Liam's List (26 page)

With deliberate slowness, he began moving
inside me, filling me with the iron-hardness of his erection,
pressing hard against my womb.

And all the while, he watched my face as if
he were drinking in every nuance of my arousal.

Entranced, I held his gaze, lifting my pelvis
to meet his subtle thrusts as he kept up the steady, measured
rocking of his hips.

Suddenly, his cock slipped out by
accident.

Liam sort of laughed it off and said,
“Fumble.”

A laugh escaped me, too, and then we kept on
going. And going.

Harder and faster, he thrust inside me. The
bed creaked and the mattress squeaked loudly, protesting every
stroke, every plunder.

My body accepted his tender assault. Pulse
after pulse, hot cream seeped out of my core. I was wet. Soaking
wet. And though it was exceedingly slippery between my thighs,
there were no more “fall-outs” after that.

Beneath him, I panted and bucked, biting my
lips and grasping handfuls of bed linen as I took him faster,
deeper. His guttural groans scorched my ear as we came apart.

Wracked by blissful shudders, my body seized
around him in a second climax and he collapsed against me,
flattening my breasts under the weight of his chest.

As we lay there panting, my breath coming in
shallow gasps, I realized this was the most fun I’d ever had. Even
with the “fumble.” And I had to agree with Liam; my spicy romance
novel paled in comparison to the real thing.

Chapter Thirty-One

Vivian

Dates come and go, but certain ones will
always stick out, carrying with them a dark and heavy weight in my
heart. On this day, four years ago, I went to the Scripps Mercy
Hospital to identify the bodies of Mom and Dad.

I woke in a damp heat, crushed by the waves
of different emotions rolling over me, the currents sweeping me out
even farther from the shore. Like an undertow.

Catching my breath, I quietly slipped out of
bed, careful not to disturb Liam’s sleep.

After a quick shower, I threw on a pair of
jeans and a shirt, put my hair up in a loose ponytail, and strode
into the kitchen.

There I found Julian busying himself with the
coffee machine.

“
Coffee?” he
asked.

“
Sure.” I drew out a chair
and sat down, helping myself to a buttery croissant.

When he rounded the table and poured me a
cup, I caught his eye. An unspoken message passed between us.
Finally, he drew a long breath and said, “I already went to see
them.”

“
I know,” I said softly.
Every year without fail, we went to the cemetery to place fresh
flowers at Mom and Dad’s grave. But we never went
together.

Julian knew I hated it when anyone saw me cry
because I wanted to be that strong girl. And I knew Julian hated it
even more if anyone saw him cry because he wanted to be that tough
man.

He was quiet for a moment and then he said in
a matter-of-fact tone, “You’re gonna head over there now?”

I lifted my cup and took a slow sip before
answering. “In a bit.”

Julian, more than anyone else, understood
that I just needed to be mournful today.

Despite what I’d heard and been told about
the different “stages” of grief, I found it to be a nonlinear
process. Long after the loss of Mom and Dad, those painful feelings
still overwhelmed me.

As Julian moved around the
kitchen, I noticed he was all dressed up. He wore a white button-up
shirt tucked into a pair of khakis. The sleeves were rolled up to
show off his tattoos, but
still
. This was
Julian—
the Julian—
who dressed like a beach bum
slash
skater
slash
retired Florida
resident.

My jaw slackened. “Why are you all dolled
up?”

He straightened himself. “You mean why I am
dressed to kill? To slay?”

“
Pfft!” I scoffed. “I
wouldn’t exactly go
that
far.”

He placed his mug in the dishwasher and
grabbed his keys off the counter. “I’m heading out.”

“
Today?” I blinked with
surprise.

Some secret emotion darted across his eyes.
After a pause, he said, “You remember how Mom was always bugging me
about finding a nice girl to date and settle down with?”

I nodded my reply. Julian used to be the
biggest player. He never dated exclusively; there was always a
different girl in his bed every other week.

It used to drive our mom bat-shit crazy.

“
Well, today…” He leveled
a cool gaze at me. “I’m honoring Mom’s wishes.”

I cocked my head to the side, waiting to see
if he would add more. When he didn’t, I leaned back in my chair and
raised a brow. “Don’t forget.” I warned him. “If you treat a girl
like a game, she’s gonna show you how it’s played.” Frowning my
displeasure, I added, “Nobody likes a player.”

“
Got it, sis. But do
you
really
think
I’d do something that stupid?”

I gave a tired sigh. “Do
you
really
want
me to answer that?”

He didn’t reply, but he paced toward the door
and threw a glance over his shoulder. “By the way, I’ll be gone all
day and all night so don’t wait up for me.”

“
Hey!” I called after his
retreating back. “You’re going out on a date
all day?
”

“
Uh-huh.”

“
With whom?” I
demanded.

Whirling around, he flashed me a cheeky grin.
“With destiny.”

Open-mouthed, I stared after him as he backed
out of the room, watching him until the closing door finally
obstructed my view.

It was so peaceful here. Above me, a few
wispy clouds spread across the horizon and the skies were lit with
gold and orange.

I liked that I had a place where I could
visit Mom and Dad. Though I often visited them in my mind, having a
special place really helped.

The inscriptions on their headstones summed
them up simply but eloquently.

The words:
Beloved wife and mother. Family first.
was engraved on Mom’s marble stone.

And on Dad’s:
Beloved husband and father. A good
man
.

I spent the entire morning talking to Mom and
Dad like they were still here, still alive, still with me… and then
I cried. My shoulders lurched with violent sobs and I cried until I
couldn’t cry anymore, soaking the soft soil with my heavy
tears.

Only then, when all my tears had been used
up, I kept my head held high and began whistling Dad’s favorite
tune—“Young Folks” by Peter, Bjorn, and John.

I was well into the second verse when a
gentle touch warmed my shoulder. “Why are you whistling?”

I pivoted and found myself staring into
Liam’s hazel eyes, and even in this solemn place and this most
solemn of occasions, I couldn’t help but smile. “Even the dead
deserve a song. Don’t you think?”

Wordlessly, he pulled me into his arms and
sighed against my hair. “I hope you’re not upset that I’m
here.”

“
No.” I settled my weight
against his chest. “I’m not.”

Thankfully, I was way past the ugly
crying.

“
Hey.” He drew back
slightly and framed my face in his hands. “Don’t stop whistling on
my account.”

I laughed. “I’ll whistle again if you whistle
along with me.”

“
Of course.” He smoothed
the stray hair from my brows and kissed my forehead. “I thought
you’d never ask. But first—” He reached for a paper bag that was
lying on the ground. “I’ve brought along a little something for Mr.
and Mrs. Sorenson.”

A smile tugged at my lips; even though Liam
had always felt like part of the family, he never called my mom and
dad by their first names.

I watched him take slow steps toward their
headstones. At first, I thought he’d brought them flowers, but then
he surprised me by hanging a wind chime on the low-hanging branch
that cast a dappled shade over their headstones. “This way,” he
said, casting me a darting glance, “they’ll always have a song of
the wind.”

When he came back to stand by my side, I
caught his hand in mine. Warmth fluttered in my chest as Liam held
my gaze and squeezed my fingers.

“
Ready?” he
asked.

I squeezed his hand in return. “Ready.”

As the sound of our whistling filled the air,
a gentle breeze swept in and I heard the gentle ringing of the
silver chimes singing upon the wind.

It played the happiest song.

The wind picked up and the sweet tones that
rang and vibrated through the chimes accompanied our pitchy
whistling.

So beautiful was the sound, so soothing and
caressing, it broke through the sadness locked around my heart.

And for reasons I couldn’t even begin to
explain, I felt their presence.

It was as though Mom and Dad were comforting
me with their music, sending a breeze to sing me a song from the
clouds above.

Eventually, the wind began
to die down, and in the tinkle of the chimes, I could have sworn I
heard Mom whispering,
“We are with you,
sweet Viv
…
We are
never gone.”

Later, I found myself sharing that experience
with Liam.

He smiled at me, and our eyes lingered on
each other for a moment before I looked away, afraid he would tease
me.

But he didn’t tease me or question me or
laugh. “I think,” he said quietly, waiting until I met his gaze. “I
think they would have wanted you to have a song.”

By the time we got home, it was almost noon
and I went about fixing us a turkey and cheese sandwich. When I set
Liam’s plate on the kitchen table, he produced a small bag from
under his chair.

“
It’s a gift for you,” he
said simply. “Open it.”

“
A gift?” I stared at him
in surprise. “What for? It’s not my birthday or Valentine’s
Day.”

“
Fuck February
fourteenth.” He made a dismissive gesture. “Every day should be
Valentine’s Day.”

Smiling, I removed a wad of pink tissue from
the bag and found a wind chime nestled in the middle. It was
identical to the one he’d hung over Mom and Dad’s headstones.

As I pulled it out of the bag, I caught the
bottom sail between my fingers.

It was engraved with these words:

What we have once enjoyed, we can never
lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us. ~ H. Keller

“
Look inside the bag.” His
eyes glimmered with tenderness. “There’s more.”

Peering inside the bag, I found a laminated
bookmark. “A wind chime poem,” I whispered aloud. And though I
fought it, I felt my eyes cloud with tears as I held the bookmark
in my hands and read the sweet yet simple words.

Take this wind chime that I give you

Hang it high up a window bay,

Let the melody remind you

Of the spirit that is they.

They would have wanted song

To come and fill your days.

They would surely bring you laughter

If there was any sort of way.

If they could, they’d grin that grin of
theirs

That crinkled up their eyes.

That somehow owned a twinkle

They never could disguise.

There’s nothing to replace,

The parents you knew and loved.

But you can listen for their song of
joy,

From the chimes hung up above.

When you hear the wind pass through
them,

You’ll hear the happy sound,

The notes will fill your heart,

And you’ll know they are around.

Take this wind chime that I bring you,

Let their music fill the air.

Let them sing a song upon the wind,

And feel them smiling there.

Tears streaked soundlessly down my
cheeks.

They were not sad tears, but happy ones.

Then I looked up and sent Liam my most
brilliant smile, hoping it would convey to him just how very much
his gift meant to me.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Liam

The panoramic view from the top of Mount
Soledad Veteran’s Memorial was unreal. We sat on a bench, taking in
the sprawling metropolis set against the Pacific Ocean coastline.
The roads were vibrant veins of red as commuters headed to and from
the city’s commercial heart.

Now the sun was nothing but a tangerine smear
across the horizon. “Let’s get out of the city and go on our road
trip,” I said quietly as we sat watching the sun slip unconscious
into the night.

Viv had about a month before classes started
again at the U, and I had another six weeks before classes started
at my culinary school. For over two months now, I’d been working
fulltime as a prep cook at La Bella Rocha, a local catering
company, and I had enough saved up for a short vacation.

This summer hadn’t been easy for Viv, and I
wanted her to feel something besides sadness and grief and pain.
And I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that I needed this
getaway as much as Viv.

“
I’d love to.” Her words
came easily. “Where should we go?”

“
How about Montana?” I
said, stretching my arm along the back of the bench. “I’ve always
wanted to drive through Going-to-the-Sun Road.”

“
Seriously?” She glanced
at me, her eyes widening slightly. “That’s what it’s
called?”