“Well, now I feel like I hardly know you.”
He grins, but it fades fast. “Sometimes I think you’re theonlyone who knows me.”
I keep strumming and ask, “The rest of your family?”
Liam keeps his eyes shut. “When my dad passed, it was like… like each of our worst tendencies heightened or something. My obsession with baseball, at the expense of everything else. My mom’s penchant for histrionics. My sisters’ insecurity. He was the balancing act, and without him, none of us have been… We haven’t figured out how to…” He drifts off, finally peeking his eyes open to glance at me. “To be a family again.”
I start to play something different, trying to make sense of his aching words the only way my brain knows how.
Liam props up on an elbow, his eyes on mine. “They don’t come to any games,” he admits, his voice low.
I’d noticed. Since I’m there, at Lindsey Nelson Stadium, every time.
“Have you asked them to come?”
He shakes his head. “Not since Dad. I’m worried that’s the time they’ll have made the effort, and I’ll choke. I sometimes wonder if they’d ever surprise me. But that hasn’t happened either. I wouldn’t choke if I didn’tknowthey were watching, but—it would mean a lot to me, if I came out of the stadium after a game and saw them waiting. Just once.”
“They’re yourfamily, Liam. They’ll love you even if you choke.”
“But I promised her I would—” His head shakes briefly, and he flicks his eyes toward the river, voice softening. “We don’t have a lot of money, Paige.”
I get this mental flash of Liam holding his grieving mother. Promising to take care of her.
The tune changes again.
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing you’re ranked fifteen,” I say, winking at him, smirking. Trying to add some levity to the air after I forced Liam to weigh it down.
His head tilts. “How often have you been checking on me?”
I flush red, wondering if I shouldn’t have been. But Liam is grinning like he’s pleased, and he says, “Fuck, I love it when you blush.”
My hands shake, and I put the mandolin aside. “Youdoowe me for all those shared ice-cream cones we put on my gift card. As soon as you get signed, I’m coming to collect.” I shrug. “It’s pure business.”
“If I get signed, I’ll buy you thirty ice-cream cones. And a harmonica, to add to your collection.” He nods at the new instrument, my birthday gift to myself.
I smirk. “I’ve always wanted to play the harmonica, walking along the App Trail with my hair in at least four braids.”
“That,” Liam emphasizes, his voice incredulous, “is what you’ve always wanted?”
“What else is there?”
“I don’t know, Paige, a record deal? Your songs on the radio? A sold-out stadium?”
“The last one, I’ll leave to you, and the first two, absolutely not.”
Liam glares at me good-naturedly, looks toward the river again. A cryptic smirk crosses his mouth. “We’ll see.”
“We’ll see aboutwhat?”
“Never you mind, little songwriter of mine.” He launches over me, ending the conversation by pinning me on my back.
He’s leaning in for a kiss when I see that wince.
I’ve seen it once before—when Liam tried to throw his arm over my shoulder yesterday on a walk. A flash of pain pinches his face up, fleeting, then gone.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He shifts his weight to the opposite elbow. “Just tweaked my shoulder. It’ll be fine in a few days.”
