Page 3 of After All This Time (A Time For Love #2)

Liam

W hen we were ten, I remember that I used to spend a lot of time over at Cooper’s house.

They had a huge front and back yard, where we could run and play until we were so bone-tired, our arms and legs turned into jelly.

There was a huge tree with a makeshift swing attached, and we took turns pushing each other on that swing so hard, it was a miracle it never snapped and dropped us face first on the ground.

I always liked it, spending time there.

Cooper’s sisters were a menace but sharp as a tack, his dad was kind and had a nice belly laugh, and his mom always brought us snacks and fresh lemonade when we stayed outside too late.

One of those evenings—I think it was a few days before school started because the air felt different, warm but mellow—we were lying on our backs on the grass in their back yard.

The sun had already set, but the sky was still painted in purples, and pinks, and oranges, and it was hard to look away from it.

“Do you miss your mom, Li?” Coop’s voice was so soft it was easy to miss it with the way the blades of grass around us whispered in the wind.

I turned my head to look at him and his expression was so open and sincere that it made my chest feel warm.

I thought about his question.

Did I miss my mom?

I lost her when I was a baby, so I never really had the time to know her.

But sometimes it felt like someone was brushing my face tenderly, and it felt like it might be her.

So, yes, sometimes I did miss my mom. The way someone missed a memory.

“Sometimes,” I told Cooper out loud.

He nodded seriously, his brow scrunching in concentration.

“But you know you and your dad have a back-up family here, Li, right?”

His words punched me in the gut and I was silent for quite some time trying to swallow around the lump that had formed in my throat.

Yes, it had felt like that, but I didn’t really know it until he had said those words to me.

“I do, Coop,” I whispered back to him.

The beaming smile that dawned on his face spoke of pure joy, so I beamed right back at him.

And then we turned to gaze back at the purple, pink, and orange sky.

***

I was sixteen the first time I looked at him and something squeezed in my gut.

It was summer again and we were done with our first year in high school. The humidity in the air was off the charts, so thick that the sky was heavy with clouds.

Coop and I had been horsing around all day—riding our bikes through the streets, wasting hours at the local arcade shooting zombies and racing imaginary cars, and stuffing our mouths with all kinds of junk food.

We were just finishing up our hot dogs, aiming the leftover wrappers at the nearby trashcan, when a bolt of lightning split the sky and torrential rain poured down on us.

I remember how stunned we looked at the sky and then at each other, before we burst out laughing so hard we had to hold onto our stomachs.

The first couple of minutes showed that the rain had no intention of stopping, instead dumping gallons of water on us, which made us laugh even harder.

We started running, to where, I don’t remember. Maybe towards our bikes that we’d left locked up in a stand when we decided to walk. Maybe towards any type of awning that could shelter us from the battering rain.

I still don’t remember that detail.

But I remember us running, him at the front, his long legs eating up the pavement, and me following behind him, struggling after eating so much.

He wasn’t the scrawny kid he was in first grade.

Having gained both height and definition, his body was closer to a runner’s, different than the bulk I’d gained due to basketball.

He threw a glance over his shoulder and grinned when he saw me struggling. I was prepared to hear a joke at my expense—which would have been well-deserved—but there was no joke.

I remember how he slowed down his pace, just enough so he wasn’t tearing down the street in front of me.

I remember how I managed to get closer to him because of that.

And I remember how he reached out, the palm of his hand finding mine, threading our fingers together, and how with one more bright and evil grin immediately sped up again, forcing me to keep up with him.

We kept running like that, the rain pelting us viciously, but all I could feel was that one point of contact, where his hand was touching mine.

The rain wasn’t cold since it was summer, but even in summer it was reasonable to start feeling slightly shivery when you were soaked through.

But I wasn’t. It felt as if all the warmth from our clasped hands spread unrepentantly through my limbs and my whole body, making me almost hot.

Cooper started slowing down when he reached a cusp of trees, and came to a stop under their long branches and wide leaves.

It took me slightly too much time to realize that we were protected from the worst of the rain, only mere stray drops landing on us. All I could focus on was how I was trying to catch my breath. How he hadn’t let go of my hand yet. How catching my breath had nothing to do with our mad sprint.

He turned to look at me, his face split in a smile so wide my eyes felt glued to it. He slipped his hand out of mine and I remember how empty and cold my hand felt as it dropped listless at my side.

I don’t remember if I smiled back at him. I was too busy getting my heartbeat under control. Too busy taking him in.

He stood there, in the summer rain, his plain T-shirt and joggers molding to his skin, his dark hair plastered to his head, his blue eyes stark against the drabness of the weather.

Everything felt tight.

There was a tightness in my chest, a tightness in my throat, and a tightness low in my belly that made me almost dizzy.

I don’t know if he noticed the change in me. He probably didn’t since I eventually joined in, grinning with him under the rain.

I don’t know if I was white as a sheet, or if my shivers were noticeable.

All I know is that it’s been two years since then and nothing feels tight anymore.

Because it’s so much worse.