Oliver reached up and curled his hand around Liam’s wrist, holding on when he knew he shouldn’t. “But I am.”
“Ollie—”
“Liam.” Oliver sucked in a breath, trying to keep his voice steady, but the words broke on his lips anyway. “This is where you walk away and say goodbye.”
Liam’s expression twisted, grief breaking through the steely control that always seemed to be there. The tears that slid down his face were a reminder that Oliver had never seen Liam cry before.
Then Liam closed the distance between them and kissed Oliver with a fierceness that made him cry—from the pain in his side or the pain of knowing what could have been and wouldn’t be, he couldn’t tell. When Liam finally broke the kiss, he pressed their foreheads together, his breath warm on Oliver’s face. The salt on Oliver’s lips was a mix of both their tears.
“If you think I’m going to leave you alone while you go through this, you’re absolutely mental,” Liam ground out.
Oliver laughed tiredly, wincing when the motion jarred the shrapnel in his side. He hissed in pain, and Liam pulled back, gaze going unerringly to the wound.
“Fuck. Let’s get that out of you,” Liam said.
“Doesn’t matter,” Oliver muttered.
Liam shook his head as he pulled a personal med-kit off his belt. “Sitting with shrapnel in you isn’t comfortable.”
“Dying from Splice isn’t comfortable.”
Liam paused in opening the med-kit before he took in a deep breath and let it out shakily. When he looked back at Oliver, his mouth was twisted at the corners in something that wasn’t a smile, but it might have been if they were anywhere else but there.
“I know,” he said quietly.
Because he’d gone through this hell years ago, same as Oliver was about to. Only Liam had won the genetic lottery and walked away, while Oliver knew what the odds were like for him in a situation like this—impossible to beat.
Liam swallowed, staring at Oliver, looking tired and lost. “Just…let me help. Please. Let me do this for you.”
Oliver nodded after a moment, realizing Liam needed to dosomethingeven though it wouldn’t matter in the long run. It wasn’t worth arguing over, and if it gave Liam even some tiny measure of peace? Then Oliver would be grateful.
So Oliver let Liam take off his tactical vest and cut away his borrowed combat uniform. He stayed still as Liam examined the wound before deciding it wasn’t deep enough to have nicked any vital arteries or veins. If that had been the case, Oliver probably would’ve bled out before Liam arrived, and it would’ve been a mercy.
But Liam’s hands on him was a mercy in their own way. He’d removed his gloves, tending to Oliver’s wound with warm, sure fingers as he wiped and packed the wound before covering it with a pressure bandage. Liam’s careful touch was an anchor Oliver never wanted to lose, and when he took his hands away, Oliver reached for them, holding on tight.
Liam stared at their clasped hands for a long moment before bringing Oliver’s hand to his mouth, where he pressed a firm kiss against the back of it.
“I’m sorry,” Liam whispered, the framework of their lives and all the times they intersected embedded in the words.
Oliver tightened his fingers. “I never wanted your apology. I only ever wanted you.”
“You have me, Ollie. You do.”
Oliver leaned forward, ignoring the throbbing pain in his side to kiss Liam with all the forgiveness he could muster, hoping Liam wouldn’t find the memory of it bitter.
In the end, Oliver saw the dawn, but he never saw the sunset, and the last thing he ever felt was Liam’s arms around him, holding him tight.
21
Heavy Is the Crown
It tooka week for the panic that had claimed London to mostly settle, though the Port of Southampton would take longer to recover from the disruption. Trade was a multitrillion pound industry and any interruption in its flow always hit companies hard. Most of the blame was being leveled at the Reborn IRA rather than the government, which was a first. Whatever martyr plan Murphy might have had for his followers to praise back in Northern Ireland wasn’t taking root. Protests were happening, but not to the degree that had been a precursor to the Third Troubles.
Mostly, everyone was grieving.
The UMG had lost a number of good agents, as had MI6. The SAS had lost all but one soldier they’d sent for the mission, and that one had survived by hiding inside a dumpster and living beyond the twenty-four-hour marker of Splice contamination. Funerals for the fallen were happening this week all around the country. Liam wasn’t expected to appear at any.
Jamie and Kyle had departed two days after the attack at the Port of Southampton, taking Carter Bennett’s body with them back to the States. Katie had left before them, carrying Bennett’s memories in her mind to sift through with analysts back at the MDF. Whatever they came up with, the intelligence would eventually be shared with the UMG.
