Home and Away (6 page)

Callum and Rupert stared at it, then each other for a long moment.

“Okay,” Rupert said at last, “I’ll phone Nick. Have him contact Lydia.”

Callum nodded, happy one of them had managed to come up with a next step. He smiled down at the suspicious blue eye peering up at him from behind Rupert’s leg and slowly moved closer, pausing when that eye got wider.

He knelt, still a good five feet away. “Oliver, I’m Callum.”

Oliver didn’t so much as blink.

Rupert stroked a tentative hand over Oliver’s head. “He’s a friend of mine, Oliver. He came here with me to make sure you’re okay.”

Rupert tried to take a step but Oliver held on like a burr.

Callum shuffled a little closer on his knees. “Rupert and I are going to keep you safe, Oliver. Okay? You don’t have to worry,” he promised as he reached out with a hand, running it over Oliver’s soft hair and Rupert’s fingers.

Oliver watched him, silent and intent, and slowly loosened his hold on Rupert.

“That’s it,” Callum said softly. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Not ever. We just want to take care of you. Keep you safe.”

Suddenly, Callum’s arms were full. Skinny arms and legs clamped around his neck and ribs.

He sat back on his heels, releasing a long breath and burying his face in the soft curls tickling under his chin. “Thank you, Oliver. You’ve been very brave. It’s going to be okay, I promise,” he said, rocking gently, pressing one hand across Oliver’s back, his other arm wrapped around his tiny waist. He was so thin, shaking silently in Callum’s arms. Callum held on as tight as he dared.

None of the tension left Oliver’s little frame, his grip never easing. Callum felt helpless as he looked up at Rupert.

He’d seen Rupert angry, frustrated, panicked. But never had he seen this tenderness. Callum’s stomach did that weird twisty thing again, and he had to force himself not to look away.

Eventually, Rupert cleared his throat and pulled his phone from his pocket. “I should call.”

“Okay, I’ll see about some food.”

Rupert smiled gratefully. “Thanks.”

Rupert stepped into the hallway, but Callum stayed where he was for a while longer, running his hand over Oliver’s hair and saying whatever came to mind. Mostly rambling about how much Rupert loved Oliver and how he was going to take good care of him forever.

Oliver clung, unmoving and silent. When Callum stood, Oliver held on, which was fine. Callum didn’t want to let go yet, either.

 There was almost no food in the kitchen or the tiny fridge, and what there was, Callum could barely identify. He was fairly certain, though, that he didn’t want Marmite for supper.

He was standing in the open refrigerator door when Rupert returned and put a hand low on Callum’s back. It was the first time Rupert had ever intentionally touched him, and Callum wanted to lean back into it, into Rupert.

“The hotel is less than a mile from here,” Rupert said, obviously coming to the same conclusions as Callum about their dinner prospects. “Let’s get settled there and order some room service.”

Callum tucked his chin to look into Oliver’s face. “You okay if we leave here?”

Oliver nodded.

“Great. Let’s get you packed up.”

It took five minutes and three grocery sacks, Oliver still holding tight to Callum through it all. There was not a single book and almost no toys to bring with them.

When Callum knelt on all fours to retrieve a Matchbox car from under the coffee table, Oliver clinging to his chest, Rupert chuckled.

Callum grinned up at him. “I feel like a monkey.”

“What?”

“You know, how the babies hold onto their parent’s fur and hitch a ride until they’re old enough to go out on their own?”

Rupert laughed. “It’s kind of adorable.”

Callum actually
blushed.
He quickly turned back to the packing.

Soon they were in a taxi and on their way with Oliver’s meager belongings. When they pulled up in front of Claridge’s, Oliver looked up with awe and Callum almost whimpered with anticipation. He needed to eat something, and then he was going to fall on his face, dead asleep. If his team’s trainers had any idea of how far he’d fallen off the training and nutrition plan wagon in the past twenty-four hours, they’d have a collective seizure.

No one in the swanky hotel’s even swankier lobby appeared bothered by Callum’s ratty jeans, eau d’ airport scent, or four-year-old passenger. The bellmen took their bags without blinking and the front desk seemed delighted to greet them, in spite of the late hour.

It wasn’t until they were confirming two rooms and Oliver starting clinging tighter than ever, practically choking Callum, that Callum realized they might have a problem.

“Uh, Rupert?”

Rupert glanced at him, distracted. “Yes?”

“I don’t think my little monkey is going to let go. Like, anytime soon.”

Rupert stared at him for a moment. “Oh.”

The idea of forcefully trying to pry Oliver away made Callum’s stomach churn. He turned to the woman behind the counter. “Do you have anything with two beds?”

She pecked at her computer, frowning. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but you’ve booked the last rooms we had available. Your suite,” she said to Rupert, “has a king bed, a pull-out couch, and a kitchenette, if that helps?”

“We’ll just take that, then,” Callum answered when Rupert failed to make any sounds the first three times he opened his mouth.

Rupert led the way to the hotel room, their footsteps muffled by the thick hallway carpet. He kept wondering when Oliver would nod off, but he was wide-eyed, watching everything from his relatively high vantage point against Callum’s chest.

The room itself was large by London standards, but still way too small by any standard that would allow Rupert to comfortably share a hotel room with Callum.

And the couch was laughable. More of a loveseat, really, and the pullout was certain to include the standard metal bar designed to dig into someone’s back all night. Callum collapsed onto the striped cushions, instantly making it look even smaller and fussier.

“Are you okay? Is the monkey thing getting to you?” Rupert asked guiltily, partly because Callum was doing all the heavy lifting, literally, but also because Rupert was shamefully relieved he wasn’t the one Oliver had turned to for comfort. Rupert suspected he’d be terrible at it. He’d never spent any time with children. Not even when he’d been one.

“I feel like I’ve been awake for two days straight,” Callum groaned.

“You
have
been awake for two days straight.”

Even Callum’s smile was tired. “I guess I’m doing okay, then, all things considered. This papa monkey is starving, though.”

“Right, I have just the thing,” Rupert said, turning toward the kitchen to find the room service menu. His eyes fell on the complimentary fruit basket and he smiled.

He presented the banana to Callum with a flourish.

Callum’s laughter was a remarkably warm and engaging sound. “Thanks,” he said, taking the proffered fruit. “This can be the first course.”

They made quick work of ordering proper meals. The only delay was finding something Oliver would agree to eat besides the half of the banana Callum shared with him. Rupert had no idea what the boy liked, and he still wouldn’t speak, so Rupert read off the options and Oliver shook his head or nodded accordingly. Rupert thought children were supposed to be picky about what they ate, but he had no idea if it was normal for a four year old to choose eggs and bacon over macaroni and cheese.

What he did know was that it was far too late for Oliver to be awake. Sitting down next to Callum, Rupert looked into Oliver’s little face. Oliver stared back. He really did look a lot like their father. And like himself, he supposed.

“Will you let go of Callum long enough to change into your pajamas?”

Oliver shook his head.

Callum’s big hand stilled the motion. “Ollie, I like holding onto you—will all night if you want—but I need to shower, and you need to get ready for bed. Afterwards, we can eat supper in our pajamas, okay?”

Oliver hesitated, his eyes darting across the room. Rupert followed his gaze, then smiled tentatively. “Do you need to use the toilet?”

He nodded quickly, and when Rupert stood, Oliver jumped off Callum like he hadn’t spent the past hour acting as if he’d been sewn to Callum’s shirt.

Oliver’s hand felt tiny in Rupert’s. It was a bit frightening, actually.

When they arrived at the bathroom door, Rupert had no idea what to do.

“Do you need help?”

Oliver shot him a deeply offended look and shut the door in his face.

Rupert looked over helplessly at a grinning Callum.

“Do you think he’ll be okay in there?” Rupert asked.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. The worst that can happen is we’ll have to do some clean up,” Callum said with a dismissive wave for what Rupert thought was a fairly horrifying idea. “I’m more concerned about the silence,” Callum said quietly.

Rupert swallowed. “I am, too.”

“He said your name when he opened the door, at least.”

“Yes. I’m sort of clinging to that right now, to be honest.”

Callum dragged himself up off the couch and crowded into the tiny hallway with Rupert. “He’s going to be okay.” It sounded more like a vow than just an observation. “He’s scared. We’ll get him through it. Find him help if it’s needed.”

Rupert was appalled to feel his eyes sting. “God, do you think he needs help? I mean, more than I, than we—”

His voice strangled off when Callum pulled him close, long arms wrapping around his ribs until their bodies were flush, Callum’s warmth, his strength, seeping into Rupert. The air trapped in his chest rushed from him in a shuddering sigh. Callum held him tighter.

 Rupert had never been given a hug like this before, so completely sure and strong. It was bloody marvelous.

“It hasn’t even been two hours,” Callum pointed out sensibly, obviously trying to be reassuring. And he was.

Rupert wondered if there was something wrong with him that he needed Callum Morrison, of all people, to help him get his head on straight.

He took deep breath to center himself and stepped out of Callum’s embrace just as the bathroom door popped opened to reveal Oliver looking up at them curiously. Rupert set to mentally drafting a list of what needed to happen in the next hour, the process alone making him feel more stable.

Having decided on the first steps, he spoke briskly. “Dinner will be here soon. Callum, if you don’t mind, I’ll just sneak in before you.”

“That’s fine. Oliver and I will find his PJs,” Callum offered, as if he, too, could see Rupert’s list.

Callum put out his hand and Oliver climbed right up and settled back against Callum’s chest. Rupert understood perfectly, now, why Oliver chose to cling to Callum.

Rupert shut the bathroom door on the picture of Oliver snuggling into Callum and Callum’s warm smile in return. He told himself he was not in any way jealous.

By the time he came out again, he’d mentally reviewed every highhanded, stubborn, or insulting thing Callum had done in the past week and was feeling more sure-footed. Rupert knew how to deal with incredibly annoying Callum. It was easier than tender, gentle Callum, who made Rupert feel confused and unsteady.

He frowned at the mess in the corner of the room where Callum had dropped his open suitcase on the floor and apparently sifted through its entire contents, spilling half of them onto the floor. Meanwhile, Oliver’s belongings were missing, except a small pile of clothes by Callum’s knee.

Callum looked over his shoulder at Rupert, his eyes tracing thoughtfully over Rupert’s chest, causing an entirely inappropriate response that Rupert clamped down on ruthlessly.

“Do you have an undershirt I can borrow?” Callum asked.

“I don’t think it will fit,” he said, ever the master of understatement.

Callum smiled. “It’s not for me,” he explained, gesturing at Oliver.

Rupert pulled the luggage rack from the closet—spotting Oliver’s bags in the back and noting the smoky stench coming from them—then tucked it into a corner and put his suitcase on top. Ignoring Callum’s smirk, he carefully extricated a t-shirt, then watched in awe as Callum made quick work of stripping Oliver down to his underpants and pulling the clean shirt over his head. The sleeves fell to his fingertips, the hem almost to the floor. Callum quickly tied a knot on one side to ensure Oliver wouldn’t trip.

Rupert felt incredibly inadequate. “How on earth do you even know how to do that?”

“Six siblings, most of them younger than me,” he reminded Rupert. “I can make a nightshirt, an art smock, or a beach cover-up in the blink of an eye.”

Rupert looked at Callum, amazed.

Callum rolled his eyes. “They’re all the same thing, Rupert. Never underestimate the value of a cheap white t-shirt when you have kids around.”

Rupert tried to smile, to share the joke, but instead the truth burst out of him. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Oliver immediately climbed into Callum’s lap and hid his face against Callum’s neck. Callum ran a reassuring hand down his back and frowned up at Rupert. “Remember what I told you after the walk-through?”

That seemed like an incredibly random change of topic. Then it clicked.

Never let them see your fear.

Callum nodded. “Same goes for kids. Especially right now.”

“But—”

“You’re doing fine,” Callum said firmly.

Hearing Callum say it was heartening, if not convincing. Callum was so confident. Calm. And bloody good with kids, obviously. Rupert wished
he
could climb into Callum’s lap, wrap his arms and legs around Callum’s reassuringly solid body, and be the little monkey for a while.

The idea was simultaneously terrifying and hilarious.

Rupert smiled and Callum nodded, apparently pleased with Rupert’s effort to buck up. He pulled Rupert down to sit on the couch.

“I’m going to shower,” Callum said, then whispered something in Oliver’s ear.

Oliver sprang from Callum’s arms, bounced off the couch cushion by Rupert’s hip, and landed on his chest. The air left Rupert’s lungs with an “oof,” then Oliver’s strong little limbs were curling around him, hugging him tight, and Rupert couldn’t breathe at all.