“Your parents will be here soon. Probably within the next ten minutes or so,” Oliver said. “Central London has been under twenty-four-hour quarantine since Splice bombs went off near Parliament and in Havering yesterday, but the order was finally lifted. The UMG sent Samaira to retrieve them.”
“Havering?”
“It’s where we believe the Reborn IRA had you.” Oliver picked up another ice chip, and Liam accepted it gladly. “You were flown to UMG headquarters and taken directly into surgery. Your team has been taking turns watching over you, but they were called into a meeting with Chapman maybe forty minutes ago. I told them I’d stay with you.”
“You wanted to stay?” Liam asked slowly.
Oliver set the cup of ice aside and settled his hands over the railing of the biobed, careful not to disrupt the touch-sensitive control screens. Liam would rather Oliver be holding on to him.
“I couldn’t go into the field. It was difficult to have to stay behind,” Oliver said after a moment of silence.
“If the Reborn IRA was detonating Splice bombs, I’d rather you be here and safe.”
“You weren’t.”
Liam reached for the thin blanket covering him and tugged it aside to get a look at his left thigh. He couldn’t see much of a difference in the color of his skin that would denote new versus old cells, but the wound caused by the rebar had been completely healed. He lifted his hand to touch his head, tracing out the shape of a wound no longer there.
“I’ve had worse.”
Oliver scowled, and all Liam wanted to do was pull him close, kiss the anger off his face, and never let him go.
“I would appreciate it if you try not to exceed your past injuries,” Oliver bit out.
Liam couldn’t help but smile at him. “Is that so?”
“I’d make it an order if I thought you listened to those.”
“I listen. When it matters.”
“Would you listen to me?”
Liam raised his hand toward Oliver, hating how it shook. He’d blame it on the painkillers, but it didn’t matter. Oliver met him halfway, clasping Liam’s hand in his and giving it a careful squeeze.
“I’d listen to whatever you have to say. You must know that,” Liam murmured.
“Do I?” Oliver gently rubbed his thumb over the back of Liam’s hand, but his gaze never wavered. “You left.”
The quiet accusation had a thread of hurt deep within the words that Liam wanted so badly to wipe away. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ve been saying for ages I don’t want your apologies, Liam.”
He felt stupidly pleased at the sound of his name on Oliver’s lips, rather than his rank or title. Despite everything that had happened, everything they were working through, at least they’d overcome one small obstacle. “I still mean it.”
Oliver looked down at their clasped hands, letting out a quiet breath. “I know.”
Liam licked his lips, wishing he had more ice but not willing to let this conversation get away from them. “Chapman called when we were sleeping. I had to go because my family was in danger, but I didn’t want to wake you.”
Oliver looked back up at him, frowning in irritation. “Next time, you should.”
His words made Liam reflexively tighten his grip, blinking a couple of times. He’d feel vaguely irritated that the sodding biobed registered his heart skipping a beat, but Liam honestly didn’t care.
“Next time?” he asked, trying not to sound hopeful, but the drugs had stripped away many of his barriers. To hell with the quintessential stiff-upper-lip attitude. Liam had gone through too much in his life not to ask about the important things.
Oliver sighed but didn’t let go of Liam’s hand. “We have a lot to talk about. Now isn’t the time.”
“Now is as good as any. We don’t get many second chances in life, Ollie. Trust me on that. But I want one with you.”
“We’re barely even friends, Liam.”
