All That Glitters

by Kate Sherwood

  “Liam!” Seth said, obviously for the second time. “You okay? You kind of zoned out for a minute there.”

  “Sorry. Uh—work. Just thinking about something at work.”

  “Everything okay?” Ben asked. He tossed Liam one of the Nalgene water bottles the crew were using instead of disposable plastic and turned to lean against a sawhorse next to the one Liam was leaning on. “You had a crisis or something last weekend. That worked out okay?”

  “Yeah. It—well, I was going to say it worked out really well, but my boss had a heart attack, so I guess it’d be pretty insensitive to be too happy about it. But it was a professional opportunity I was able to capitalize on.”

  “You—you were able to capitalize on your boss’s heart attack?”

  Shit. Liam could have anticipated how that statement would sound to someone like Ben, couldn’t he? “Not really my boss, actually, at the time. My ex-boss. And it was kind of an unfriendly end to the business relationship.” Was he making this better, or worse? “But when he realized he needed me….”

  Yeah, this was making it worse. Making it sound like Liam was taking revenge, gloating over an old man’s medical emergency.

  “I didn’t steal his company away from him or anything.” And it had been Tristan’s own fault that he hadn’t set up a better support system, hadn’t trusted Liam earlier. The heart attack hadn’t been Liam’s fault! He wasn’t responsible for Tristan’s health or his stress levels or any other damn thing. “We’re going to be partners now, that’s all. I’m buying into the company. And, yeah, his heart attack was what made him realize he needed a partner, so that’s how it worked out okay for me, but he could have chosen anyone else to work with. I wasn’t blackmailing him or anything!”

  “Okay,” Ben agreed. “So—congratulations? You’re a partner now?”

  “Not formally. Not yet. But, yeah, it’s in the works. Thanks.”

  “And you’re feeling really good about it,” Ben continued. “Not at all conflicted. Not defensive in any way.”

  “Shut up.” But Liam didn’t want Ben to shut up. It had been way too long since someone had talked to him like this. Since someone had actually expected him to be a decent human being, and expected him to care if he fell a little short of the mark.

  Ben grinned at him as if he knew his comments were welcome, and for a moment everything was comfortable and friendly and wonderful. Then—it stopped. The warmth faded from Ben’s face, and he looked away suddenly, almost shamefully, as if he’d been caught looking at someone else’s secret.

  “I’m going to check in with Uncle Calvin,” Ben said.

  There was no reason for him to do that, not that Liam could think of, but he nodded anyway and sat there as Ben walked away from him.

  The moment was over. Liam had to let it go.

  STUPID. BEN was so stupid, letting himself get dragged back into the old patterns with Liam.

  Sure, he was easy to talk to. Easy to work with, look at, be around. Easy to admire, easy to care about.

  Easy for Ben to get his heart broken. Again.

  “My back’s a bit sore,” he told Uncle Calvin. “Maybe there’s a different job I could do for the rest of the morning? I don’t mean to wimp out—” I just can’t trust myself around Liam Marshall.

  Uncle Calvin, in some sort of modern miracle, nodded. “That’s fair,” he said. “I can make some changes.” He pulled a well-folded sheet of paper out of his back pocket, peered at it, then bellowed, “Seth! Liam! You two and Ben are going to do some painting.”

  “No,” Ben started, but Uncle Calvin steamrolled over him.

  “We’re painting the trim before we put any of it on,” he explained. “Once it’s installed we’ll just touch up the nail holes and be done with it. And it’s all white, so that’s easy too. You can set up over there, by the shed.”

  “No,” Ben started again, but by then Liam and Seth had both joined them.

  “No more framing?” Seth asked. “I thought we were really getting into the rhythm of things.”

  “Little Benny’s back is hurting him,” Uncle Calvin explained.

  Seth nodded. “It’s been a while since Little Benny has done any real work.”

  “He did okay with your raspberry bushes,” Liam said. Then he added, “And, honestly, my back’s sore too. I know, I’m just another spoiled office drone, right?” He turned to Ben. “Right between your shoulder blades? Feels like someone’s cutting you with a razor blade every time you move your arms?”

  Well, yes, damn it, that was exactly what it felt like, but the idea had been to get further away from Liam, not to have the man stick up for him and commiserate about their shared pain.

  “Maybe we should just fight through it,” Ben suggested. Not that it really mattered—going back to work on the framing with Liam would be just as intolerable, just as irresistible, as shifting over to work on painting, still with Liam.

  “Take a break, stretch out, come back to it later,” Uncle Calvin advised. “This is a weekend-long marathon. Can’t have you falling apart the first morning.”

  Falling apart. A melodramatic way to refer to a sore back, but strangely apt as a description of Ben’s actual issue. He felt like he was dissolving—well, no, not all of him dissolving, just the outer parts. The barriers he needed in order to protect himself from Liam were crumbling. Ben was left exposed and vulnerable. And he didn’t like it.

  Or at least he shouldn’t like it. But when Liam grinned at him and wondered out loud when they’d turned into old men, it was impossible not to grin back. And having started grinning, so very difficult to stop, or to persuade himself he should feel bad for not stopping.

  They got back to work, and after a while, Ben gave up on trying to resist. The whole day started to feel like it existed inside a bubble. A bubble full of hard work, sure, but also sunshine and friendship and butterflies dancing around the weeds at the edge of the building lot and the insides of Ben’s stomach every time he spoke to Liam or looked at Liam or thought about Liam….

  It was horrible and wonderful and terrifying and comforting. Ben couldn’t stand it for another second but never wanted it to end.

  He knew exactly what was happening, of course, although he wasn’t sure what to call it. Falling in love made it sound like something new, and there was nothing new about this feeling. It would have been easier to dismiss it if he’d never felt it before, never felt it for Liam before. He could have called it infatuation or said he had a crush, or had fallen in lust. But none of that was right.

  His love for Liam had never gone away, he realized. He’d rejected it, done his best to crush and ignore it, but it hadn’t died. It had smoldered away, hidden under all the layers of crap he’d—no, they’d—thrown on top of it. But now the embers were being exposed to oxygen, were being fanned back to life, were bursting into beautiful, warming flames.

  He was so screwed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THERE SHOULD have been some sort of festivities that night. Liam wasn’t sure exactly who would have had time to plan anything, or energy to take part, but even sitting around the building site with a few cases of beer and ordering some pizzas would have been something. Instead, the teams just sort of dissolved around dinnertime, dragging tired bodies home for some well-deserved rest. But no beer or pizza, at least not with everyone all together.

  Ben didn’t even say goodbye. Well, he waved, but the wave was for everyone, with nothing special for Liam.

  Because you’re nothing special, he told himself. Because you’re just some guy he used to know, some idiot who keeps driving up from the city for weird reasons. There’s no cause for him to pay any more attention to you than he does to anyone else.

  Except… as Ben and Seth and the pregnant woman who must be Seth’s wife reached the corner and were about to turn, Ben did look back, and it really seemed like he was looking right at Liam. But when Liam raised his hand and waved, Ben turned away as if he hadn’t seen the gesture.


  So Liam climbed into the passenger seat of Calvin’s pickup truck and sat quietly as they drove through the still-sunny evening.

  “I’m not getting any younger,” Calvin said. He sounded—well, he sounded sincere. But that didn’t mean too much, not with Calvin.

  Still, Liam tried to be sympathetic. “None of us are. I’m going to be creaky as hell tomorrow.”

  “You did good work today, though.”

  It had to be a trap, didn’t it? Liam waited for the punch line, but it never came.

  Neither of them said anything for the rest of the short drive, and they stayed quiet as they pulled into the driveway of Calvin’s house and slid stiffly out of the truck.

  “I worry about Ben sometimes,” Calvin said. Liam stood frozen on his side of the truck, and Calvin leaned his forearms against the hood and looked across at him. “His parents are—well. My sister was always a flake, and she sure picked a hell of a guy to have a kid with. They’re both useless, obviously, or Ben would never have come to live with me. When I’m gone, Ben will be all alone.”

  That didn’t sound right. “You’ll be around for a long time, still. And he’s got good friends, and a place in the community.”

  “Right.” Calvin stayed still for another breath, then pushed away from the truck. “Right. He’ll be fine, and it’s a hell of a long way away anyhow.” But there was something strange in Calvin’s voice, an unfamiliar emptiness that Liam didn’t like at all.

  “Why did you invite me up here this weekend?” A bit of a jump in the conversation, but if anyone could handle that, it’d be Calvin.

  Calvin turned and started slowly toward the house. No answer? No rambling, nonsensical explanation from Calvin the Verbose?

  And he was walking like an old man. Liam had never given much thought to Calvin’s age—when they’d first encountered each other Liam had been a snot-nosed kid who thought any adult was hopelessly over-the-hill, and after that there’d never been much reason to think about it. Calvin was just Calvin. But now?

  “Are you okay?” Liam took a few long steps and caught up to Calvin before he made it to the front door. “Did you overdo it today, or is this something more serious?”

  “I’m fine,” Calvin grumbled. He shoved the front door open—of course it hadn’t been locked—and stepped inside. At least, he tried to step, but he stumbled over the low rise, and Liam reached forward to steady him. Calvin shook himself free from Liam’s grip. “Mind your own business.”

  “That’s pretty rich, coming from you.” Liam kept his hands half-outstretched, ready to reach forward and grab Calvin again if necessary. A bruised ego was better than a broken hip.

  Calvin shuffled off without a reply, which was just one more sign that things weren’t quite right. Resisting the urge to verbally spar? That wasn’t the Calvin he knew.

  The Calvin he had known, at least. But maybe things had changed. Maybe this was all normal, now. But if it wasn’t normal, Liam had to do something about it. He wasn’t sure exactly what that “do something” would look like, but he’d figure it out when the time came. If the time came. If all this wasn’t just what Calvin was like these days.

  Well, it wasn’t a question Liam could answer for himself.

  And it wasn’t just an excuse. It wasn’t another weird reason for contacting Ben. It was totally legitimate to be worried about the health of a friend, especially if that friend was elderly. Did sixty count as elderly? Sure, it was close enough.

  Liam let himself make the phone call. The pleasant fluttering in his stomach? That was probably just relief at the idea of getting some help. Everything was fine. He was just being a good friend.

  BEN FELT unsettled. The day had gone well enough. Certainly from a practical standpoint, they’d gotten a lot done. And there’d been nothing unpleasant, nothing painful between him and Liam.

  No, it had all been a bit too pleasant, really, and that was probably what he was reacting to. He just needed some time alone to center himself. Maybe he’d meditate, or do his breathing exercises—they’d have the same effect, he was sure.

  But maybe he didn’t want that effect. Maybe he didn’t want to get rid of the unsettled feeling, the sensation that something was about to happen, something wonderful and terrifying and important. Maybe he wanted to savor it, feed it, let it grow and expand—

  His phone rang from the front hall, and he scolded himself as he went to answer it. Of course he didn’t want drama, didn’t want to encourage himself to wallow in whatever nonsensical emotions he was coming up with. He was a mature adult, and he would behave in a rational manner.

  His call display showed Uncle Calvin’s number, and Ben schooled himself against remembering who was staying at the house. If Calvin was inviting Ben over for dinner—dinner with Liam Marshall—how would Ben respond? He knew exactly what he should say, but—

  “Hi,” he said as he tucked the phone between his cheek and shoulder. “What’s up?”

  “Ben? It’s Liam.”

  Ben was temporarily speechless. Liam. On the phone. Calling Ben. As if that was just something they did whenever they felt like it.

  But Liam continued with, “I’m sorry to bug you, but I’m a bit worried about Calvin. Obviously it’s a bit hard to be sure of anything with him, but he seems—not right. Maybe he’s just tired? But he’s acting kind of dazed. Stumbling around—shit, I think I just heard him knock something over. He’s in his bedroom.”

  In his bedroom? When he had a guest to entertain and/or torture? “How long’s he been in there for?”

  “Not long. I could be making a big deal about nothing. But you know, all the stuff about getting treatment for strokes as soon as possible—not that I’m saying he’s having a stroke! Seriously, he might just be tired.”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  “He’ll be pissed if he thinks you’re checking up on him.”

  “Let him be. He doesn’t get to invite himself into every aspect of my life and then expect privacy in return.”

  “I was worrying more about him being pissed at me for calling you.”

  “You’re tough, you can handle it.” Ben managed to bite his tongue before pointing out that Liam had quite a bit of history with pissing off members of his family. Why drag up ancient history when Liam was trying to help Uncle Calvin?

  So he ended the call, grabbed a few beers out of the fridge, and jogged out to the car. By the time he was at Calvin’s he was regretting the beers—he’d thought they’d be a good cover, a way to pretend he was just stopping by for a little visit, but maybe he shouldn’t be creating a cover. Maybe this was his opportunity to make it clear to Uncle Calvin that they were a family in both directions, and Ben was just as entitled to interfere in Calvin’s life as the reverse.

  But that would be a fight, probably, and if Uncle Calvin actually was sick, Ben shouldn’t be fighting with him. And even if he was fine, it wasn’t too gracious to start a family brawl with Liam as an audience. Although Liam might actually be a good ally in the argument; he cared about Uncle Calvin enough to want to—

  Shit. No. No, no, no.

  Ben grabbed the beers from the back seat. Liam wasn’t a damn ally, he was a temporary visitor with unclear motivations. He’d had his chance to become part of the family fifteen years earlier, and he’d blown it.

  Still, it was hard to remember that when Liam stepped out onto the front porch and waited, clearly impatiently, for Ben to come up the walk. The poor guy was worried.

  “I think I heard him throw up,” Liam said as soon as Ben was close enough to hear his near whisper. “But I’m not positive.” He scrubbed his hand over the back of his head. “Sorry. I’m not much use for any of this.”

  “You called me. That was useful.” But Ben wouldn’t let himself be sidetracked into trying to comfort Liam, of all people. “Where is he?”

  “Still in the bathroom. I knocked and he told me to go away, so I went away.”

  Of course he had. Why stay and fight wh
en you could just disappear?

  Ben shoved the beers into Liam’s hands with a little more force than was probably necessary. “Put these in the fridge. I’ll go deal with Uncle Calvin.”

  Of course, dealing with Uncle Calvin was easier said than done. Ben knocked on the bathroom door, and the pause before a response was long enough to make him edgy. Finally, though, Calvin barked, “Go away! I’m fine.”

  “Yeah, you’re great,” Ben agreed. “Stuck in the bathroom while you have a guest downstairs. Totally normal for you.”

  “Ben? What are you doing here?” Uncle Calvin’s voice sounded thin and tentative. Damn it, there was something wrong with him.

  “I came over for a beer.” And the proof was downstairs in the fridge. “Liam said you’d been up here for a while, so I decided to check on you. What’s going on?”

  “You came over for a beer? With Liam?” And even through the weakness, Ben could hear a trace of interest.

  “Can we focus on you for right now? What’s wrong with you? Do you need to see a doctor?”

  “No.”

  Of course, Uncle Calvin’s arm could be sliced off at the shoulder and the stubborn old goat would still insist he was fine.

  “So you’re going to come down for a beer?”

  “In a while.”

  “You want me to start something for dinner? Or we could order in?”

  There was a distinctive retching sound from the other side of the door, the noise that came from a stomach that had already thoroughly emptied and was now trying to eject itself from its host body.

  “You’re pretty sick.” Ben wasn’t sure if Uncle Calvin was in any condition to reply—probably easiest if he wasn’t. “And it came on pretty fast, which is kind of scary. I have no idea what symptoms we should be looking for to be sure it’s not something serious, but that’s okay, because we happen to live in a community with a significant number of experts on that topic. We call them doctors.” Another gagging sound. “I’m going to call over to the clinic and ask for some advice. You’re okay with that, right?”