“You don’t get to tell me how I should feel, Colonel Wessex.”
“I told you to call me Liam.”
“And what? Do you think getting to call you by your given name and being let back into your inner circle again after all these years will make up for you making a game of having sex with me when we were younger and gossiping about it so all of Eton knew?”
The old shame and humiliation made Oliver’s stomach twist, the heat coming to his face too sudden and quick to blame it on the sun burning bright overhead.
Liam flinched, but he didn’t look away, only stepped closer. “I know it doesn’t, but I’m trying to fix my mistake.”
“I don’t need you to. My worth isn’t measured by your name or apologies. I don’t want or need your bloody sympathy or guilt.”
He had when he was younger, when it could’ve made a difference. Oliver had gotten used to the snide whispered comments, the side-eyed looks, and the mockery from those in their shared social circle over the years. He didn’t need saving, no matter what Liam thought.
“I had no right to hurt you like I did. There’s no excuse for my actions,” Liam said.
Oliver half turned, intent on getting back into the car. “It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past.”
A hand gripped his upper arm, stopping him. Liam’s hand was warm through his suit jacket, touch firm in a way that sent an involuntary shiver down Oliver’s spine. He turned his head around, glaring at Liam, the other man so close Oliver could smell the faint cologne still clinging to his skin through the sweat and dirt from the fight.
“I’m sorry, and I mean it, whether you believe me or not. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I’m just asking for you to let me make what amends I can.” Liam’s mouth twisted, the intensity of his gaze pinning Oliver where he stood. “I should’ve apologized years ago.”
Oliver swallowed thickly, unable to look away, willing to make a single concession in the face of Liam’s persistence. “Yes, you should have.”
Liam blinked, his eyes flickering down to Oliver’s mouth in a motion that was impossible to miss. They were separated by mere inches and years-old memories and mistakes they couldn’t leave by the side of the road no matter how much they’d like to.
Liam closed the scant distance between them, and Oliver couldn’t make himself turn away when warm lips brushed over his, the apology whispered against his mouth like a quiet confession.
“I’m sorry, Ollie.”
Oliver opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t find any words that mattered. When Liam kissed him, Oliver leaned into it, repeating a mistake he knew in his heart he would always make.
Liam kissed with a focus that every other person Oliver had ever kissed lacked. The utter intensity of it left him gasping, licking into Liam’s mouth because he was smart about world affairs, just not the ones that dictated his life or his heart.
Warm fingers touched the side of his face, and it was that connection that brought Oliver back to painful reality. He jerked back, licking his lips, the taste of Liam hot on his tongue. Liam pulled back, staring at him with unblinking eyes.
Oliver twisted out of Liam’s grip, heart pounding in his chest. “Let’s get to London.”
Liam cleared his throat, voice rough when he spoke. “Okay.”
Oliver got back into the car, and Liam closed the door for him. Oliver buckled up, refusing to look over at Liam when he got back behind the wheel and started the engine again. He stared straight ahead as the car pulled back onto the road, fighting against the urge to touch his lips.
Not a word was spoken for the rest of the drive back to London, and Oliver couldn’t get the taste of Liam out of his mouth.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to.
12
A Holy Ruined Devotion
Oliver watched captured feedof CCTV security cameras at Ascot, the panic rippling through the crowd easy to pinpoint at the mark where the Reborn IRA terrorists started shooting. The feed separated out, becoming a grid of video on a span of holoscreens over the table.
Chief Bailey stared at what had happened hours ago, her expression seemingly carved from stone. She was a stern woman Oliver had only been reporting to directly for the past seven months or so when he’d been assigned the liaison job with the UMG. His initial nerves at entering Bailey’s office the first time had been buried immediately and remained buried. Oliver was good at his job, but one never felt fully at ease when faced with Bailey’s full and undivided attention.
“They didn’t use Splice,” Bailey said.
“No, ma’am,” Oliver replied. He shifted slightly on his feet, still wearing the suit he’d chosen for Ascot, having been given no chance to change once Liam had dropped him off at MI6.
Bailey uncrossed her arms and tapped at the controls in her terminal. The holoscreens separated out more, with half disappearing and several expanding. One contained an image of the metahuman Liam’s team had apprehended, his face covered by a black half-mask, but the UMG had already shared the man’s identity once he was in custody.
