Page 35 of The Call of Azure (Unexpected Love #3)

Gabriel

I’m grateful that I’m able to hold back my tears until Liam heads back to the kitchen.

I’m not a crier. There’s nothing wrong with it or anything, it’s just not a healthy coping mechanism for me.

For some folks, having a good cry is cathartic, and they come out of it with a renewed sense of strength or determination or optimism that things will get better.

Not me. Once I start crying, I sink into a bottomless pit of melancholy and despair and decide that I should just give up working and performing and focus all my energy on eating several pints of ice cream a day.

It usually takes Blue dragging me out of the house after a few days of letting me sulk to pull me out of it.

Right now, though, I can’t help it. Blue and I have always taken care of each other, of course, but we’ve always been like brothers who lived together.

Brothers tend to be more of the “heat up soup from a can or walk a sports drink down the hall” kind of caretakers.

I haven’t been sick since he moved out, and while I’m sure he would have brought me anything I asked for without hesitation, I didn’t have to ask Liam.

I barely know the guy, and he showed up with cough drops and drew me a bath, and he’s making soup from scratch.

Who does that? I really, really need him to be less perfect.

I strip and sink into the…coconut salt water.

I’ve never seen anyone put a handful of kitchen salt into a bath before, but I suppose it makes sense if I think about it.

I mean, there are mineral bath salts, and I have Epsom salt under the cabinet that I’ve used a time or two when I’ve overdone it with a performance and my muscles felt like they were trying to kill me.

I’m sure he would have used that if he knew I had it, but he seemed to realize that I wasn’t in a good enough mental place to chat, and snooping around someone’s bathroom cabinets feels more like something I’d do than something Liam would do.

Less than five minutes of soaking in the salty tub as if I’m the soup, I finally feel warm for the first time all day, and my sniffles are just the tiniest bit better.

I have no idea how long I sit, dazed and disconnected and trying to get my emotions under control.

Liam is just a nice guy. It’s nothing more than that.

I’m sure he’d do the exact same thing for any of his friends, although now that I think about it…

he really hasn’t mentioned any friends. He was out with a couple the night we met in the club though, so maybe he’s just here because he’s lonely too?

I mean, that makes more sense than him showing up and treating me this well because he’s secretly falling in love with me or something.

Turning a kind action into an epic, grand, romantic gesture is the kind of thing the old Gabriel would come up with.

Those are the thoughts of the Gabriel who believed every man who gave him a kind word or a few dates or a couple of orgasms was going to be his forever love.

That’s not who I am anymore. Now, I’m the kind of man who doesn’t need anyone else to be happy.

Still, I’m going to let myself enjoy all the kindness Liam is offering me while I have it, and if my warm, sick, sleepy thoughts wander to a future where Liam is always here to make me soup baths, well, I’ll make sure to stop them quickly… tomorrow.

By the time the water cools to the point it forces me to drag myself out of the tub and wrangle on pajama pants, I’ve convinced myself that I can enjoy the evening of kindness and company without turning it into a big deal.

Did I spend a few minutes fantasizing about Liam joining me in the tub?

Maybe. But that’s just because he’s hot as sin, not because I let my brain run off the rails and convince me that Liam is perfect and I want him forever.

What I didn’t take into account while convincing myself tonight doesn’t mean anything more than Liam is a nice guy, is the fact he had a lot of time while I was in the tub.

When I walk into the living area, he hasn’t gone home or taken a nap or rearranged my color-coded bookshelves just to mess with me.

What he has done is collect extra blankets from my linen closet and every throw pillow I own, organize them into a nice, comfy pile on my couch, drag both end tables together right next to it, and load them up with even more drinks and tissues and medications.

I freeze in place while my brain attempts to reboot itself as I take in what he’s done and the way he’s lounging in my oversized armchair with Cupcake curled up on his chest, dozing comfortably while he scratches her ears.

“Hey.” His voice is nearly a whisper as he tries to talk without bothering her. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

“You, umm…you made me a fort?”

He grins. “I think it’s a nest, not a fort. I think a fort would need to have walls or a roof or something. I’m not really sure what the formal qualifications are for a fort, but I can look them up, and we can build you one if you want.”

“No!” I shake my head, instantly regretting the sharp movement as my sinuses try to murder me. “No, umm. The nest is good…more than good.”

I climb in quickly, wiggling my hips down into the blankets and tucking myself in tightly to prove just how much I appreciate the nest. The way his deep laugh resonates through my bones as he stands, settles Cupcake in the blanket pile with me, and makes his way to the kitchen without a word is startling.

If I didn’t feel like I was going to die an early death from head and lung congestion, I’m not sure I’d be able to control the way my dick wants to respond to the noise, and I’m terrified of what’s going to happen the next time I hear him laugh when I’m feeling like myself.

Maybe it won’t affect me then. Maybe I’m just emotional and whiny when I’m sick. One can only hope.

When Liam comes back from the kitchen, he’s carefully carrying two overly full bowls of soup.

The tip of his tongue is poking out just a bit, and his brows are furrowed in concentration, a look that shifts to slightly concerned or embarrassed as soon as he sets them on the coffee table with a sigh of relief over having not spilled.

“Do you, umm…is it okay if I stay for a second and eat with you? I don’t know why I didn’t think to ask if that was okay before I made two bowls.

It’s just later than I normally have dinner, and if I don’t eat at a decent time, I’ll end up with acid reflux messing with my sleep, and sleep is already… well…I don’t sleep very well and so…”

“Liam.”

“Huh?” His pale cheeks blush as his eyes lock onto mine.

I pat the couch nest at my side. “You’re already doomed. You sealed your germy fate just by walking in the door tonight, so why don’t you settle in here with me, and we can eat and watch cooking shows or something.”

“Really?” His face lights up like I’ve just offered him a pony, not soup he made and a chance to continue being exposed to death germs. “You watch those too?”

My attempt to laugh ends up a sort of crazy, painful snort cough. “Of course. I don’t have time for a lot of TV, but who can resist those?”

As Liam carefully settles in at my side, he keeps a respectful distance between us, something I both hate and am thankful for, and it only takes a couple of minutes before we’re watching competitors fail to make edible cakes and slurping up chicken soup - soup that’s probably the best meal I’ve ever had.

Is he that good a cook? Maybe. Does it only seem like the best meal I’ve ever had because I’m an emotionally compromised wreck over the fact that he came to my house just because I texted him I was too sick to rehearse, made me chicken soup from scratch, drew me a bath, and is eating next to me on the couch while we watch British baking shows and sneak bites of chicken to Cupcake?

Also, maybe. Either way, it is, and by the time I finish and take another round of cold pills, I’m too achy and exhausted and overwhelmed to keep my eyes open any longer.

When I wake from a sneezing fit that turns into coughing that turns into me wanting to take enough cold pills that I don’t wake up for a few days until this has run its course, hours have passed, and my phone clock says it’s nearly one a.m.

“You okay?” Liam’s large hand rubbing my back as I cough gives me something to focus on other than feeling like shit.

“Swell. Probably should head to bed even though lying down will probably make all this shiz worse.”

“Okay. Ya. Sure. Let me help get you settled, and then I’ll take off and…”

“Nope.” God, I hate the way my voice sounds when I’m congested.

“Oh. Okay, well, I’ll…”

“Nope, as in you’re coming to bed with me.

Like I said, you’re already doomed to get sick, and you have to get up in like what…

three hours? Something that is unfathomable and cruel, for the record.

We’re big boys, and it’s a big bed, so you might as well get as much sleep as you can here instead of taking some sort of horrible sleep intermission to get home. ”

It’s too dark to see him blush now that the TV has landed on the black pause screen to judge us and ask if we’re still watching, which is really a shame because I love watching him blush.

“I don’t want to make you f…”