Home and Away (7 page)

He looked up at Callum as something fierce and hot bloomed in his chest.

Callum smiled. “There you go.”

The water was tepid, the pressure a joke, and the stall clearly designed for someone roughly half his size, but this was possibly the best shower Callum had ever taken in his entire life. He’d just needed these few minutes to
think
.

Rupert was freaking out. He was trying to hide it, but it had been as clear as day to Callum since they’d found Oliver in that dingy apartment. Oliver, unfortunately, sensed it, too, clinging to Callum while his brother got his shit together. Callum didn’t mind, of course, but he also wanted to help Rupert. He just had no idea how.

He took a few extra minutes in the bathroom to do some laundry for Oliver, his brain running through ways to bolster Rupert’s confidence, but mostly concluding he was too tired to come up with anything useful. Even when fully rested, he had an almost preternatural ability to piss Rupert off, so he probably shouldn’t try anything when he was half dead on his feet.

He rinsed out the one outfit and underclothes he’d plucked from Oliver’s bags earlier, after discovering everything reeked of smoke, and left them draped over the heated towel bar to dry.

Dinner was waiting when Callum came out of the bathroom in a t-shirt and sweatpants, having not packed pajamas on the assumption he would have his own hotel room. Rupert had also changed while Callum was out of the room, but
his
pajamas were a cliché. Button-up top and long pants in a blue that perfectly matched his eyes, cotton pressed and barely wrinkled after their long journey. It was ridiculous, really, but for some reason it made Callum smile stupidly. They were just so
Rupert.

Callum had a perverse urge to run over to Rupert and mess up his hair. To do
something
that would ruffle his tidy image, just to see what would happen.

That probably went back to his talent for pissing the man off.

They sat down to dinner and Callum focused on getting enough food into Oliver before he nodded off. As soon as he took his last bite, Oliver crawled into Callum’s lap and fell asleep with his beautiful little face pressed to Callum’s sternum.

Rupert and Callum finished their meals at a more civilized pace.

“He trusts you,” Rupert said quietly.

Callum smiled down at Oliver, making a mental note that the first order of business tomorrow was a bath to get rid of the lingering smell of smoke. “He’s a sweet kid. He trusts you, too.”

“He doesn’t,” Rupert said. “And I don’t blame him. I left him alone, with
her
, for months—”

Callum wrapped his hand around Rupert’s wrist and squeezed, hoping to stem the tide of self-recrimination. “It’s done. It’s what you do next that matters.”

Rupert frowned, staring at his plate. “I keep wondering what my father would want me to do. Send Oliver away to school? He seems so
young.
I suppose he’d tell me to find a nanny to raise him until he was ready to go. But I don’t know.” He looked up at Callum beseechingly. “What
do
I do now?”

How was this not completely fucking obvious?
“Love him.”

“But
how
?”

Callum ached to grab Rupert and shake him until he woke the fuck up. The lost look on his face, though, held Callum back. Maybe Callum was finally getting the hang of
not
pissing Rupert off. Or maybe he simply didn’t have enough functioning brain cells left to tackle this now.

“Time for bed,” Callum announced, standing, his precious cargo still attached.

Rupert took a moment to regroup. “Yes, about that. You should take the bed.”

“I plan to.”

Rupert grimaced, but nodded before turning away to tidy up the kitchen and their dishes. Callum was completely unsurprised to learn Rupert was a neat freak.

Callum turned off lights and checked the door locks, then climbed onto the bed, carefully peeling Oliver away enough to lie on his side with Oliver tucked close.

Rupert dithered a little longer in the kitchen. The bathroom. Then began dragging the coffee table out of the way of the couch.

Callum sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Get over here.”

“Pardon me?” Rupert said, all snotty and prim.

Callum had no idea why that made him want to smile. “Come
here
, duchess.”

Rupert appeared, scowling, on the other side of the bed. Callum waved at the empty half of the mattress. “Just sleep here. We both need some decent rest and I promise you, even without a four year old between us, I would be far too tired to jump your bones tonight.”

Which kind of sounded like any other night, it might have happened.
Whoops
.

Rupert cocked his head, studying Callum’s hot cheeks, then, thank Christ, turned off the one remaining lamp and lay down. When the bed dipped beneath Rupert’s weight, Oliver blinked sleepily, looked over his shoulder briefly, and promptly fell back to sleep.

Rupert scooted closer, curving around Oliver in a mirror image of Callum, their knees an inch apart, a tiny furnace curled up between them.

Callum thought it should be uncomfortable. Too intimate. But he was too tired to worry about that tonight.

He closed his eyes and for some damn reason, pictured Rupert in his tight black briefs.

In a blink, he was asleep.

Rupert woke with a very small foot of questionable cleanliness pressed to his cheek, another digging into his ribs. When he managed to pry his eyes open, he found Callum curled up facing him, and Oliver spread out like a starfish on top of them both.

Rupert chuckled. Who knew a four year old could take up that much room?

Callum’s eyes fluttered open and he smiled, the same half smile he’d worn when he’d fallen asleep the night before. Rupert had wondered what he’d been thinking about. How anyone could look so content.

Oliver wiggled and Callum grinned as Rupert carefully moved Oliver’s foot before those little toes found their way into Rupert’s nose.

“Good morning,” Callum murmured, his voice rough and unfairly sexy with sleep.

Rupert barely managed an intelligible response and a reasonably composed retreat to the bathroom. He felt more in control once he’d showered and made himself presentable again. He and Callum even managed to get Oliver up, bathed, and dressed in his one clean outfit without any major disasters.

Rupert judged it a triumph.

When Callum said, “Let’s go get some breakfast,” Oliver’s head popped up off Callum’s chest and he looked eager. Almost smiled, even.

Rupert and Callum exchanged a glance, waiting,
hoping
for some sound. Rupert was starting to fear his brother had been through more than Rupert knew. The idea made him frantic. Because he wanted to fix it. And because he didn’t feel at all prepared to help a child recover from untold trauma. What if Rupert made it worse? He was doomed to make mistakes. How could he not? He was so utterly
clueless.
Oliver needed someone who could help him. Someone like Callum. Not
Rupert.

“You two go ahead,” Rupert said suddenly. “I need to make a couple phone calls, but I’ll meet you downstairs in the lobby in five minutes.”

Callum wrapped a protective arm around Oliver’s back. “You’re not going to—”

“I’m going to do what’s right, Callum. What’s best for him. I promise.”

Callum pointedly ignored the couple in the elevator who stared at Oliver in his arms, their eyes raking over his too-short pants and ratty t-shirt. They could go to hell. He was just a little boy. One who needed a family to care for him. Who needed Rupert to pull his head out of his ass and love him unconditionally.

Callum was pretty sure Rupert needed that kind of love from Oliver as much as he needed to give it. What Callum didn’t know was if Rupert knew that, or if he realized what an incredibly lucky son of a bitch he was.

By the time they reached the ground floor, Callum was doing deep breathing exercises to force himself to calm the fuck down. He had to believe Rupert would do the right thing.

He stalked to one of the leather chairs in the middle of the foyer so Oliver could stare at the opulent art deco lobby while Callum kept one eye on the elevators. He spared a polite nod for the two other men seated around the low table, but was too preoccupied to even make an attempt at conversation.

Callum held Oliver close, rubbing one hand between his shoulders, soothing himself as much as Oliver. Callum’s own shoulders ached, and knew he had to be careful not to put too much strain on his back, but he couldn’t put Oliver down. And, on the bright side, his trainers back in Colorado would be delighted with the impact on his core strength.

The summer seemed too short this year, though he still had months before he was due back. He should be looking forward to training camp. To getting back out on the ice with his team, putting his head down, and focusing on the game. The season should be stretched out before him with endless possibilities.

He was sure he’d get there eventually, but right now, he couldn’t see past the next few hours. Days. To getting Oliver settled into his new life with Rupert.

And if Rupert didn’t like that plan, Callum would damn well convince him.

As if summoned, the elevator doors parted to reveal Rupert. Clothes pressed. Hair perfectly coiffed. Expression determined. Callum watched as he veered off to the concierge’s desk without seeing them.

“Good lord, David, look at that. His bum should be in a museum.”

Callum shot a startled glance at the man to his right, who was staring at Rupert’s backside with frank admiration. His friend—David, apparently—nudged him. “Careful, love. Not everyone sees things the way you do,” he murmured, nodding at Callum.

The man turned to look at Callum, the quirk of his lips knowing. “He’s already noticed, dear. That’s why
I
looked.”

 Callum’s cheeks burned. He’d been trying very hard not to notice anything of the sort. Not when Rupert rolled out of bed that morning. Or when he’d come out of the bathroom wearing only a tight t-shirt and those flawlessly tailored slacks that pulled
just so
across his hips. And definitely not when he’d bent over his suitcase to retrieve a pale purple shirt that made his blue eyes glow.

Rupert’s eyes, of course, being another thing Callum had absolutely not noticed.

 “Oh my god,” David groaned as Rupert bent forward to look at something on the concierge’s desk. “That
bubble
. How is that even legal? It’s a weapon of mass seduction.”

Callum grunted, a noise of surprised agreement slipping from him before he could contain it. The men beside him actually tilted their heads to and fro, examining Rupert’s ass like a prized piece of art.

Which it sort of was. But it wasn’t
their
piece of art, Callum thought irritably, rolling his tight shoulders.

Which was ridiculous. It wasn’t like Rupert was his, or that he wanted him to be, or that it was the remotest of possibilities even if he
did
want that. Him. Rupert.

Which he didn’t.

Rupert turned, found them across the room, and smiled.

David sucked in an audible breath. “Oh my.”

David’s friend realized who Rupert was smiling at and shot Callum a look that he was pretty sure meant
lucky bastard.

Callum smirked, smug when he had no right to be, and stood as Rupert approached.

Rupert had hoped getting out of their room would give Oliver something to talk about. To say. But he remained silent. They had chosen to keep things simple and eat in the hotel’s dining room, and Oliver seemed content to sit in his own chair, eat his breakfast, and look around. Rupert worried that the silence would become sullen or turn to anger, but Oliver appeared to be remarkably easy-going, despite all the changes happening around him.

Rupert sincerely hoped that would continue for the foreseeable future.

Thanks to his phone calls upstairs, they only had two hours, and Rupert still didn’t know what the right thing to do was. More and more, he knew what he wanted, but he wasn’t convinced it was what was best for Oliver.

“After breakfast, we need to go see a friend of mine,” Rupert began carefully.

Oliver’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. So did Callum’s.

“He’s actually an old friend of father’s, Oliver,” Rupert continued. He looked at Callum. “Our attorney,” he explained, wishing they would stop staring holes through him. “He’s arranged a meeting with—”

Rupert stopped before saying Lydia’s name. He wished Oliver didn’t have to see her today, not if he didn’t want to, but Rupert didn’t know how he could possibly prevent it. He had, more or less, taken the child from her custody without warning or notice yesterday, about which he’d already been lectured over the phone by his attorney and harangued via voicemail by Lydia.

He didn’t regret it in the slightest, of course, but it meant they had to present themselves for inspection today.

Callum cocked his head, studying Rupert’s face, and Rupert stared back, trying to tell him everything silently. He’d read plenty of books with parents who could have entire silent conversations in front of their children. Judging by Callum’s blank look, this was either a learned skill, pure fiction, or Rupert and Callum didn’t have the necessary magic.

While Oliver watched a waiter glide past with an enormous tray perched on his shoulder, Rupert mouthed
his mother
to Callum.

Already?
Callum mouthed back.

Rupert nodded, freezing when Oliver turned back to the table. Rupert made a show of sipping his tea. Oliver gave him a suspicious look regardless.

Callum frowned, then apparently decided the direct approach was best. “Ollie, your mother is back in London, and we’re going to see her today. Is that okay with you?”

The clatter of Oliver’s fork hitting his plate was loud in the quiet dining room. Callum pushed back his chair, reaching for Oliver, but he flung himself against Rupert’s chest instead.

Rupert gathered him close. Callum smirked, and Rupert was pretty sure that was
I told you so
written all over his face.

Maybe Oliver did trust him. Rupert only wished he felt more worthy of it.