Unplugged (Blue Phoenix, #3)(22)

We sit quietly for a while as the group around us gets louder. The more awkward this gets, the quicker my glass empties. I should’ve stayed at what counts as my home currently.

“I should’ve stayed at home,” remarks Liam.

I look up. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Oh? Didn’t you want me here?”

“No, I meant me. I don’t fit here.”

Liam laughs. “Neither do I. I never did before, and I still don’t now.”

“What do you think you’d have done if Blue Phoenix hadn’t got so successful? I can’t imagine you sticking around here.”

“Dunno. Maybe been a mechanic like Dad.”

“I could picture that,” I say.

“What? Scruffy and covered in oil?”

“You always were scruffy and in need of a shower.”

“Cheeky! I was a teenage boy. Plus I had my up and coming rock star image to maintain.” The teasing smile Liam has returns.

I bite my tongue away from commenting how that same image is now hot as hell, but I expect he knows. A Californian actress certainly does. It’s killing me not to ask about her, but revisiting that subject is a bad idea judging by his reaction ten minutes ago.

The atmosphere between us relaxes as we continue chatting about the past, and it strikes me Liam wishes he could rewind and spend time there. He’s not the only one.

The friends around us are paired off discussing the ins and outs of their lives, issues, and people I know nothing about. I couldn’t join in the conversation if I wanted to. How amusing this single mum has more in common with a rock star than the people around her. Neither of us belongs even though we’d like to.

“Do you think they’re not talking to me because they’re in awe of my fame?” Liam whispers and when I turn to admonish him, I spot the glint in his eye.

“No, probably because you’re not very interesting.”

He gasps and places a hand over his heart, rings catching the light. “That hurts!”

I shake my head. “I’m a fine one to talk; I’m not exactly the life and soul of the party.”

“I don’t mind it means I get to keep you all to myself.”

The comment comes as I’m drinking and the effect on my breathing interferes. I gulp down the liquid attempting not to choke. I glance at him, eyes watering. “Don’t,” I say quietly.

“Why? It’s true.” Liam’s hand rests on the table and our fingers touch. He curls his little finger around mine sending a shockwave through my body and my life. If news his engagement is off worries him, cosying up with me in public strikes me as odd.

I tug my hand away from his and sit on it. “How much have you had to drink?”

He smirks. “Not as much as you, Cerys.”

“It’s not fair of you to tease me.”

“I’m not teasing you. Why do you say that?”

I rub my lips together and lean forward to whisper, “The kiss, now talking about Honey. This isn’t fair; I told you that in the garden yesterday.”

“I don’t want to talk about Honey. I don’t even want to think about her.”

Every time Honey is mentioned, I think of Craig and I don’t want to. Then I think of Ella and guilt seeps in about leaving her alone tonight. What if she wakes up frightened from being in a strange house without me there?

“I want to go now,” I tell Liam.

“Did I upset you?”

“No, I’m worried about Ella.” I pull my handbag from under the table.

“Ella’s fine, she has Mum wrapped around her little finger. She was asleep anyway, wasn’t she?”

“I want to go, Liam.” I repeat.

“Fine. I’ll go with you.” Liam grabs his jacket. “Lou, I’m taking Cerys home.”

Louise looks between us and gives me a look I know refers back to our conversation in the kitchen. I frown and mouth ‘no’, she raises an ‘oh, really?’ eyebrow so I look away.

Outside, the snow on the pavement is thicker than when we arrived although flakes no longer fall from the sky. I wrap my blue scarf around my neck and burrow my nose into the wool.

Liam pulls on his black beanie and rubs his hands together. “A white Christmas would be awesome!”

“A week to go, maybe it will be.”

“Christmases should be white, makes them magic,” he says and grins.

“You’re a sentimentalist, aren’t you?” I say. “Very odd for someone like you.”

“There you go again. ‘Someone like me’. Am I a different species?” He pouts and buries his hands in his jacket pockets.

The Christmas lights cast a multi-coloured glow along the rooftops and the tree in the centre of the town stretches toward the grey clouds, snow settled on the branches. He’s right; it is magical. As a kid, I came here every Christmas Eve, a family ritual after the church service. We pause by the metal railings and I gaze up at the green and red light bulbs.

“I’ll bring Ella on Christmas Eve,” I say. “We can see the carol-singers, too.”

“That would be cool for her; I bet she’d love that. Could I come along?”

I turn to him in surprise. Liam is back to scrutinising me, and this whole situation is weird. “If you don’t have anything better to do.”