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. Expertisewill 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. TheI’m falling in love with youwas perfection. Theworst part of my lifemight 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. Onebefore 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.
