“And that’s it,” Connor summed up his tour. Since he’d led us away, he’d been chattering almost nonstop. It was sweet and reminded me a lot of Owen when he got going. Connor told us all about every room, even candidly talking about the safety features in the bathroom for him. It was all pride that he had a family and a house that was all about what was best for him, and the fact that they’d given him that confidence was as beautiful as any of the rest.

My favorite part had probably been seeing Liam’s childhood bedroom, which still looked like a teenage artist lived in it, if cleaner. It was particularly amusing to hear Connor talk about how Liam had lived in there again when he’d first moved back to Hoffman. That he’d spent two months in there without updating anything—including the twin bed that I’m surprised he managed to sleep in—amused me.

Margot’s house was, in a word, comfortable. It felt like a home, not some kind of showpiece. That said, it was all clean and organized—the two boys’ rooms being a level of exception to the rule—and clearly decorated with a mind to looking nice. There were no tacky decorations or overly bright colors, but there was life. A lot of this coming from the pictures of her family artfully displayed at every turn. You could see all three kids grow up through those photos. You could also see what they’d all lost.

Liam’s dad wasn’t missing in those pictures, not until it couldn’t be helped. He was still on display, still a part of their lives. At first, I thought I wouldn’t be able to stomach images of Joel around. When we’d packed the basics to come to Hoffman with Daz, I’d only grabbed one from our little courthouse wedding, and I’d packed it in its own pocket of the suitcase where I wouldn’t see it by accident. The movers boxed up the rest, and it had been my intention to leave them there.

When we’d gotten to the farmhouse, though, the old ladies—the club name for girlfriends and wives—had decorated rooms specifically for Owen and me. And in them, they’d put pictures of us and Joel. The moment I’d seen them, after days of attempting to block out the face of the man I loved to no avail, I realized I needed them. I needed to see him, even if pictures were all I could have, and so did Owen to keep his father’s memory alive.

I’d unboxed more over time. It hurt to unearth them, to see them every day, but it hurt more to pretend Joel hadn’t been one of the most important things in my life. The evidence was all around me that Margot felt the same way.

“Can you say thank you to Connor for giving us such an awesome tour?” I prompted Owen.

“Thanks, dude!”

Dude? Where had that come from?

Connor smiled hugely, and I remembered Liam saying it was impossible not to love him when you met him. He was right. Connor’s happiness was infectious, even for me. I hadn’t thought about what happened in the car the whole time he’d been leading us.

“Come on, we should wash up for dinner. Mom said it was ready when you guys got here.”

Like that. He was derailing the bad thoughts before they managed to get traction. Owen did the same for me; it’s what made it easy to throw myself entirely into taking care of him.

“Good idea,” I told him, then looked down at Owen. “When’s the last time you washed your hands?”

“I dunno.”

Yeah, that sounded about right.

Connor led us back to the kitchen, which he’d passed over before, explaining we could wash our hands there. Owen started telling him about the car painting that he’d witnessed earlier, which Connor knew all about. Apparently, his big brother’s career in art got him interested, too. When we made it to the kitchen, Connor didn’t hesitate to go grab a step stool for Owen to get up on to wash his hands.

“He’s great with kids,” Liam said low, coming up behind me. He stopped before we were touching, but his presence felt solid anyway. “His development was stunted so much that he’s that much like them, but I think it’s the attitude. Kids get him and he gets them. The rest of us grow up and lose that exuberance.”

He was so right. Following Connor and listening to him speak hadn’t been like being led around by a kid that just babbled nonsense about only the things they liked, but it had the energy of that. When was the last time I’d felt that way? I couldn’t even remember. Being with Joel was close at times, but there was no way to undo the impact of life and all it had served us.

“He hasn’t become jaded.”

“And he probably won’t,” Liam said by way of agreement. “Do you feel jaded?”

“All the time.”

“Since the accident?”

I huffed a laugh that had no trace of humor in it. “I was jaded long before that. Before I was even with Joel,” I sighed. “What about you?”

“Losing Dad, seeing Connor struggle when he didn’t have to before, seeing Mom deal with it all, that did it for me.”

Connor was helping Owen dry off his hands. If you walked in right then, you’d have no idea there was anything different between Connor and any other guy in his twenties. You’d have no idea the two of them both lost their fathers way too young. Watching, I wondered what would eventually dim that light in Owen. I wondered what I could do to stop it—or if I would be the cause.

I turned away, unable to think about that possibility.

“We should be more like them,” I said, looking up at Liam.

“I try to be.” I believed that. It was probably part of what made him so comforting, why I was so at ease around him.

I had, too. “I want to again.”

His lips tipped up, but his eyes were sad. He understood the part I’d left unspoken: but I don’t know how.

“We’ll get you there, gypsy.”

We. Why did that sound so much easier?

“All right, everyone, time to eat!” Margot called from the dining room.

Mashed potato casserole was delicious. So was the meatloaf, which had never been my favorite thing, but Margot’s was delicious.

What was better than the food was having dinner with Liam and—most of—his family. I’d never experienced much of a traditional family dinner. Neither Joel nor I had anything like that growing up. We tried to give some of it to Owen, but it was something we never got much of a chance to do. Even now that I was surrounded by families in the club, it wasn’t something you inserted yourself into.

But it could, it seemed, be something you were invited into, and the Reiland family had welcomed us with open arms.

“I don’t know, I think you could pull it off,” Liam said, leaning back on the couch next to me. His arm was along the back, and I was making a solid attempt at ignoring that fact. “Attempt” being the operative word. Succeeding at that was more than a little difficult when he kept finding excuses to touch me.

“I’m not getting a tattoo,” Margot shot back.

The whole conversation was happening on a slight whisper since Owen, who had about eaten his weight in meatloaf and potatoes—and a serving of broccoli Margot had somehow gotten into him, which was some kind of Jedi mind trick I was going to need to beg her for later—was asleep on the armchair next to where I was. It was a little early but from the sound of things, he’d had an exciting day. I knew a lost cause when I saw one, and Owen was falling asleep no matter what I did.

It had started off with Connor talking about ideas for a tattoo he wanted to get from Liam and descended to how Margot should get one, too.

“I just did one on Kate, and she thinks it’s perfect.” I didn’t even need to look to know there was a shit-eating grin on his face. The asshole.

“You have a tattoo?” Margot asked. There was no judgment in the question, more like curiosity that edged on excitement.

“Just finished it off today before we came over,” Liam answered.

“Liam James, let the girl answer for herself. Sheesh.”

It was a bit odd to be referred to as a girl. That kind of thing went out the window for the most part once you had a kid. Doc pulled it out from time to time, but that was about it.

Liam shook his head, and I wondered if it was also at the “girl” thing or the very parental use of the middle name—a piece of knowledge I was going to hold onto for future use. “You might as well just show her. That’s where this is headed either way.”

“I wanna see,” Connor added, enthusiastic as ever. I’d gotten a sense of hero worship from watching him interact with Liam. It was similar, if more openly expressed, to the way Daz had been with Joel when we were younger.

I wiggled my way forward on the cushion—all the furniture in the living room was very plush and designed to settle in and stay a while—and perched right on the edge. In any other situation, I wouldn’t have even considered lifting my shirt that way for people I’d just met to see, but they didn’t feel like strangers. They felt like friends.

It’d been a long time since I had friends not connected to the club—even if Liam’s boss was. It wasn’t that the Disciples family wasn’t incredible, it was just easy to let the thought creep in that maybe it was all charitable. Maybe I’d never have been friends with any of them if it hadn’t been for Daz and losing Joel.

If I was having a good day, I could see that it was a bunch of bullshit. It just happened that my good days weren’t common, so the doubt crept in a lot.

I wouldn’t hesitate over showing friends my new tattoo, so I didn’t here either.

“It’s beautiful,” Margot said with the full force of motherly pride ringing through it.

“Did you do that all at once?” Connor questioned.

“Not this time, bud. We started with the outlines a couple weeks ago, then the colors got added today,” Liam explained.

“It’s really good,” Connor observed. “Are you going to put it in your portfolio?”

“Depends if Kate lets me.”

“What? You want to take a picture of it?” That was the least I could do after all he’d done for me.

“Once it’s healed,” Liam said with a nod. “We have a bit of a makeshift studio in the back of the shop to get really good pictures of things. I was hoping I’d be able to convince you to come model for me.” His salacious grin and the smooth way he said it made it sound like the pictures he was going to take were for anything but his portfolio.

I reached out and shoved at his shoulder, but winced when the movement pulled on the raw skin of my side.

Liam sobered right away. “You sore?”

“A little,” I admitted. Maybe more than a little after that move.

“Mom, is there ibuprofen in the bathroom?”

“Of course.”

Liam stood, offering his hand to me. “Come on. We’ll get you something for the soreness and get the bandage off. It’s been covered long enough.”

My eyes shot over to Owen, but Margot was a step ahead of me. “Don’t worry, hun. I’ll keep an eye on him in case he wakes up.”

Of course she would. It seemed to be the Reiland family trait to be super helpful.

“Thank you.”

I let Liam lead me from the room, opting to not overthink the fact that he didn’t release my hand the whole way, or the fact that I didn’t feel inclined to be the one to break the connection.

The bathroom, like Margot’s whole house, was well kept, with blue gray walls and light stone accents. It was a decent sized bathroom, though it was hard to feel that way now with Liam sharing the space. When he reached back and shut the door behind us, it felt like the room shrunk further. I considered asking why he’d shut it, but I was sure there was no answer that was going to make me feel less tense.

And boy was I tense.

Liam released my hand, stepping in front of the sink and washing his hands thoroughly. I watched, fixated on his tattooed forearms that seemed to stand out even more against the neutral colors around him. He seemed to stand out, in general. With nothing else to focus on, it was like he’d become larger than life standing next to me.

“All right, let’s get this cleaned off so it can breathe,” he said as he toweled off his hands with quick motions. When he finished, he tapped the counter next to the sink. “Hop up.”

I wasn’t sure about this, but it seemed a silly thing to argue about. At least, it did until I was seated and realized it brought me up higher, erasing the bit of height difference that there typically was between us. Instead of being slightly lower, I was now at eye level with him.

The same way I had been on his lap.

Which I really did not need to be thinking about.

Liam went to the cabinet above the toilet and grabbed a couple hand towels and a washcloth. He set the stack on the counter before grabbing one towel and coming up close to me. He laid it carefully across my hip, covering the hem of my pants. Then, bold as ever, he ran a finger along the edge, tucking the towel into the waistband. The touch was so foreign it made me jump. My eyes flew from his task up to his, expecting the flirt to be on full display. It wasn’t.

His eyes were intense, roving over the place he was touching. It was like he was starved and I felt the hunger rise in me, too.

He shook his head slightly as he turned away, grabbing the washcloth and wetting it. For the next few minutes, he meticulously wiped the skin clear, lightly soaped it, then cleaned it off again. His touch was feather light, careful with the raw skin. It felt almost… reverent.

I tried to think of something to say, anything to diffuse the tension that was suffocating in its intensity, but my mind was blank. There was just Liam right there, close enough to smell the spice of his scent, consuming everything.

When he finished wiping away the last drops of water, his movements changed. Instead of the slow, easy moves, it was like a frenzy. He collected the towels, tossed them into the hamper, then he was rifling through the medicine cabinet. All the while, I was still frozen.

He shut the mirror closed again with a firm snap, a bottle in his hand and he braced both arms on the edge of the sink, his head dropping. His shoulder rose and fell with heavy breaths.

“Liam?”

It took a moment before he answered. When he did, his voice was strained. “It’s taking everything I have not to kiss you right now. Just once, I keep telling myself. Just one more taste. But it’s bullshit. Once more won’t be enough.”

“Oh.”

He laughed, a hard sound that sounded almost like a punch to his lungs.

“That fucking word,” he muttered.

I didn’t have anything else, because right then I was thinking that I really wanted him to kiss me again, too.

The bit of conversation—if you could call it that—seemed to shake him enough to get back to his task. He opened the pill bottle to retrieve two, then grabbed and filled a little paper cup from a dispenser before handing both to me.

I was still too stuck to do anything with them.

Liam shook his head, then moved right into my space, cupping both of my cheeks in his hands. My eyes closed. This was it.

“I’m not going to kiss you, gypsy,” he rasped, sounding pained. “I want to more than fucking anything, but we have a deal. You say the word, remember?”

I opened my mouth to say it, but he shook his head, using one hand to nudge my chin back up.

“No, not now. I don’t want you to say it just because we’re both caught up in the moment. You have to be sure. Yeah?”

I nodded. He was right. I wasn’t in any place to make a decision like that.

“Take your pills,” he ordered. “Then we’ll get you and your boy home.”

The moment broken, I did as I was told, and then he did as he said.