Chapter 5
klutzy-ish
Liam
My sister is a coffee snob. It’s ridiculous, but it’s certainly convenient when I’m at her place. My coffee, though, is cold and untouched.
I showed here early this morning. While her husband, Christian, is in his home office, Ayla’s off to shower and “feel human again.” Which means I’m on uncle duty.
Sophia and I are outside on their back deck. She’s bundled until she’s practically mummified, even if it’s summer. But if she’s okay with it, so am I. She’s sacked out on my chest, dribbling spit on my broken-in Motley Crüe tee. And I’m here for it.
Some people do yoga. Some people meditate. Me? I have my bike.
And apparently my nieces and nephew.
I’m so relaxed I could fall sound asleep, but I’m worried she’d roll off. She’s a ninja after all. I christened her as such.
My nieces and nephew will always have me. I’ll never judge. Never chastise. Never dig at them. I’ll protect them and, where it’s within my power, I’ll stand between them and everything that wants to come against them.
When they’re old enough, I’ll show them how to stand for themselves, but even then, I’ll be at their sides or at their backs.
Renée will be fine. She’s a badass. I’ll make sure she never forgets it. I’ve had her back. I always will.
This little girl, though, will be my little Ninja—kicking butt, taking names. But until she’s old enough to stand on her own, I’ll be there.
This self-reflective thing isn’t typical for me. But something about the last year has made me soft when it comes to my family. The rest of the world gets what they get.
William “Liam” Jonathon Murphy. A name given to a law clerk or a podiatrist or some such shit.
The world sees what I show them and judges accordingly. As if I give a fuck about their opinions. If I did, I wouldn’t be pierced—my eyebrow… or my dick. My tattoos would be artistic or organized or non-existent—whatever else they think it should be.
Instead, I have what I want. I am what I want. That’s the only thing that matters.
That and family.
“You’re going to be your own person, you know,” I say quietly to the slight weight asleep on my chest. “Your dad is a good man. Don’t go crazy when he’s overprotective.
It’s just who he is. Your mom is the most talented woman on the planet.
If you get even a fraction of her creativity, you’ll be lucky.
There’s no way you won’t be exceptional.
Talented, of course. Beautiful, undoubtedly.
Brilliant, for sure. You’ll end up caring and kind like your Uncle Ci too. He wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I pause, stroking her small back which practically spans my whole palm. “That’s not me, but—”
“I beg to differ.” My sister takes the lounger next to me, sitting a bit more gingerly than usual. “How’s she doing?”
“We’re doing just fine.” I look at the sleeping baby, her mouth popped open in a little O, wishing she were old enough to toss in the air and get into mischief with. Returning my gaze to my sister, I add, “She’s perfect, you know.”
“Of course, she is. I made her.”
“We made her,” a voice registers behind her. “And I’m the appropriate amount of protective.”
My chuckle bounces the baby on my chest, but she barely stirs. “How long have you been listening there?”
“Long enough to know you’re teaching my daughter—”
“Our daughter,” my sister interrupts.
“Our daughter,” he emphasizes. “To know her worth.”
Of course I am.
“That was a private conversation.”
Christian scoffs. “You put the security cameras in this place. You, more than anyone, know that there’s nothing private on these grounds. At least here.” He uses his hand to demonstrate the area.
I speak to Sophia. “Next time, I’ll sneak you out of here, and we can talk privately.” I emphasize the last word.
“I think not,” Ayla fusses.
“Like you could stop me.” I’m calling her bluff, but it’s with one of my own. I would never put Sophia on my bike. Well, not yet. And I don’t own a car seat for my Tahoe. Come to think of it, I need one of those. You know, just in case.
Christian takes a seat next to his wife and turns to me, leaning forward. “We want to talk with you about something.”
I’m on alert. “Is everything okay?” I look down and then to the two of them, swiveling to face their direction. Instinctively, I hold Sophia tighter to me.
They look between one another, small smiles playing on their faces. Christian takes Ayla’s hand. “We’d like you to be Sophia’s godfather.”
Oh. That’s it? The exhale of relief is instantaneous. “Sure.”
“In that ask,” he pauses. “We also want you to be her guardian if something were to happen to us.”
A nuclear bomb detonation wouldn’t have rocked me more. “But— We all know Cian has a more stable life.”
“We love Cian and Sariah. There’s no question they’d be wonderful parents to Sophia if we’d chosen to go that direction—” Christian is cut off by his wife.
“But we want you,” Ayla says quietly.
“The godfather bit is easy.” In my head, I see Marlon Brando and have a brief moment considering a horse head before I drag myself back to the present. “But guardian? Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent.” My sister clasps her free hand to the one holding Christian’s hand, covering it. “If something happens, we want her to know us, to know how much we loved her, to be protected and cherished. You’re that man, Li.”
Unmarried biker.
Unconventionally employed.
Unencumbered by popular opinion.
I look down into Sophia Barone’s perfect face just as her sleepy eyes open. “For you, I will do anything,” I say to the baby. To her parents, I add, “Same for you.”
They nod and smile, seemingly relieved. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me, sis. I got the better end of the deal anyway. Didn’t I, Sophia?”
She scrunches her face, drops her quivering bottom lip, and wails.
“Tell me what you really think, now.” I snuggle her tighter until I realize she’s turned her face, seeking from me something I’m unable to provide.
“That’s my cue.” My sister says, leaning back a bit in her lounger as Christian takes Sophia from my arms, cooing to her softly.
He hands her to her mom who has her under her oversized shirt quickly. A well-rehearsed dance that looks as natural on Ayla as her ability to see a vista.
“I have paperwork in my office, if you’re sure,” Christian says.
Ayla’s gaze lands on me as she mouths, “Love you.”
I follow my brother-in-law inside and into his home office off the sitting room. I know this place like I know my own, but I’m on the back foot. Admittedly, I didn’t expect anything of this magnitude—hell, anything of the sort—to happen. Much less today.
“I want you to know how much it means to us that you would do this for us and for our daughter.” Christian takes the chair behind his desk.
I nod.
“Of course, you will have everything necessary to raise her to the lifestyle she’ll be accustomed to.”
I lift my hand between us. “One, I don’t need your money. Two, you aren’t going anywhere. This is just a precaution.”
“We hope so too. But there’s no such thing as too cautious when it comes to her.” He looks at his fingers as he fiddles with something on his desk. When his eyes meet mine, he adds, “I feel the same about Ayla. No such thing as too safe.”
“We agree. What do I sign? It’s just a formality anyway.” I lean forward, resting both forearms on his desk. No doubt most people fear him, sit more formally, treat him with more deference. I’m not most people, so…
Papers spin to face me, and he lifts the bottom corner, indicating a stickered arrow. I accept the pen and sign and print what’s requested.
“I’ll get copies to you after Sherman has a chance to process them.” His attorney is entrenched in all their businesses, and in our family’s personal business as well.
A quick bob of the head confirms my agreement.
The sigh that drags from his chest reverberates around the room. “Thank you, Liam. You don’t know the relief this offers me.”
“Formality. Remember?”
He nods. “Formality,” he repeats, as if to himself.
“File with Sherman.” I stand and tap my index and middle fingers on the desk. “Then forget about it. None of us will ever need those papers.”
I’ll make sure of that. I don’t add that part, but he and I both know it’s the truth.
Lorien
I had no clue that my feet could hurt this bad from storming out of the house to yell at my neighbor. So maybe the broken glass was a reasonable excuse. Charging outside barefoot was not. I know better.
I’m klutzy-ish. I don’t mean to trip over my own feet.
The way I figure, nature wants things in balance.
I was able to get my doctorate easily and quickly.
I know how that sounds, but my brain just does it naturally, like a marathoner’s gait.
Something had to give and that something was my coordination.
The fact that I’m allowed in this lab full of multimillion dollar equipment, glass, and sharp metal objects is only because I haven’t told leadership about my propensity to fall.
It’s not medical; it’s not an inner ear issue. It’s like I’m a baby deer in clown shoes—I go butt over tea kettle at random times.
My stubbed big toe throbs and rubs my shoe in the wrong place, but it’s not my first and it won’t be my last. Neither is losing a toenail because of it.
Liam wasn’t wrong about that either. Chances are it’ll be a year from now before I can make a pedicure look right.
Thank goodness for long Colorado winters and boot season. That’s still a ways away, though.
Perched on a stool, I watch the machines as they whirl. And with more excitement than most researchers, I allow a little shimmy from my chair.
The data we’re seeing is life-changing. Life-and-death changing.
The immuno-compromised haven’t had this kind of significant breakthrough in a century. HIV, Lupus, Hashimoto’s, Arthritis. All of it could be a thing of the past.
I didn’t get into this field because I wanted a Nobel prize. In fact, that’s never been on my radar, even if my brother jokes about it. Because not once did my mind ever conceive such a discovery.
But this genomic isolation and what I’m looking at right now? Its significance cannot be underplayed. The last discovery with this kind of ramification was insulin.
Technically what I do here is the intellectual property of Platt BioPharma. And I’m fine with that. This—all of this, my education, my research, my career—all of it is so Strider can live longer, choose to live normally, heck—just live.
I swipe a rogue tear from my cheek. I didn’t realize I was crying.
I did it. I’ll save Strider. I’ll save a million Striders. Everything I could ever want in life scrolls across my screen in that putrid digital green, showing me it’s all been worth it.