With a Kiss (8 page)

And, Liam swallowed rapidly—he had his own life to get back to as well. Maybe if he stopped spending so much time focused on some stupid stranger in a hospital bed, he’d be able to keep Ralph happier.

Liam looked slowly around the room. His boyfriend obviously hadn’t been impressed by the way he’d run out on him the night before. Liam nudged one of the larger shards of glass that had once formed the top of a coffee table. Everything that he’d arranged so neatly on the mantelpiece above the fire was now broken on the carpet to one side of it.

That was a good thing, Liam told himself. Ralph had let his anger out elsewhere. If it already was out of his system then maybe they could just pretend this had never happened and everything would be okay.

Liam silently made his way across the room and picked up a photo frame. The glass was cracked, but the simple silver frame was still fine. A picture of him and Ralph stared back at Liam. They were both smiling. They looked so bloody happy together. Liam carefully set it back in its rightful place on the mantelpiece.

“You really outdid yourself last night.”

Liam spun around to face the sofa. Ralph stared back at him, his eyes bloodshot, his hair disordered. He was sitting up now, wide awake and already glowering his displeasure with life. And he was between Liam and the door.

Swallowing down his nerves, Liam struggled to find the right words to calm the other man’s anger. He failed completely. There wasn’t a single syllable inside his head; fear had dissolved them all away. He had no choice but to remain silent.

Ralph rubbed at his jaw line, scratching the two day’s growth of stubble that created a dark shadow across the lower half of his face. “You should know better than to wind me up that way,” he bit out.

“I’m sorry,” Liam whispered, staring down at his trainers. He couldn’t help but wonder at what point the mornings after the nights on which Ralph lashed out at him, had become about him apologizing rather than Ralph begging for his forgiveness.

“Clean this shit up. Place is like a bloody pigsty. If you can’t earn a decent wage, the least you can do is keep the house in order.” Ralph stomped out of the room.

Unable to make his limbs work, Liam remained exactly where he was, as still as any easy target, until he heard the shower start up in the en-suite directly above him. The pattering of water gave control of Liam’s body back to him.

Making his way through to the kitchen, he picked up a dustpan and brush and set about sweeping the glass from the living room floor before someone got hurt. Kneeling on the rug carpet at the edge of the debris, he slowly settled into his task. A little of the tension seeped from his muscles.

He was fine. Ralph was fine—and he’d sobered up overnight, too. There would be no repeat performance this morning. It wouldn’t be the same as things had been with Marcus, but—

Liam shook his head. Desperately trying to refocus his attention on the task at hand, he pushed away the memory of the previous night as hard as he could, just in case Ralph might have somehow acquired the ability to read his mind while he slept off his latest binge.

Piece by piece, the living room resumed its usual appearance. The system Liam had developed for repairing the damage from an outburst saw him in good stead. By the time Ralph walked back in and retook his habitual seat on the sofa Liam was on the final repairs.

His boyfriend made no comment on any of it as he opened his first beer of the day.

Liam’s mind raced as he carefully reset the time on the mantle clock, trying to work-out if speaking up and asking if the other man had enjoyed the previous night would be counted as snooping, or if not asking would show a lack of interest, trying to calculate which failure would annoy the other man more that day.

Once the clock was back in its place, the living room was as perfect as it could get until the coffee table was replaced. But Liam continued to fuss and adjust little details, straightening photo frames and ornaments, putting off the moment when he had to turn his attention back to Ralph.

A sudden loud ringing filled the room. Liam jumped, dropping the cushion he had been shaking into shape, but it was only the phone. The handset rested on the side table right next to where Ralph sat. Liam hurried across to it, desperate to answer it before the ringing pissed off the other man.

He was only a step away when Ralph finally decided to pick up the handset and put it to his ear.

Liam heard a woman speaking on the other end of the line. He knew far better than to ask who it was, or to stay within what Ralph might consider to be eavesdropping range.

Pacing nervously back into the kitchen, Liam crossed to the sink and filled the kettle with water. Setting it to boil, he leaned back against the cabinet and ran his hand over his face.

As soon as he closed his eyes the image of Marcus raced into the front of his brain, demanding not just that he remember the other man’s appearance, but that his body replay every single sensation that being with him had provided.

As he stood in the kitchen and listened to the kettle begin in boil, Liam was almost willing to swear that he could feel the other man’s arms wrap around him. He leaned back against the edge of the work surface a little more firmly, as if the other man’s body really was right there within his reach.

The scent of Marcus, the warmth of his skin, the slow, gentle rhythm of his voice coupled with the steady beat of his heart as Liam rested his head on the other man’s chest. It was all right there, as if he could simply reach out and take it.

He smiled slightly at the memory, knowing it was more than half false, but willing to cherish it, regardless. A shiver ran down his spine as he blinked open his eyes and stared down at the old wooden floorboards beneath his feet.

It was nothing like the stark gray hospital flooring. Liam wrapped his arms around his torso. The space around him smelled like spilt beer rather than cleaning agents. There were no beeps and hums from machines nearby, no half audible conversations floating in from the nurses’ station. All he could hear was the distant sound of Ralph chatting to someone on the phone and…

Liam’s thoughts slowly congealed as he realized that he was wrong. There were no words seeping through from the other room. Frozen in place, he strained his hearing, desperately trying to work out where Ralph was, where he might have moved to while Liam wasn’t paying attention.

Upstairs to crash out? Through the front door and out for the rest of the day? It was impossible to tell. All Liam knew for sure was that Ralph wasn’t close enough to he heard.

Then, just when Liam was about to breathe a sigh of relief, a sharp little sound made its way across the room to him—a click of glass against granite.

It ripped through Liam’s senses like a gunshot.

He slowly dragged his gaze up the cabinet door directly opposite him. An empty beer bottle rested upon the counter. Fingers were still wrapped around the neck of the bottle. Fighting for each inch of progress he made, Liam forced his gaze up the other man’s arm until he finally met Ralph’s eyes.

“Have a good night last night, Liam?”

Run!

The same voice that had screamed inside his head the previous night screeched through Liam’s brain, demanding that he flee while he still had the chance. Liam took half a step forward, but Ralph was once more between him and the door.

There was no way he’d be able to dodge him now. Ralph wasn’t drunk enough this time. His reactions would be too quick. But that didn’t really matter, because every one of Liam’s joints had gradually turned to lead as the reality of the situation sank in.

Unable to move or speak, Liam could barely even focus on the words his boyfriend was saying. Frowning slightly, he peered at the other man’s lips as Ralph moved closer and closer. With his eyes locked on Ralph’s face, Liam could almost believe there were no footsteps being taken. The other man seemed to float, disembodied in front of him.

“Anything you want to tell me?”

Liam managed to shake his head.

“Who were you with last night?” Ralph’s loomed over him, the scents of fresh beer and stale whiskey surrounding him like a thick cloud of smog.

Liam opened his mouth. He closed it again without saying a word.

Without warning, the back of Ralph’s hand slammed into Liam’s cheekbone, sending him tumbling toward the kitchen floor. Fingernails clawing against the floorboards, he scrambled up and skirted around the other man, running for the hallway door.

He was almost there when a painful grip clamped around his wrist and spun him around. Nothing could have been more different than the way Marcus had held him the previous night. Ralph’s fingers bit painfully into the inside of his wrist, threatening to burst the veins beneath the skin as he stepped past him.

Dragging Liam along in his wake, Ralph headed for the living room. Stumbling, forced to stagger bent forward and off balance by Ralph’s grip on him, Liam caught hold of the doorframe as he was hauled into the room. His fingers clawed at the paintwork, but Ralph was far too strong for him. Liam tumbled, only just missing the metal remains of the coffee table.

Suddenly, Liam had words. They fell from his lips so quickly he could barely make sense of them himself. Words like “please” and “sorry”. Even while he had no idea what he was begging for, he couldn’t quite stop them from pouring out—not even when he knew they would do no good.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out, you stupid little slut?”

Ralph lunged forward and caught hold of Liam’s shirt when he’d have fallen, half keeping him on his feet and half choking Liam with the garment.

“I didn’t,” Liam babbled. “I was at the hospital, I—”

“You were visiting your sleepy little pal?” Ralph demanded, jerking Liam forward, so they were almost nose to nose.

Liam nodded rapidly.

“And when exactly did you plan to tell me he woke up?”

The world spun as Liam tumbled back onto the sofa. Scrabbling at the cushions, he tried to pull himself to his feet, but he was too late. Ralph was right there in front of him, looming over him, his massive form blocking any route toward the door.

“Did you beg him too, Liam?” Ralph taunted. “Did you beg him for his cock? Plead with him to fuck you harder?”

Liam shook his head. He glanced over his shoulder, but the sofa was set right back against the wall. There was no escape, no way to retreat any farther. His spine pressed hard against the rear of the sofa. Holding up his hand, Liam cringed into the cushions.

“I’m going to make sure you never want to look at another man again…”

Physical escape impossible, all Liam could do was close his eyes and pretend he was somewhere else, pretend he was somewhere safe—maybe even in the hospital at Marcus’ side. Yes. As the first real blow for the day fell against his skin, that was where Liam went.

* * * *

“You’d never do anything like that, would you?” Liam asked the sleeping form.

He was about to return his gaze to the magazine lying open on his lap, when he hesitated.

“You’re a good man, I can tell,” he whispered to the vampire. Liam looked down at his fingernails as he toyed with the edge of a magazine page. “I know you’re going to laugh, but I often think about the day when you’ll wake up.”

He risked a glance at Marcus. The sleeping form showed no signs of humor.

Liam leaned forward a little in his chair. His words became more confident.

“I imagine that your eyes open and you turn your head toward me and you tell me to shut the hell up, because you’re trying to sleep. But you’re smiling as you say it, and I know you’re not really angry.”

Liam smiled too, but the expression soon faded away. “I know you’ve got a life to get back to, you’ve probably got a family and everything… I wouldn’t expect you to let me keep hanging around you or anything, I just…”