Pop was funny as shit—seventy going on seventeen—but not usually Beckett’s accommodation of choice.
Three seconds later, his phone rang; Beckett’s name flashed on the screen.
Nico slapped the bench and stood. “As much as I want to eavesdrop, I’ll be good and go cheer on my boyfriend.”
Coury raised his mug, thanking him again for the coffee, and answered. “Hello?”
“Liam moved off campus because his roommate was a dick and a homophobe,” Beckett said. “I figured if I stayed there too, I could get him to come out with us. He’s kinda been avoiding everyone. It’s not healthy.”
“That sucks. You’re a good brother.”
“I mean, he probably won’t come, but I gotta try. The douche canoe called him a prissy little girl.”
“Who is he? Luke, Nico, and I will go break his leg.” He was only half kidding. Liam was a good guy. A bit quiet, and not into sports . . . but Coury really would kick that fucker’s ass if he found out his name.
“Oh shit, the LGBT fight club is on the move.”
“Got that right. We protect our own.”
The line went silent, and Coury checked to see if the call had dropped. “Oh, right. I keep forgetting you’re bi.”
Coury rolled his eyes. “Anyway . . .”
“It’s too early and I’m still hung over. How about you come to Pop’s house on Friday and we ask Liam to go with us? He’s more likely to feel welcome if you ask.”
“Sure.”
Out on the turf, Luke fielded a sharp ground ball and zinged it to the first baseman. It hit the guy’s outstretched mitt with a snap.
He felt for Liam. It sucked being treated like that.
God, he ached to be out there. He sighed. “What time?”
* * *
Liam
Liam Wright shifted his backpack, put his shoulder against the front door, and pushed. Another thing on his list of things to do around the house; he hadn’t realized all the little things Pop lived with that needed fixing.
Not that he was Mr. Fix-it, but he wasn’t terrible. Dad taught him the basics of home repair. The door, however, might be beyond him.Won’t know till I try.
“Pop!” He hung his house keys on the peg and put his coat away.
“Kitchen.”
Liam smiled. His moving in had snapped Pop back into a cooking fanatic, something he hadn’t been since Grandma had passed.
He toed out of his sneakers, moved them to the mat, and followed his nose to his grandfather. Too many delicious smells to guess what he was making, but his stomach rumbled in appreciation.
“You’re home later than usual.”
Crap. The one time he forgot to call. “Sorry, I went to the gym after class. Did you need me to do something?”
Pop smiled and ruffled Liam’s hair. “No, kiddo, I’m good. It’s been a few years since I had a youngster in the house. I forget how busy your lives are.”
Right. His life was sonotbusy. “I should have called. I’ll remember next time.”
His path to the refrigerator was blocked by a wooden spoon dripping sauce.
