Chapter 43 Codename Badass
codename badass
Lorien
Strider sits, head in his hands, fingers digging into his scalp. It takes a minute after he looks up for the laughter to explode from his chest, but when it does, he can’t manage to stop it. I watch, first in horror, then in amusement as he laughs until he cries. They’re not sad tears either.
We’re at his house, just the two of us, hours after this morning’s insanity. We need a name for it, because, seriously, how can things keep getting worse and worse?
Sam and Billy asked to be dropped off at Mom and Dad’s. Billy wanted to rest and Sam wanted to be away “from watchful eyes.”
Mom is waiting to be discharged. That woman is pissed.
She’ll need surgery, but they want her to see an orthopedic surgeon and the first available is Monday afternoon.
She’s livid, but I don’t know if it’s about the wait—forty-eight hours sounds painful and terrible, but quick with how doctors are scheduled these days—or if it’s about how today went.
It’s her right hand, so she can’t text and, worse for her, she can’t bake. She’s already called Strider to ask me about whether I can do the basics tomorrow while she sits with me. Of course, I said yes. Now, why she didn’t call me, I have no clue.
Dad is angry. That’s it—he’s angry.
And my brother and I sit on his sofa after making a concerted effort to sober up and rehydrate. “Happy birthday, Strider. Bet you’ll never forget your fortieth.”
“You can say that again.” He stands. “Come on. Let’s make dinner.”
“What about everyone else?”
“Sam is Sam. If she wants to, she’ll show.
I’d be glad to have her, would love for her to be here, but showing up out of obligation isn’t my thing.
Billy? Who the fuck knows? And Mom and Dad will be by at some point.
Mom will be disappointed either way, and Dad is only worried about Mom.
It’s you and me, and I feel like celebrating. ”
“Celebrating the morning that shall not be replayed? No, that’s not the right name.” I shake my head as I follow him. “The morning that will live in infamy?”
“Birthday debacle?” he puts in.
“I can go with that. Did you ever think Sam would do the right thing just because it’s the right thing, with no selfish motive?”
He shakes his head and begins digging through the fridge. “Nope. But it says something about her, and frankly, about Billy too. It’s hard to be mad at him when you know the backstory.”
That’s an opening if I ever heard of one. “Would you say the same if it were me?”
He turns and gives me a beaming smile. “No, Lolo. You’re selfless.
You always have been. If it were you, I’d tell you to stop playing nice and be selfish, to do what you want to do.
You’d be the one we’d expect that from. Sam could learn from you.
And, honestly, you could learn a little from her too. ”
As if. “Rude.” That one word is the only thing I can think to say.
He turns back from the fridge where he buried his head halfway through his speech. “Do you think Sam ever spends time on regrets?”
Considering it, I shake my head. “Probably not. I don’t know that she understands the concept.”
“Do you think she has the life she wants?”
I nod in agreement. “Mostly.”
He stops all movement. “Do you?” My big brother’s eyes level me.
“I’m working on it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“With what’s his name?”
“Liam,” I offer, giving him a sliver he didn’t have before. “Do you want me to make the salad?”
“Sure. And while you do that, tell me three things about this Liam and what makes you think he’s worthy of you.”
I take the salad fixings from his outstretched hands and set them on his butcher block island.
“Hmm, let’s see.” What can I say that’s innocuous enough but still real?
“He has a brother and a sister.” I don’t add like me.
“And he dotes on his nieces and nephew. I want some of those, by the way. Would you please get on that?”
“I didn’t want to orphan kids, Lolo.” He says seriously, adding quietly, “Or leave a widow…”
“Well, you’re not dying, so get busy.”
“I will when you will.”
I turn, my mouth dropping open. “Are you encouraging your baby sister to have sex?” I ask, using fake outrage.
“Yes, with the neighbor that makes you want to take a risk on yourself. And whose name makes you blush. I already like Liam whatever his last name is.”
“Murphy.” It’s quiet but there.
“Liam Murphy. Very Irish, don’t you think?”
“What’s Irish?” Mom calls from the door, and my eyes go huge at my brother.
“A whiskey we were discussing. We’re in the back,” he calls to the front of the house before dropping his voice to a whisper and bumping my shoulder. “Codename Whiskey.”
Codename Whiskey. I like that.
I reach for my phone, only to realize I haven’t seen it since this morning in Strider’s truck. How did I miss that?
What the hell is happening with Liam? In the chaos of the day, I didn’t check. I’m terrible at this wife thing.
“Hey, Strider,” I call but see the keys on the hook by the door. “Never mind.” I head for the garage and search the truck high and low. I see nothing. I even go back in and grab my brother’s phone and dial myself. Nothing. No ringing. No vibration.
Oh crêpe.
I manage to make an excuse after giving Mom a quick hug, take Dad’s SUV since it was blocking the garage, and go back to the brewery, only to discover the hostess talking with the rude waitress from this morning.
She looks up at me but returns to her conversation without missing a beat.
There’s no acknowledgement, no anything, so I wait.
And wait.
When I’ve spent more time than necessary without so much as a “we’ll be right with you,” I slap the hostess stand. “Hi, I need some help please. Has a phone been turned in to lost and found here?”
“Let me go look,” the hostess offers, wide-eyed, and scurries to the back.
“You look all innocent, but you’re a bitch.” The nasty waitress leans onto the hostess stand. “I bet you’re a terrible lay too. I’ll find a way to get him. Oh, and is this your phone?” She slides my device from her apron. “It fell in a pitcher of beer. Pity.”
Nutter Butter. I know she did not.
“You bitch.” I round the station and reach for her with an open palm, but she beats me to it and punches me in the eye.
“Oh my God, you hit me.” I cover my left eye with my hand as the whole restaurant grinds to a halt. Loud music echoes against metal and wood, but every voice is silent.
Think, Lorien. Respond. Do not react.
I reach for the phone on the hostess stand, dial 911, and when dispatch answers, I simply say, “I’ve been physically assaulted and need to file a police report. Please send units.” I place the phone down on the wooden station and take a seat in the waiting area.
I make it back to my brother’s long after steaks and potatoes.
The salad never happened, nor did the broccolini.
Apparently, Strider had to drive to Mom and Dad’s to pick up his own birthday cake because Mom insisted.
They, for all intents and purposes, were stuck, not knowing why I was gone for so long when all I did was run to grab my phone.
Of course, their calls went straight to voicemail when they dialed.
I came home with a swollen eye, a bruise forming near the nose and around the socket, and a triumphant grin on my face. I also had a soggy phone, the police report including the nasty woman’s name, as well as the assurance from the brewery that she would be relieved of her duties.
Quietly where no one else can hear, my brother whispers, “Codename Badass,” as he walks my parents out.
Mom and Dad are bummed I’m not going home with them, but the whole point of this weekend was time with my brother. So I bail on his sofa, a bag of frozen corn on my eye, and eat leftovers. I skip the cake. We’ll bake enough tomorrow.
“I need two more things about Liam Murphy, sis.”
“He’s crazy smart.” I remove the corn and look him dead in the eye. “And he saved my life when the movers held a knife to my throat the morning I moved in.”
I’ve never seen the shade of mauve that stains my brother’s face.
I’ve never witnessed the look of murderous intent on his boyish appearance.
I’ve never felt like such an ass for not trusting my brother as I do in this moment.
Liam
Searing pain scalds me in multiple places. Voices whir in the background, there’s an incessant scratching sound, and a soft vibration buzzes square on my sternum.
“What the fuck did I drink?”
“Well, hello, big brother. That’s not a hangover, though I understand the feeling.” Ayla chuckles but worry lines her eyes. “Welcome back.”
Cracking my eyes, I stare at the ceiling of her guest room. “How did I get upstairs?”
“Sheer will and violent resolve. And this little girl hisses at everyone who tries to get near you.”
Poe is a girl. Of course, she is. I’m surrounded by them.
“She warmed up a bit with a little tuna. Franklin is obsessed by the way. Can you hear him trying to get in?”
I’d think Christian would lose it with the dog scratching. “Is Christian okay?”
“He was more worried about getting you home and making sure you were okay.”
“No hospital?”
“The guys figured ‘leave no trace’ was a better strategy.”
I’ll have to hear about that later.
“How bad am I?”
“You’ll be annoyed more than you’ll have long term complications.”
I roll my wrist in a go-on gesture.
“Two shots. A gutting graze to the outside of the left thigh. You lost a lot of blood, but Fitz got to you quickly. The shoulder hit a bone and stopped. Three inches in another direction and you would’ve needed a hospital in Wyoming.
Or we could’ve lost you. The kitten added complications the guys never could’ve foreseen. ”
“Poe.”
“What?”
I point to my chest to the purring black mass. “Poe.”
“Only you…”
I scrunch my brows. It’s about the only thing on me that doesn’t ache.
“Only you would rescue a scrawny, unweaned cat—a black one, at that—and name her Poe.”
I reach up and stroke the fluffball. She fits entirely inside my palm. “I need a vet.”
“It’s Saturday night and nearly ten.”
“Ayla-girl.” That’s it. That’s my plea.
“Fine.” She throws up her hands, and stands, and Poe hisses at the abrupt movement. “I’ll make a call.”
“And I need Sophia.”
“The research is clear about babies and cats. It’s a thing you know.”
“Bring me my goddaughter, woman. She’s the reason I’m here.”
My sister turns, her red hair flying wild behind her. Her face goes ashen, and she looks from my leg to my shoulder to my face.
“Please.”
“It’s not like I could ever resist you anyway, but you owe me the whole story.” She points a manicured finger at me.
“Tomorrow. Over coffee.”
That seems to soften her.
“Fine. But if Sophia is too much—”
“I’ll tell you. You know I wouldn’t risk her.”
She turns to the door before facing me again.
“Don’t you ever do this to me again.” Her voice drops to a whisper, and emotion bleeds across her words. “Never again, Liam. This shit has got to stop.”
Seeing as how I’m the one with two holes punched in me, I agree.
My sister’s halfway out the door when she calls over her shoulder, “And call Lorien. She was a wreck this morning when we spoke, and she hasn’t answered a single text since.”