Chapter 56 Moral Question Mark
moral question mark
Lorien
A knock on the door breaks me from my trip down rejection lane. The door opens a crack, and Sariah pushes her way in with a tray of food and a can of Diet Coke.
“Do I remember correctly that you’re anti-coffee?”
“I’m not anti-anything. I’m pro caffeine. I’m super pro Diet Coke.”
She hands it over along with a glass with ice and sets the tray down on the floor next to me. She promptly slides down the door but winces a little at the end.
“Are you okay?” I ask, popping the top on the can.
“Just a little tender still.”
My face blushes. Who talks like this?
“Internal stitches after pushing a watermelon out will do that.”
Relieved, I smile. “He’s tiny. He couldn’t have been too much of a watermelon.
“Well, when the exit isn’t baby sized…” She lets that hang.
I scrunch my nose.
Sariah is a plain talker, and she proves it with her question. “Why are you up here instead of downstairs with us?”
Here goes nothing. “I don’t belong. I’m not family.” I take a big sip of my soda.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because it’s true. I’m here because there’s a threat, not because I’m—” Wanted? Desired? “I’m here because Liam needs the help.”
Her face goes thoughtful. “I can tell you believe that. Interesting… We all believe something different.”
I pick a strawberry that’s been cut into a perfect fan from the tray and study it, the seeds, the pattern of the grain inside, the beautiful green stem.
“I don’t deal in belief. I deal in facts.
And the facts are clear. I really like all of you.
You’ve been exceptionally kind to me. But we all know there’s a point to this arrangement, and it’s the contract itself. ”
She doesn’t correct me. She doesn’t argue. I can tell she doesn’t agree even though she’s nodding her head pacing our conversation. She simply accepts what I tell her.
Then, without warning, she rocks my world. “Do you remember that bomb that blew up the restaurant downtown last fall? It was early November and that whole building went up?”
I nod, my eyes holding hers. That’s the second mention of a bomb today, and it’s two times more than I ever want to think of explosives ever.
“That was Christian’s building. Did you know that?”
I gasp. “No.”
“He and Ayla weren’t there. Ren was, though. The man downstairs? That’s Christian’s half-brother.”
“Okay.” My voice rises in question. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because the guy who died in the blast, the one who had the bomb, wasn’t supposed to be the victim. He was supposed to deliver it to a ‘woman at Platt BioPharma’.”
I’m shaking. To me? But why? None of this remotely makes sense. I stare at her, glass aloft, unable to set it down or move. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m merely thinking that long before you were Liam’s neighbor, before you became his wife, you were already entangled in this family. You were a part, even when we didn’t know it. Even though you didn’t either. Now, I’m not the welcoming committee, but we’d love for you to be with us downstairs.”
“I’m afraid.” I deal in facts. And that’s a fact.
“Those men can handle bombs, cults, and attempted murder.”
My eyes go wide. What in the oatmeal cookie is she talking about? “Not of that.” I summon all my courage. “I told Liam I’m falling in love with him.”
Sariah’s smile is genuine. Her mesmerizing eyes with one iris a little different in color on the outside dance with clear joy.
Before she can continue though, I finish the thought. “I told him. He recoiled and… left.” I suck in a huge lungful of air and hold it before releasing it like air from a balloon.
Confusion mars her face. “That…” There’s something working behind her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She grabs my hand to squeeze. “I wouldn’t have expected that reaction. I wish it hadn’t happened that way.”
Me too, Sariah. Me too.
She leaves me after I promise I’ll be down in a few.
I need to call work and explain that I’ll be absent again, and unexpectedly. I might as well get out of my work clothes too. No point in being in hard pants and heels.
When I get downstairs, I’m starkly reminded how different my life is from the Murphys. Even more so from the Barone’s.
I haven’t been upstairs long enough for the transformation I see.
There are massage tables, plural, scattered around, and all the furniture from the sitting room has been moved to the far walls.
There’s a manicurist lining up nail polishes to choose from.
And there’s something else. I don’t even know what it is.
“Moring, Lorien,” a sleepy voice says. Renée sits at the island, picking at a fruit pastry while watching the happenings in the room.
One leg dangles for the floor, the other is propped up on the seat of the chair.
She sets down her breakfast long enough to lift the huge coffee mug that steams to her left. “Spa day. Cool, right?”
I walk toward her, almost identifying more with her than the opulence around me.
“How did all of this happen so quickly?”
She shrugs. “I don’t ask those questions. I pick nail polish colors and try not to have PTSD from my bad pedi adventure.”
I don’t want to know how a polish and scrub job could give her trauma. Teenagers are so dramatic.
“What’s that?” I point to the table that reminds me of a massage table that had a baby with a dental chair.
“It’s for facials.”
Oh. And wow. The teenager knows more about being pampered than I do. Then again, I’ve never been able to afford being pampered. I can barely paint my own toes, thank you very much.
“Are you okay?” Renée asks. “Mom seemed worried.”
“I’ll be okay. It feels like a lot going on if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah.” She sighs. “But Uncle Liam is worth it.” She takes her mug in both hands and downs more coffee than I could stomach.
I want to agree. He is.
And I want to run screaming for the hills.
They love him. They’ll have his back always. The man can do no wrong.
He’s perfect. Everyone respects him…
… even surly teenagers.
Liam
My bike has taken me where I least expect it. It’s like a magnet sucked into a vortex or some such shit. I rode for hours, taking switchbacks, leaning into winding hairpins, and thrilling elevation climbs. There was one scare with loose gravel when my back tire spun out, and I thought I would too.
I hate those moments. I’m in control…
… Until I’m not.
No amount of handling overcomes those pitfalls. Expertise will get you a long way, but something slippery when the angle is wrong is lethal.
And it was close.
My blood ran cold. My stomach dropped practically out my ass, and I saw my life flash.
It felt a lot like this morning… So close to bliss. The I’m falling in love with you was perfection. The worst part of my life might as well have been asphalt to the face.
Love makes fools of us all.
So, how I’m here, when this is the emotional equivalent of road rash, is beyond me.
I dismount the Harley, remove my helmet, and look twice at the door.
It’s not like I have an attachment to my childhood home.
I was gone the day I turned eighteen and only stepped back inside when it was strictly necessary.
My father was my father, and there was no point in pretending I loved or respected him.
Or that he held either of those things for me.
He isn’t home. Mom’s car is in the driveway, and for some reason I was drawn here. Whether she needs me or I need her, I don’t know. But in my bones, I know I’m supposed to be here.
The door opens before I can raise my hand to knock. “Liam?” Mom pulls the door wide, giving me an invitation to enter. She’s dressed in tailored slacks and dress shoes with a light shirt. Pearl earrings and a pearl necklace adorn her slight frame.
Leaning down, I place a kiss on her cheek, noticing it’s more hollow than usual. She’s gaunt and needs more substance with the treatments for her PLS.
Her arms wrap around my waist. “Oh, my boy.”
Stepping inside, I’m assaulted by the essence of this place.
How do homes come to smell so individual, and how do they preserve that scent like it’s in a permanent hug, trapping it inside?
It’s fun and fear mashed together. It’s Cian and Ayla and games and holidays, right alongside my father’s iron fist and ruthless comments.
I’m catapulted to another era. To another Liam. One who had less control, who had only his ethics and a moral compass. One before I became a moral question mark with a contracted wife and a body count.
“How are you, Mom?” I spin in place, feeling both too big and too small for this room.
Her eyes zero in on my left finger for the second time in two days. “I— You…” She schools her features. “I’m so glad you’re here. Can I get you a coffee?” She scurries past me, but I tag her gently by the shoulders and pull her in for a hug. She immediately melts.
“I don’t want coffee, Mom. I just wanted to see you and check on you. It’s been a minute, you know?”
She sniffles as she nods against my motorcycle jacket. That can’t be comfortable.
“Since you didn’t answer me last time… How are you?” I ask, pulling back to look down into her eyes.
She waves a hand in front of her face, miming a circle. “Aside from my son making me cry, I’m fine. I should be asking you the same question. You never come here. What’s going on?”
I suck in a huge breath and let it go on a sigh. “I wanted to see you. I needed to make sure you were okay. There’s a lot going on.”
“I’m not happy with all that, you know?”
“Well, that makes all of us.”
“We could’ve kept it in the family.”
I shake my head. “We did that for decades. Ayla is worth more than sweeping it under the rug. So is Ci.”
“I know.” Her voice is small. “It’s just— No. Let’s not discuss it. I’m trying to respect your boundaries even though I’m your mom and I’ll always want to be more involved than you three want.”
“We want you involved. All of us.” She hears what I don’t say. She’s welcome. Our father is not.
Gingerly, she lifts my left hand where the ink swirls across the top, over the top knuckles of my fingers, until the black silicone band is laid out between us. “You’re married?” Her voice breaks on the word. “And I haven’t met your wife. Will you tell me about her?”
We sit and I tell her what I can about Lorien. I omit that until she ripped me to shreds this morning, I wanted to fight to never let her go. My heart still tells me to do the same.
My head, though… Well, it knows a losing battle when it hears one.
Mom doesn’t need to know about the contract arranging for us to protect each other and to dissolve once we’re out of the woods. She would never not have that in the back of her mind or on the tip of her tongue. And I can’t afford for my father to figure anything out either. In fact…
“I hate to say this, Mom, but I need you not to tell Dad.” I hate using that word. It’s like eating knives to say it. But calling him Seamus or anything similar will spin my mom out into thinking less clearly and I don’t have the luxury of a slip up.
“Why?”
“I’m trusting you.” I emphasize the word. “He isn’t in my life and doesn’t get access to those details. Help me to keep you in the circle of trust.” I sound like I’m quoting movie lines now.
“But…”
“No buts. It’s not a test, but it will be the last thing I share with you if you choose not to respect me.”
Her wheels are spinning. “Your wife? Your kids?”
“Everything. If you’d like to meet Lorien, I’ll arrange it, but Dad never knows.”
“…But Dad never knows,” she whispers to herself, and gnaws the inside of her lip. “You know I made a vow, don’t you, Liam? In sickness and health. Well, he’s getting the short end of that stick. In good times and bad. I drew the short straw there.” Her eyes plead with me.
“Forsaking all others. I made the same, Mom.” I add quietly, “I really don’t want to forsake you. Please help me keep you.”
Tears roll down her cheeks, but she bobs her head quickly twice.
Soon, maybe it won’t matter. I suspect he’ll be in jail. If not for the criminal case brought by the state of Colorado, then in the civil suit Sherman will file on behalf of Christian and Ayla.
I rub the spot in the center of my chest. I hope that’s why and not because, by that time, Lorien will be my ex-wife, with whom I shared a legal bond, some amazing sex, and a black cat named Poe.
Pulling the throttle, I accelerate around the curve, thinking about something my mom didn’t even know she said. She took vows. For richer or poorer, in sickness and health, in good times and bad.
I didn’t. But the forsaking all others part that I offered is stuck rattling around my heart. Just as the falling in love with you part plays Pong in my brain.
I need to know.
I need to know which is stronger… the love part or the worst part.
Getting to my wife is the only priority I have. And if it weren’t for the blacked-out SUV following me, I’d already be there.