Page 112 of The Savior

She didn’t pull back, and he hovered, a breath away, while he searched for an answer. She didn’t know the question. Every time she thought she did, it changed.

But he didn’t push her, not like earlier on the sidewalk with his Romeo act. That was silly, and calling her out had been spot on. This was self-conscious and breathless. She couldn’t relax when she forgot about them.

Her heart slammed in her chest, shouting for her to stop thinking and kiss that man. What was wrong with her? They’d talked until they had logical answers. Nothing was wrong with her and Liam! It was Chelsea who couldn’t get it together.

She leaned back from his lips. “You know what I like most about you?”

“What?”

Her eyes closed. “The grace you give me.” He was a haven each time her tangled emotions had a hang-up. Healing, grieving, and falling in love were not linear. Liam had explained that, now she had to live like she believed him.

A gust of wind rolled, and he brushed her hair back. “That’s one hell of a compliment.”

“One that you deserve.” She gently kissed him and let their lips part and their tongues tangle in that effortless way that made her feel as if they were floating on clouds.

His forehead rolled to hers, their lips hovered close, then Liam stood from the wrought-iron bench and held out his hand.

She believed in them—and Chelsea took his hand. Their fingers locked, and they slowly walked in the direction of her wino-wind chime.

“My family was nothing like theirs,” he said.

“Same.” Linda ran laps around her actual mother when it came to support and love.

Liam guided her behind the stately pine trees that lined the fence. “My dad should’ve left my mom.”

“Families are hard,” she finally said as the silence widened.

The long-sweeping pine branches above and the pine needles on the ground muffled their steps and conversation. She didn’t know anything about his family but recalled Linda mentioning how no one blood related had come to Julia’s funeral. Her heart ached.

“I becamethe manof the family early on.” He scoffed quietly. “What was I? Six? Maybe seven?” They continued to wander, but he didn’t elaborate.

“What happened?”

Liam inhaled and let it out slowly. “When…”

She waited for him to find the words. Their walk became a winding trail in and out of the trees at a glacial speed.

“Before my mom died,” he said, “adults saddled me withthe man of the familytitle when the only concern I should’ve had was making the first-string peewee team.”

The idea of him as a little footballer who’d lost his mom and couldn’t escape the pressures of adulthood made her throat tighten. She wrapped her free hand around his arm and held it to her chest. “You don’t have to tell me any more.”

“My dad was a piece of shit.”

“He left you?”

Liam cackled. “I wish.”

Chelsea held on to him as if he needed the support, but truthfully, she wasn’t sure she could let go until he explained what happened. Even then, she might not be able to let go.

“If you were to look up how my mom died, the record would say she was the victim of random, senseless violence.”

She thought that over and asked, “Whatshouldit say?”

“It’d say—” His voice cracked. “That we weren’t supposed to be home.”

She wanted him to stop. “You don’t have to say anything else.”

Pain pinched his features. “I was sick. A cold or a fever—”

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