Mrs Landon said, “…you never mentioned his tattoos.” My heart dropped.
“They’re not just tattoos,” Andrew told her. “They’re scars. Scars made from ink. He wears them for the world to see as daily reminders of who he is. And anyway, I like them. His skin doesn’t define him any more than mine defines me.”
His mother was quiet for a moment, and I contemplated walking in there. Then she said, “He’s a good man. If he was worried enough about a complete stranger to take him in, then that tells me all I need to know.”
“He is, Mom. And he just gets me. He knew more about me in two days than Eli ever did.”
“What’s wrong then? Why are you so troubled over him?”
I almost put my fingertips through the drywall, waiting for him to answer.
“I’m trying to not rush this one, Mom. You know how I was with Eli.”
“Spencer’s different,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“He is.
“You’re in love with him.”
Andrew didn’t answer. There was only silence. Loud, deafening, heart-thumping silence. My stupid heart almost stopped in my chest. My stupid feet were bolted to the floor.
“It’s written all over your face, Andrew,” his mother said.
After the longest second, he answered. “I do.”
And I finally breathed, relief and excitement and even a little nervous dread filled my entire body. My blood warmed and coursed erratically through my veins, and those foolish butterflies swarmed my throat. But the sound of a door closing nearby set my feet in motion, and I went back into the lounge room the same time Mr Landon did. “I think he’s asleep already,” he said.
I felt pale and clammy after hearing Andrew’s admission—insecurities in my own worth manifested in physical traits—but if Andrew noticed, he didn’t say. He stood and smiled at me. I wasn’t sure what I should say or do now that we were alone with his parents, but I didn’t have time to wonder for long. Andrew put his arm around my waist. “We’ll get going, yes?”
“Yes, I’ll make some phone calls,” Mrs Landon said. “Pre-empt his needs, if he should decide to let us help him. The Foundation will find a spot for him.”
“And if he doesn’t want help?” I asked, without really meaning to.
“We can’t help him if he doesn’t want it,” she said. “But he’s safe tonight, and that’s more than he had yesterday.”
“I really am thankful,” I told them. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
Andrew rubbed his hand on my back. “You did the right thing, Spencer.”
His mother smiled kindly. “Can I get you boys something to eat?”
“No, Mom,” Andrew said. “We’ll get going. But I’ll call you tomorrow to see how he’s getting on.”
She put her hand to Andrew’s face. “Thank you for bringing him here. We’ll look after him.” Then she looked at me. “He said you wouldn’t leave him.”
I shook my head. “I couldn’t. He’s got no one, and I know what that’s like.”
She glanced at Andrew but smiled back at me. “You’re a good one. I think it speaks volumes about character when one behaves in such a manner. But when you do such a kindness when no one is looking and there is no reward, it says even more.” She kissed Andrew’s cheek and whispered, “He’s a keeper.”
I almost died of blushing and swallowing my tongue, which only made her smile even more fondly at me. Mr Landon shook my hand again, then hugged Andrew before walking back into the kitchen.
Andrew’s mother walked us to the door with her usual grace and elegance and waited until we were in the car. She waved as we drove down the drive, and only when we were through the security gates, did he hold out his free hand for me to hold. “You okay?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.”
“What a day.”
He smiled sadly at me. “A weird one, huh?”
“Just a little. Um, your parents…”
“My parents, what?”
“They’re famous, or something.”
He gave me a quiet laugh. “Or something. I told you they were in theatre.”
“You didn’t say they were famous.”
“Well, they’re not that famous. You didn’t recognise them.”
I groaned and put my free hand to cover my eyes. “They must think I’m some uncultured heathen. Were those like Oscars or Emmys on their mantel? I think I’ll die if they are.”
He laughed again. “Tonys. Well, one Tony among others.”
I whined. I knew next to nothing about theatre acting, but even I knew what a Tony was. “Oh God.”
Andrew squeezed my hand. “Poor Yanni thought he was on some episode of Punk’d.”
“He recognised them straight away.”
“He’s studying stage acting, so I’m not surprised.”
“Ugh. I’ll have to apologise.”
He laughed again. “No you won’t. They liked you Spencer. In fact, I think they liked that you didn’t have a clue who they were. Proof that you didn’t want to be with me because of family connections. This is LA after all, where every second person is a next-big-thing wannabe.”