Page 9 of Begin Again, Part 1

Liam eased into the circular driveway surrounded by manicured lawns and immaculate gardens. His childhood home was as vibrant now in the winter months as it was at the height of summer. The landscapers that came in twice a week made sure of it. With her love of plants, it was the one thing his mom insisted on. Too bad she didn't have a green thumb. Otherwise, she'd do everything herself.

Waiting at the front door, Richard stood tall and proud in his butler's uniform.

"Master Anderson!" Beaming, he gave Liam a bear hug. He was always an affectionate man. But had grown more sentimental as the silver strands on his head multiplied.

Liam grasped his hand in a firm handshake. "Good to see you, Rich!"

"You kept your old man waiting. He's not happy with you." The butler chuckled as he dragged him inside the house.

Liam's stomach rumbled at the delicious aroma of pot roast swirling in the gourmet kitchen, reminding him he hadn't eaten since last night.

He dashed through the formal dining room and lounge, poking his head inside his mother's studio opposite the guest bathroom.

Lois Anderson sat gazing at the colossal spouting fountain beyond the window. Her greying black hair, tied back in a long French braid, fell over her pink satin blouse worn over white cotton pants. Dainty ballet pumps, matching her shirt, adorned her feet.

From the blank canvas beside her, Liam guessed her muse was yet to make an appearance today.

"There she is!" he said cheerily. "The most beautiful mom in the world!"

She turned around. A radiant grin split her face when she saw him lingering in the doorway. Her pale green eyes, though, remained moist with tears. She blinked them away as she stepped into his outstretched arms. "There he is! The most handsome son in the world!"

Her luxurious yet familiar perfume tickled Liam's nose when he kissed her cheek. Her fragrance always brought his earliest memories to life. If he had to describe love in one word, it would be his mother's scent. It was...comforting.

"Still struggling to paint?" he asked when they drew apart.

She nodded, sadness flitting in her eyes as she linked their arms, and they headed to the study down the hallway.

"You need a break," Liam suggested. But she was on a semi-hiatus for almost six months now.

"I need another hobby."

"Hey, you can't rush creativity," he consoled her.

They found his father in his usual spot, behind the large, mahogany executive desk, his thick eyebrows knitted together as he peered at the document in his hand. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the French windows gave him an ethereal aura. To be fair, the man had earned himself a godlike status among his peers with all his achievements.

For Liam, watching his father was like seeing himself in another forty years. They were mirror images with their red hair, pale colouring, and blue eyes. Their tall, athletic build was another thing they shared. But all likeness ended there.

Clarke was well adored for his generosity, compassion, and visionary leadership. Whereas Liam gave truth to all the clichés about redheads and their fiery tempers. It didn't take much to set him off, which would explain why Eden's boldness greatly pissed him off.

Cliches aside, at twenty-seven, Liam had already enjoyed massive success in his career. But his scandalous love life, constantly playing out in the tabloids, always overshadowed his achievements. He had a sneaky suspicion that the sometimes made-up stories about him were the real reason behind the sudden succession plan.

"Where are your glasses? Why aren't you using them?" he asked as his mother pushed him inside the room.

Clarke glared at him, and pulled up the glasses dangling on a black string around his neck.

Liam sat on the brown Chesterfield armchair to the left of the grand fireplace. Lois propped herself on the three-seater facing the fire. She picked up a Business Insider magazine and leafed through it.

She seemed listless. Like she had a lot on her mind, and Liam wondered if it was more than her inability to paint that was troubling her.

He took her hand and squeezed it, his gaze darting over the array of family photographs lining the mantel. They showcased decades of memories and milestones of the three Anderson children. First and last days of school. Matric dances. Graduations. Important defining moments. Several, though, were missing from the neat, chronological timeline. They all had to do with him. The most recent being his latest tournament win.

Liam rested his arms over his rock-hard stomach and eased back on the couch, enjoying the fire. He didn't realise he was cold until he felt the warmth in here.

His father's study was one of the most intense rooms. The masculine furniture and the dark panelled walls reminded Liam of a gentleman's club. But it was also one of his favourite places.

Growing up, he and his sisters often camped here, desperately wanting to be near their father. After all, he was always away, chasing one big client after another, so they never knew when they'd see him again. He had missed many important days and milestones over the years. Maybe that was why many had ended up as snapshots on the mantelpiece. Liam and his sisters never resented him, though. When he was around, Clarke was the best father in the world. And when he was away, he'd spoil them with gifts from all over the world to make up for his absence.

"Thank you for gracing me with your presence, son."

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