Released (Caged #3)(25)

Chelsea’s eyes glistened as she looked at me.

“He loves you so much, Liam.”

I stared at her blankly. I remembered how often Michael used to come around and try to get me to talk to him—open up, come back home, take a job offer—but I had always told him to f*ck off and leave me alone. Eventually he didn’t come around as much, but when he did, he used a more subtle approach, and I ended up with visits only once or twice a year.

I had always been a total dick toward him when he came around.

“No one ever gave up on you, dear,” she said as if she were reading my mind. “When you pushed everyone away, we knew it was just a matter of time. You can’t drag someone back from darkness until they’re ready to go with you.”

She shut off the water, stood up, and came over to me. She reached out and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, hugging me against her. Reflexively, I placed my arms around her middle.

“Your own mother should be doing this,” Chelsea said softly as she shook her head, “but somehow I don’t think you want me to call her.”

I licked my lips and leaned my forehead against Chelsea’s shoulder. She smelled like fruit salad.

“Not right now,” I replied quietly.

She leaned back and placed her hands on my cheeks.

“She misses you so much,” she said. “They both do.”

I stiffened at her words, and my shoulders crushed inward against my body. When I glanced at her, there were tears in her eyes even though she smiled through them.

“I’ll leave you to it.” She waved a hand at the tub. “There are some of Ryan’s pajamas on the counter for you. Michael’s having the cook make up a decent dinner—it doesn’t look like you’ve been eating well.”

I decided not to give her the details of just how accurate that statement was.

Chelsea closed the door behind her, and I dropped my wet clothes on the floor before sinking into the tub. It was warm, and the bubbles smelled nice. Feminine, to be sure, but it didn’t smell like Tria. The scent is what I imagined grandmothers smelled like, though I couldn’t remember my own. My father’s mother died when I was a baby, and my other grandmother had passed before I was born.

The bath felt good enough that I didn’t even care that I was going to end up smelling like an elderly woman. I leaned back against the end of the tub and sank down to my chin with my eyes closed.

The hot water warmed me, and the food Michael’s cook made nourished my body. After I couldn’t eat any more, Michael took me up to one of the guest rooms and helped me crawl into the bed. He probably wanted to talk to me some more, but I was out as soon as my head made contact with the pillow.

*****

Waking up in Michael’s house was surreal.

There was a desperate, childish part of me that wanted to believe everything I had gone through was just a dream, and I was currently back in high school after having spent too many hours playing video games in the basement rec room with Ryan and Mandi, and it had been too late to drive back home. As tempting as it was to pursue the fantasy, the pounding in my head, the itching on the inside of my arm, and the knowledge that there was a woman out there who needed my help when I was too big of a mess to give it to her brought me back to reality quickly.

I rolled over on the soft Egyptian cotton sheets and rubbed my face on the pillowcase of the same material. After all these years, it still seemed familiar. Strangely enough, I didn’t find the comfort comforting. I would have preferred to wake up on my one hundred and fifty thread count sheets from Big Lots with my arms wrapped around Tria. That was my definition of comfort.

I yawned and shook my head a bit. Except for my thumping head, I didn’t feel too bad. I had slept pretty well and wondered how much of that had to do with a long soak in lavender-scented water.

“Are you awake?”

Michael appeared in the doorway, and I waved him in.

“How are you feeling?”

“Okay, I guess,” I responded with a shrug. I propped myself up on the pillows and took a few breaths. “Better, definitely. Thanks.”

“Chelsea thinks you’re going to stay,” Michael said as he sat down in the chair next to the bed. “I told her not to get her hopes up…well, my hopes up, really.”

As much as my pride wanted me to just say a quick thanks and get out, I couldn’t do that anymore.

“Can I?” I asked quietly. “I mean, just for a while? Until I can get my shit together?”

“You can stay here as long as you want,” Michael told me. The relief and excitement in his eyes were obvious. “I’d like nothing more.”

“Are you gonna…gonna tell Dad I’m here?”

“Not if you don’t want me to,” he said, “though at some point he’s going to notice. He and Julianne do come to dinner on Sundays.”

“I’ll make myself scarce,” I offered.

“You know that isn’t going to be enough.”

“What day is it?” I asked.

Michael let out a long breath.

“Wednesday.”

“Then I have a while to think about it, right?” I said. “I have to get myself together, or I’m screwed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tria…she said I had to do some stuff before she’d…well, before she’d consider taking me back. I need a better job—”