifteen years earlier, and he’d blown it.

Still, it was hard to remember that when Liam stepped out onto the front porch and waited, clearly impatiently, for Ben to come up the walk. The poor guy was worried.

“I think I heard him throw up,” Liam said as soon as Ben was close enough to hear his near whisper. “But I’m not positive.” He scrubbed his hand over the back of his head. “Sorry. I’m not much use for any of this.”

“You called me. That was useful.” But Ben wouldn’t let himself be sidetracked into trying to comfort Liam, of all people. “Where is he?”

“Still in the bathroom. I knocked and he told me to go away, so I went away.”

Of course he had. Why stay and fight when you could just disappear?

Ben shoved the beers into Liam’s hands with a little more force than was probably necessary. “Put these in the fridge. I’ll go deal with Uncle Calvin.”

Of course, dealing with Uncle Calvin was easier said than done. Ben knocked on the bathroom door, and the pause before a response was long enough to make him edgy. Finally, though, Calvin barked, “Go away! I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you’re great,” Ben agreed. “Stuck in the bathroom while you have a guest downstairs. Totally normal for you.”

“Ben? What are you doing here?” Uncle Calvin’s voice sounded thin and tentative. Damn it, there was something wrong with him.

“I came over for a beer.” And the proof was downstairs in the fridge. “Liam said you’d been up here for a while, so I decided to check on you. What’s going on?”

“You came over for a beer? With Liam?” And even through the weakness, Ben could hear a trace of interest.

“Can we focus on you for right now? What’s wrong with you? Do you need to see a doctor?”

“No.”

Of course, Uncle Calvin’s arm could be sliced off at the shoulder and the stubborn old goat would still insist he was fine.

“So you’re going to come down for a beer?”

“In a while.”

“You want me to start something for dinner? Or we could order in?”

There was a distinctive retching sound from the other side of the door, the noise that came from a stomach that had already thoroughly emptied and was now trying to eject itself from its host body.

“You’re pretty sick.” Ben wasn’t sure if Uncle Calvin was in any condition to reply—probably easiest if he wasn’t. “And it came on pretty fast, which is kind of scary. I have no idea what symptoms we should be looking for to be sure it’s not something serious, but that’s okay, because we happen to live in a community with a significant number of experts on that topic. We call them doctors.” Another gagging sound. “I’m going to call over to the clinic and ask for some advice. You’re okay with that, right?”

And Ben left before giving Uncle Calvin a chance to pull himself together and reply. He had his phone out on the way down the stairs and had already dialed before he made it to the kitchen where Liam was waiting, concern clear on his face.

It was amazing how the usual rounds of bureaucracy seemed to melt away once Ben mentioned he was calling on Calvin’s behalf, and within a minute or two he’d been assured that Calvin’s regular doctor would call back as soon as possible, even though it was a weekend. Ben sipped the beer he was holding and—wait. How the hell was he holding a beer?

He looked over and saw a matching bottle in Liam’s hand. Liam had opened beers for both of them, given one to Ben—and Ben hadn’t even noticed? Maybe he was too caught up in worrying about Uncle Calvin, but maybe Liam was just that damn smooth.

Or maybe the two of them were just comfortable together, just that natural. But Ben couldn’t let his thoughts wander in that direction.

“Kurt Mason’s going to call.” And just because they had to talk about something, he added, “He was a couple years behind us at school. Do you remember him? Small kid, red hair? Weird to think he’s a doctor now.”

“I like my doctors in their forties. Old enough to know what’s going on, young enough to still be on top of things.”

“Uncle Calvin likes his doctors younger than him so he can boss them around.”

“From what I remember of Kurt Mason, I’m not sure he’d be all that easy to boss.”

“Yeah, Uncle Calvin’s plan kind of backfired on that one.” Ben grinned and sipped his beer. “I’m not sure what we should be doing in the meantime. Should I be up there sitting outside the bathroom door, listening to him puke in case he asks for help? Or should I give the poor man a little privacy?”

“No idea.” Liam made it sound like commiseration rather than dismissal. “If it was me, I think I’d want the privacy… but not if I was having a heart attack or something.”

“Do heart attacks make you puke?”

“I have no idea about that either.” Liam pulled out his phone, obviously ready for some research, and Ben managed to resist the urge to peer over Liam’s shoulder, calling up a browser on his own phone instead.

They’d only been searching for a couple minutes when there was a knock on the front door and a male voice called out, “Hello? It’s Kurt Mason. Calvin? Ben? Can I come in?”

“Kurt!” Ben strode out to the front hall, vaguely aware of Liam trailing behind him. “I expected a call, but not a house call.”

“I was on the way home from the golf course.” Kurt gestured down at his clothes. “I may not look too professional, but I’ve got my bag with me, and—holy shit. Liam? Liam Marshall?”

And there it was. The familiar admiration that came far too close to hero worship. As if Liam was something special, something more important than other people in his surroundings. Kurt was a doctor. He saved lives. And he was excited that some stupid architect was back in town?

But it wasn’t professional admiration, and Ben knew it. Knew it because he’d felt it himself for too damn long. Liam was magnetic, charismatic—beautiful. It wasn’t sexual—or at least, not only sexual. It was just pure charisma, and it was all the more effective because he didn’t seem to use it to his advantage. At least not most of the time.

“Uncle Calvin’s upstairs in the bathroom,” Ben said. They needed to keep things moving in the right direction. “I can take you up there.”

Kurt nodded, clearly called back to his official capacity, but he grinned at Liam as he passed and reached out to clap him on the shoulder. “Good to see you,” Kurt said, and he made it sound like this casual interaction had made his damn week.

It wasn’t that Ben was jealous, exactly. He was just—well, he had no idea what he was. And he shouldn’t be getting distracted by any of that anyway.

So he stood and listened while Kurt tried sweet-talking Uncle Calvin into opening the bathroom door and then resorted to threats to call the fire department to have them break it down, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing and no, there’d be no financial compensation for the repairs. Finally, there was a click, and Kurt was able to turn the doorknob.

“Wait downstairs, okay?” he told Ben. “Close enough that you can hear me if I call, but far enough away that Calvin can have some privacy.”

“The backyard,” Uncle Calvin croaked. “Wait in the backyard.”

“Downstairs is fine,” Kurt said firmly. Then he slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Ben obediently headed downstairs, where he found Liam waiting for him with two bottles of beer, one in each hand. He wordlessly handed Ben’s to him and said, “We just wait?”

And that was what they did. They stood there at the bottom of the stairs like two anxious fathers awaiting news from the same delivery room, and at some point they finished their beers and Liam got them new ones, and muted voices filtered down to them from above, loud enough to hear that Kurt was doing most of the talking, but too quiet to be sure just what he was saying.

Finally, the doctor came down the stairs and smiled at—at Liam, for fuck’s sake! “Calvin wants me to tell you he was right,” Kurt said. “He did get sick because he had chicken instead of steak last night.”

“What?” Ben demanded. Was Kurt being charmed by Liam and by Calvin?

“Food poisoning,” Kurt said. “Salmonella in chicken legs. I took a culture and I’ll get it analyzed to be sure, but I’m pretty confident. There’s a national recall, but it hasn’t gotten as much publicity as I’d have liked.”

“He’ll be okay?” Ben asked.

“I’ll keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t get dehydrated—I’ll come by again tomorrow, if that works for everyone? But, yeah, he should be fine. He’s in great shape, especially for his age—he wanted me to be sure I told you that too. He wasn’t as enthusiastic about me telling you to pick up some Pedialyte, but it wouldn’t hurt. If he’ll drink it. Otherwise, water is good. No coffee, no alcohol. No spicy foods.”

“But he’s going to be okay.” Ben needed to hear it just once more.

And Kurt seemed to understand. He reached up and clapped Ben on the shoulder, then looked him in the eyes. “He’ll be okay,” he said firmly.

And Ben believed him. Mostly. But he still took a long swig of his beer and wished it was something stronger.

He and Liam showed the doctor out and then were left in the front hall together.

“I’m sleeping in your bed,” Liam said.

Ben stared at him.

“Upstairs. Calvin turned your old room into a guest room. That’s where I slept last night. I just thought I should mention it, because if you wanted to stay over, you’d probably want to sleep in there. And I could move, of course. To the couch, I guess?” Liam peered skeptically into the living room, clearly measuring the couch and realizing it was too short for a grown man to stretch out on.

“What’s wrong with the regular guest room?”

“What?”

“There are three bedrooms, Liam. There always have been. Did you never notice that?”

“I guess he’s using it for something else?”

“He wasn’t a couple weeks ago.” Ben frowned and started up the stairs, then down the hall without even a quick inquiry as he stormed past the bathroom.

Was this another one of Calvin’s games? The sickness seemed genuine enough, but before that, back when he’d been healthy, there was no damn reason to put Liam in Ben’s bed. The bed the two of them had shared so many times. No reason other than game playing by an annoying, interfering—

He pushed the door to the guest room open and stopped short.

The room was jam-packed with boxes. Ben nudged one with his foot, and it moved enough to show that its contents weren’t heavy, but too little for it to be empty.

“Is Calvin a hoarder now?” Liam asked from too close behind Ben. “That’s new.”

“He’s not a hoarder.” Ben crouched and read a few labels. Party supply stores, baby shops—everything he’d need for the baby shower he’d decided to throw for Dinah and Seth. Being stored in a totally logical place. In Calvin’s home, where he could do whatever the hell he wanted, without any need to ask for Ben’s permission.

He straightened up. “Okay. Yeah, this room is out of service. And I would like to stay over, just to keep an eye on him. But you don’t need to take the couch—I can.”

“That’s stupid. You’re two inches taller than I am.”

“But you got here first. And you’re the invited guest.”

“It’s your room. There’s nothing more ‘first’ than it being your room.”

“That hasn’t been my full-time room for almost two decades. And maybe I don’t need to stay, anyway. It’s not like I live that far away.”

“You’ll just worry if you go home. You won’t get any sleep. I’d like to say you can trust me to look after him, but we both know he’s going to be even more of a pain in the ass with me than he would be with you. And assuming Calvin’s well enough to be left alone, you’ve got a big day of building ahead of you tomorrow.” Liam looked down at the beer he was holding, then shrugged. “I can still drive. There’s a B&B I’ve stayed at before. I can give them a call.”

“They’re hosting the building team—the pros who were babysitting us all day? They’re from out of town. There’s no room at that inn.”

“So I’ll have some more beers and sleep outside. Is that hammock still up?”

“You could stay at my place,” Ben said. It was too much, too damn intimate, but it was a hell of a lot better than offering to share the bed at Uncle Calvin’s. And if they didn’t solve this issue soon, Ben knew that was the exact offer he was going to make. He’d have some rationale about it being totally platonic, just a matter of convenience, but he knew he’d blow through that at the first hint of a suggestion that Liam might be interested in more. And as devastating as it would be to have a one-night stand with Liam, it would be even worse if Liam didn’t show that tiny hint of interest to set it all off.

There was no winning that scenario. Having Liam stay at his house while Ben took his old room at Uncle Calvin’s? Awkward and weird, but not disastrous. “I have a guest room. Minimal boxes. Clean sheets.”

“Sounds like paradise, but are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Absolutely better to have Liam as far away as possible. That was the only way Ben had a prayer of getting through this night.