Chapter Eight #2
“Fifth grade,” Lavender supplied. “She built a working model of a neural network. The judges thought she must have had adult help because the concept was too advanced.” Pride crept into her voice despite the tears. “She didn’t. She just… sees patterns in things. Makes connections nobody else does.”
I grunted softly, not trusting my voice enough to try to speak. My own eyes burned, vision blurring as I swiped through more images. Christmas mornings. Halloween costumes. Everyday moments captured in pixels that I should have witnessed firsthand.
“She has your brain,” Lavender said, her fingers tracing one of the tattoos on my forearm absently. “And your stubbornness.”
A tear escaped, rolling down my cheek and disappearing into my beard before I could catch it. Lavender noticed, reaching up to touch the damp trail it left on my skin.
“I thought I’d lost her today,” she whispered, fresh tears welling in her eyes. “When Dr. Patel sat us down and explained what was happening. I could see it in her face this was bad.”
I tightened my hold on Lavender, my calloused hands gentle as I stroked her hair. Her body felt small and fragile against mine, though I knew better than anyone the steel core beneath her exterior.
“Listen to me,” I said, my voice dropping to that low register I usually reserved for threatening those who crossed the club. Now it carried a different kind of intensity. “We’re not losing her. Not today, not ever. Those fuckers can drain every drop of blood from my body if that’s what it takes.”
Lavender’s hand came up to rest against my chest, directly over my thundering heart. “What if it’s not enough? What if your kidney isn’t compatible after all? What if --”
“It will be,” I cut her off, pouring every ounce of conviction I possessed into those three words. “And if somehow it’s not, we’ll find another way. But Brynn is going to live a long, healthy life. That’s the only acceptable outcome.”
She looked up at me then, her tear-stained face inches from mine. “When did you become so certain about everything?”
“When I found out I had a daughter,” I answered honestly. “When I saw her for the first time. When I realized I had to be worthy of her. I don’t have a choice. Not if I want to earn a place back in your lives.”
Lavender reached up, her fingertips tracing the inked lines of the lavender flower on my neck, the one piece of my old self I’d kept visible through all the changes.
“You wore me on your skin,” she murmured. “Even after everything.”
“You were never far from my thoughts,” I admitted. “Even when I convinced myself letting you go was the right thing to do.”
She settled her head against my chest again, her breathing steadier now. “Tell me about the tests today.”
I exhaled slowly, my hand continuing its gentle stroking of her hair. “Mostly boring medical shit. The psych evaluation was fun. Had to convince some baby-faced therapist that I’m stable enough to donate despite my criminal record and current associations.”
“Meaning the club? What did you tell him?”
“The truth. That nothing matters more to me than making sure Brynn has what she needs to be healthy again.” I paused, swallowing hard. “And that I plan to be in her life, in both your lives, for as long as you’ll let me.”
Lavender’s fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt. “And if that’s forever?”
The question hung between us, heavy with implication. This wasn’t just about co-parenting anymore. This was about something deeper taking root between us, something neither of us had expected to find again.
“Then I’m the luckiest son of a bitch alive,” I whispered.
We stayed like that, tangled together on the cold hospital floor, until the sound of approaching footsteps in the hall signaled Brynn’s return. Lavender reluctantly pulled away, wiping at her eyes.
“They can’t see me like this,” she said. “Brynn will worry.”
I nodded, helping her to her feet, steadying her with hands that lingered perhaps longer than necessary. As she straightened her clothes and tried to compose herself, I retrieved her phone from the floor, caught once more by the image of Brynn’s smiling face frozen on the screen.
“We’ll make sure she has many more birthdays to celebrate,” I promised.
Lavender’s eyes met mine, and I knew I was supposed to be here with my girls.
Something dangerously close to hope blossomed in my chest and I clung to that feeling for dear life.
We heard Brynn before we actually saw her, her voice carrying down the hospital corridor with surprising strength for someone who’d spent the day getting prodded by doctors.
Lavender and I exchanged glances as we approached her room, the familiar sound of my daughter’s “debate mode” bringing an unexpected smile to my face despite the emotional wreckage of the past hour.
“-- which is why the package insert clearly states administration should occur two hours after the immunosuppressant, not simultaneously,” Brynn was saying as we reached the doorway. “The binding affinity of the molecules means they compete for the same receptors. It’s basic pharmacology.”
I leaned against the doorframe, taking in the scene.
Brynn sat up in bed, her blue hair sticking out in spiky tufts from her ultrasound, IV line trailing from her thin arm.
She held her tablet like a shield, screen displaying what looked like a medical journal article.
The nurse, a middle-aged woman with steel-gray hair framing her amused face, pushed her through the door in a wheelchair.
“While I appreciate your extensive research, Miss Leahy,” the nurse replied, tapping a gloved finger against the chart, “Dr. Wilson adjusted your protocol specifically. The timing is intentional.”
Brynn’s eyes narrowed, not intimidated in the slightest. “Did Dr. Wilson account for the peak plasma concentration overlap? Because according to this study from Johns Hopkins…” She flipped to another screen on her tablet and spouted shit I had no fucking hope of understanding.
Jesus Christ. My eleven-year-old daughter was debating pharmacokinetics with a medical professional like it was a discussion about her favorite video game.
Pride swelled in my chest so suddenly it physically hurt and I had to duck my head and put my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
“Well,” the nurse said, setting down the medication tray with deliberate care, “perhaps I should consult with Dr. Wilson again.” She glanced up, noticing Lavender and me in the doorway.
She grinned, clearly not taken aback or insulted in any way.
“Mrs. Calloway, Mr. Leahy. We’re back. Everything went smoothly.
I’ll be back with her meds in a bit.” She scowled back at Brynn over her shoulder before turning back to us and grinning again.
Brynn’s head snapped up, her expression shifting instantly from righteous academic fury to something more guarded.
Her eyes locked onto Lavender’s face, missing nothing as usual.
Including the slight puffiness around her eyes, the faint tear tracks not completely erased by her hasty cleanup in the hallway.
“Mom?” The single syllable carried a world of concern.
The nurse used the distraction to retreat, stopping beside us with an even bigger smile.
“Your daughter,” she said to Lavender, voice low enough that Brynn couldn’t hear, “has memorized half the Physicians’ Desk Reference since breakfast.” She winked.
“At least she’s not scared and trying to be brave anymore.
Gave her something else to think about.” With a knowing nod, she slipped past us into the hallway.
I moved into the room, keeping a respectful distance from Brynn’s bed. Despite our gaming sessions and the tentative connection we’d started to build, I knew better than to assume too much too fast.
Brynn ignored me completely, her focus laser-sharp on her mother. “What happened?” she demanded, tablet abandoned on the blanket. “You’ve been crying.”
Lavender moved to Brynn’s bedside, smoothing back her daughter’s wild hair. “It’s nothing, baby. Just a rough day.”
“Bullshit,” Brynn stated flatly, her gaze shifting to me, hardening into accusation. “What did you do?”
The question hit like a sucker punch. I kept my face neutral despite the sting. “Brynn --”
“Did he say something? Is he backing out?” Her voice rose, the monitor beside her bed registering a spike in her heart rate. “Because if he thinks he can just walk away again --”
“Brynn Elizabeth Leahy,” Lavender cut in, her tone sharper than I’d heard her use with our daughter but still gentle. “That’s enough. Knight didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then why were you crying?” Brynn challenged, but uncertainty crept into her voice.
I took a careful step forward. “Your mom’s been carrying one hell of a weight, kid. Sometimes even the strongest people need a minute to break down.”
Brynn’s eyes narrowed as she assessed my words for lies. Finding none, she turned back to Lavender. “Is that true?”
Lavender sank onto the edge of the bed, taking Brynn’s hand between both of hers. “Yes. I was looking at old photos while you were getting your ultrasound. Just… remembering easier times.” She squeezed Brynn’s fingers gently. “Knight found me upset, that’s all. He actually helped me feel better.”
Brynn absorbed this, her gaze flicking between us with that eerie way she had. I now understood why my eyes had always freaked people out even before I got the whites filled in. Because I swear to God, the kid could see straight into a person’s soul.
“Fine,” she said finally, though suspicion still lingered in the set of her jaw. “But I want to see those pictures too.”
“Deal.” Lavender pulled out her phone, the crisis temporarily averted. As she sat beside Brynn, showing her the photos we’d looked at earlier, I moved to the window, giving them space while remaining close enough to hear their soft conversation.
I listened, each anecdote another piece of the puzzle that was my daughter’s life.
The science fair projects. The coding club she’d started at her school.
The time she’d taken apart the neighbor’s broken router at age nine and fixed it by re-soldering a loose connection.
And yes, she’d earned her merit badge by singeing her fingers at least three times before she’d finished.
And never gave up. Each story revealed another facet of the remarkable person she’d become.
“What about this one?” Brynn asked, her voice suddenly quieter as she swiped to a new photo.
From my position, I caught a glimpse of Brynn at maybe five or six, holding a crudely made Father’s Day card. Something tightened in my chest.
“I made that for Principal Edwards,” Brynn said, her tone carefully neutral. “For that stupid Father’s Day thing school made us do.”
Lavender’s hand tightened around her phone. “You decided he needed it more than anyone, since he had to be ‘father’ to all the kids at school.”
An uncomfortable silence fell. I kept my gaze fixed on the cityscape beyond the window, giving them the illusion of privacy while my heart threatened to crack wide open.
“He lost his kid,” Brynn said suddenly, the words clearly meant for me to hear.
“His son died from cancer in the middle of the school year. That’s why I gave it to him.
Because I thought… I thought dads who lost their kids deserved Father’s Day cards more than kids who lost their dads.
” She paused. “It made sense when I was six.”
I turned then, finding both of them watching me. “It makes perfect sense,” I said quietly. “Kid logic is sometimes the most logical of all.”
The corners of Brynn’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “The nurse thinks I’m a pain in the ass.”
“Language,” Lavender admonished automatically, though without heat.
“You impressed her,” I corrected. “And she’s not really angry with you. I think she was yanking your chain to get your mind off shit.”
Brynn shrugged, but I caught the hint of pride she couldn’t quite suppress. “I like knowing things. Especially about what’s happening to my body.” Her gaze met mine directly, a challenge maybe. “Did they figure out if this thing’s happening yet?”
“Final tests today,” I answered. “We’ll know soon.”
She nodded once, then turned back to the photos, effectively dismissing me. But something had shifted subtly. The wall between us hadn’t come down, not by a long shot, but maybe, just maybe, she’d installed a small window.
The nurse returned, another staff member in tow -- a doctor this time, from the looks of the white coat.
“Miss Leahy,” the nurse announced with theatrical formality, “Dr. Wilson is Dr. Patel’s resident.
” She grinned at me and Lavender as if she were getting ready to watch the greatest show on earth.
“He would like to discuss your concerns about medication timing.”
Brynn straightened, tablet already in hand, ready for round two.
As the debate resumed, Lavender moved to stand beside me, her shoulder brushing against my arm.
She had to turn her face into my shoulder more than once as the young resident, who was obviously being taught a lesson by a senior nurse, stumbled over recited explanations he obviously didn’t fully understand.
“She’s exactly like you,” she whispered.
I watched my daughter systematically dismantle the doctor’s explanation of her medication schedule, using logic that even I could tell was impressively sound.
Also, the resident’s face turned a very unflattering shade of red.
And he stumbled over his words a lot. My chest swelled with a complicated mixture of pride, regret, and fierce, protective love.
Not long after, Dr. Patel came in to see what the fuss was about. Once Brynn laid it all out there, Dr. Patel gave her resident a look that said, “where do they get them and why do they send them to me?” I got the feeling she wasn’t annoyed with Brynn.
“We will use this as a learning experience for you and my resident.” Dr. Patel then explained exactly why she wanted to administer the medication on the “less than optimum” schedule.
Five minutes later, the proverbial light bulb had come on in Brynn’s head, but the resident still had a blank look on his face. Brynn huffed, then explained it like she might to a third grader.
“God help us all,” I murmured back.