We are at the end, the final chapter. It has been a long journey and I am so grateful for to you all for joining it. Thank you for your positive words and suggestions for additional chapters. I looked forward to each and every one. This chapter will be several parts that I will update weekly. Liam is an adult and it is written from the first person, the individual from whose perspective you are reading is named at the beginning of each section.
Sunshine and Lemons part I
Liam
I stood there inhaling, letting the smoke curl around my tongue and slide down my throat. It both tickled and caressed. I wasn't a smoker, I was just practicing as I kill time before I have to meet my confidential informant. When I was undercover I had to look like I knew what I was doing. This wasn't even a real cigarette, but it looked real, smelled real, well, close enough anyway. But no nicotine, no chemicals—as healthy as a cigarette could be. But as I stand on the street corner soaking up some sun, I notice my dad heading my way, my stomach does this flip flop clenching thing as if I am thirteen and about to be busted.
In fact I did get busted when I was around thirteen. Of all times, he decided to come home at reasonable hour and as he drove past my little group, he slowed to a stop, double-parked, and marched right into our small gathering. Being the modern kids that we were, it wasn't cigarette's that we were sucking on, but instead we were using Bobby's father's vape pen, apple pie flavor. But regardless of our chosen method we still couldn't hide our actions. He dragged me off, his voice and words clipped with anger. I don't remember much other than a few the words; disappointed and grounded being among them.
Just the other day Kyle Casey and I shared our experiences, he being caught by Kelly Severide in front of his school only to be turned over to his father. He said it was like getting caught twice. At least I didn't have to deal with that.
Kyle and I were close, extremely close—brother's from another mother close. I was Uncle Liam to his daughters who adored me as much as I did them. We rarely even knocked on each others doors, just a tap and walked in, we each had keys to the others houses and never hesitated to use them. And whenever we needed to vent or get an opinion whether it be work related or not, we reached out for each other. He had always been nice to me; three years my senior he had treated me, not as a pain in the ass little kid, but offering himself as a confidant and source of experience. When I was ten, and my dad was shot and nearly killed, Kyle took me under his wing and has held me there ever since.
When together, we are like a forest fire, consuming everything in our path. Our fellow police officers call us Bad Company, like the band or song or some kind of dark dynamic duo. I guess we are to those who get in our way. Wary is the offender who finds themselves in our sites.
But lately our professional paths have diverged, I was proud to make detective, a move I wouldn't have even attempted if he hadn't pushed me, but days after my promotion he made Sergeant and only because Voight pushed him. Making Sergeant at that young age is exceptional, but then again, Kyle, and everything he does is exceptional. Hank wanted him in charge of Intelligence and he had make rank in order to do it. Those two had some weird relationship that I had only recently discovered its origins. It took me some time to digest the fact that the Voight I knew had been the same person who had wanted Matt Casey dead for purely personal and selfish reasons, and it made me understand why Kyle always gave the man a sideways glance and seemed to be able to say anything to him without repercussions.
So, now, even if I was assigned to SWAT he was my boss. He had always been my senior, but now it meant more. Not that he rubbed it in my face or really even used it, but I knew he would if necessary and lately—well lately I'd been off my game. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I could feel it, as if it had a pulse of its own.
I had offered to go undercover on assignment recently that wasn't in my best interest. I was too well-known around that particular college campus but I was heading that way when I was yanked out by a coworker just before certain doom. The dealer would have definitely recognized me as a cop from a previous arrest with one of his buddies, but somehow I thought I could talk my way out of it. I would have been wrong of course, but at the time I didn't see it that way.
And then there was the whole gang debacle where I didn't believe the crew I was trying to buddy up with would notice I was a few shades too white to blend in and that my Spanish sucked. Again, I thought my charm could ease any issues of impropriety.
Suddenly my world seemed so basic—black and white where any cop, or especially me, the son of a cop who grew up to be a cop, knows is nonexistent. Life is all the colors—bright and brilliant, muted and subdued, dark and brooding. It is black, white, and a tidal wave of gray. It is yellow, blue and red—basically every pigment imaginable, and if you stop seeing that—then nothing good will happen for you or the people you swore to serve.
So I'd been grounded. No undercover, no working alone, not quite confined to a desk, but on a leash all the same. I don't even know where my stupidity that I tried to cloak as zealousness came from. It wasn't like I didn't have anyone counting on me. I mean, I wasn't married or even dating someone with any seriousness. I generally had a two date maximum. I was known as love 'em and leave 'em Liam. The girls in my circle were referred to as Halstead's Harem or Halstead's Hook-ups. My friends thought they were so damn clever coming up with those labels. But clearly I had commitment issues and I had a vague idea why.
I had no significant other, but I had a father who knew what I was up to professionally, and cared deeply, a mother who was trying to make up for the twenty years she had missed and twin adopted siblings who couldn't be any more attached to me than if they were glued to my legs. I have a lot of people who loved me, but sometimes I feel that I am not one of them—that I am not a part of their circle—that I cannot love myself as they love me.
"You're smoking now?" My dad asks as he stands in front of me. The fire dancing in his eyes that I knew so well growing up. He had stayed with the Intelligence Unit forever, but eventually made Sergeant, something that he had delayed due to the fact that it came with more responsibilities and time away from family, so he put it off because of me. But after being loaned to the Homicide unit, he found it a good fit. So when a spot opened up he took it. Now he runs the joint. He's pulling me towards Homicide while Kyle's pulling me towards Intelligence. I know they both want what's best for me, but I just can't stretch to their desires. I feel like the only thing that I can do successfully is fail.
"It's fake, no nicotine, no chemicals. I have to look the parts that I play, and most of them are smokers. I wouldn't tarnish this temple," I tell him waving my hand up and down my body. I grew up lean, yet strong. My hair is thick golden coppery color of some sort, the dark reddish highlights taking over. I sport a goatee, except when I don't. And my eyes are a deep, yet bright blue. There is a lot of my father within my skin, but now that I see my mother regularly, I realize she is tucked in all the places that he isn't.
"I hope not." He says staring at the lookalike as it sends smoke into the air from between my fingers.
"No worries, in a group setting nobody will notice it's a bit different and if anyone suspects something I'll say it's an exotic blend I got in the Gold Coast."
I shift my weight as I give him my explanation and gaze his direction. "Dad, I love you and all, but I'm twenty-six. You can offer me advice, express disappointment, but you really can't tell me what to do anymore." He stands quietly, digesting my words before he speaks again. He has aged well, not even a dusting of gray at his temples yet, his body in the great shape it had always been, his eyes alive and alert. I had always wondered why he hadn't found love long before my mother returned. He deserved it and it shouldn't have been that hard for him. But I am beginning to sense why. It was her, it was always her, from near and far tugging at us, directing our emotions. We could never let go of whatever hold Emma James held on or over us. She had destroyed us, whether she meant to or not, her betrayal left a long shadow that we seemed unable to escape.
"What's up with you ghosting your mother and me?" He asks as he squints at the sunshine pouring down on us.
What he says isn't entirely true. I haven't taken any phone calls and ignored most texts but I have replied to a few, though they were mostly saying that no, I would not be coming over. The twins were getting antsy and I did Facetime with them regularly, but I just needed a break—even though I had no idea why. Or, I did know, but just couldn't understand my own emotions or were prepared to defend them.
My mother's favorite day was Sunday as she would prepare a huge vegetarian feast and I would come by in the afternoon and spend time with the twins before dinner. During the meal we would talk about my childhood—well the happy times anyway. I couldn't take it anymore—she doesn't get to be a part of all the good things that had happened in my life. The things that my father sacrificed for. He seems to enjoy these dinners, but lately I can't, and that is probably why I am distancing myself. You would think after all those years of separation that I would cling to this newfound magnificent domesticity, but I can't—I just can't pretend anymore. I know my mom needs me to, but more importantly, my dad needs it. But I'm on empty for several reasons—and I just need to stay that way for now.
"The twins miss you," he tries.
"I know. I Facetimed with them. Told them work was crazy." One of the blessings of having a insane schedule as even when it is on the calm side you can still use it as an excuse.
"I miss you. Your mother misses you. And you haven't been that busy." He informs me.
This is when I hate that he was still knee-deep in CPD goings on. "Busy enough. You don't know everything I'm involved in."
"Or who you are involved in?"
"Nobody right now," I say, trying to keep face emotionless.
"What is going on with you?" He asks shifting his weight.
I shake my head. I want to tell him everything but how do I put words to emotions I can't even grasp. How do I tell him that Mom coming back didn't seem to add to my life but dismantled it. That enough pieces have been removed that my whole structure was wobbling and ready to collapse. Just being aware of those feelings was difficult enough, but to explain it to the man who finally felt complete now that his soulmate was back in his life was impossible. Plus, without her the twins would be in the wind. Sure they'd have found some kind of lodging, maybe a family or maybe one foster home after another. So I stand here and struggle with my selfishness.
I had grown up with the man standing in front of me. He knew me like I knew my favorite books—cover to cover—he would push and push until I exploded and I couldn't handle that today. "I have to go." I announce.
"You don't have any assignments," he said grabbing my arm as I began to walk away.
"You don't know everything," I bark back harsher than I intended. And despite the truth that is woven in that statement, he was right and he knew exactly why I didn't have any undercover work coming up. "I'll try to make it Sunday," I say as I shake him free and walk to my car.
As I got to the passenger side he yelled out my name. I looked at him, his face uncertain with etchings of concern, and took the last drag off my pseudo-cigarette, tossed it on the ground and smashed it out with my sneaker before picking it back up and stuffing it into my pocket. As I pull away, I can see him still standing there watching me.
Sunday came and went, once again without me at the dinner table. I knew my phone would blow up so I left it at home while I ran through neighborhoods and finally came to a stop at Buckingham Fountain in Grant Park. Both my parents brought me here when I was a kid, but I can no longer remember the trips with my mother. My dad and I used to watch the water jet up and fall back down. I would spend time naming all the sea monsters as I called them, that sat in the pool. Then we would go the nearby playground where I would run around like a madman and he would often join me.
I walked around to cool down, directed some tourists to the Art Institute and decided how I was going to get back to my apartment. I had always wanted to live near downtown, a high rise with a great view. But I also liked the neighborhoods I had grown up in. Row house style with multiple dwellings. I started off in a chic high rise with an amazing view in River North. It was a one bedroom and even had a parking spot in the underground garage—a treasure during a Chicago winter. It was modern and I loved it. I would take off on a run and be anywhere I wanted to be downtown in minutes. But then the twins came along and I really needed a two bedrooms for when they would come and spend the night with me. Plus I would occasionally take Kyle Casey's girls, Mackenzie and Kara, so he and his wife Madison could have some quiet time in their own home without having to arrange multiple play dates or have to always rely on Matt or Kelly. I figured one day when I had kids they'd owe me hours of babysitting. But really, I just loved the distraction while they were with me, and then the quiet after they left.
If you showed the guys I've busted, chased down in the street, or even shot, they'd be beside themselves to see me playing Candyland or reading Cinderella and doing the voices just how Kara begged me too. And then there was my time with Josh making Lincoln Log towers and hair salon with Jenna. It was true that women loved my hair, I had no idea why, but it was like they could not, not touch it. I'm not sure if it was the color, texture or thickness, but their fingers would always find their way into it's layers. But Jenna was the only one who did extensive work on it with her plastic scissors and combs, making me presentable for the upcoming ball in which she was always the princess to my Prince Charming.
Her psychiatrist assured me it was normal behavior and to encourage it as she was actually just being a little girl. However, I couldn't help but worry as it seemed that she was always trying to please me, put me on some kind of pedestal with an ulterior motive hiding in the shadows. It broke my heart.
Since there was no way I could afford a two bedroom apartment in the downtown area I looked further out and towards the South Side. In the end, Madison had a coworker whose mother was selling her two bedroom single family home in Bridgeport. It was a working class neighborhood just north of Canaryville where my father and uncle grew up, but the house was on the northern fringes of the neighborhood, near the Dan Ryan and I-55 junction and a little over four miles from Grant Park. I could see the skyline from my small front porch and that would just have to be good enough.
I got a great deal as the mother was motivated to sell and move to Florida before winter set in. Between, me, my dad, Kyle and his father Matt, a contractor in his off time from putting out fires, it was remodeled in just two months and in time for me to finish out my previous lease without having to extend it or shack up with someone. I was a little reluctant at first, but the place grew on me. It's brick exterior boasting it's survival over the many years it has stood. The skinny walkways between it and the neighboring homes. A tiny front yard, but a back yard that held a garage off the alley with a highly coveted parking space.
So now I bask in my two bedroom one bath home with its modern kitchen and cozy living room and look at the bunkbeds and toy box in the second bedroom that confuse the hell out of my dates and realize that the sacrifice was worth it—or at least that's what I tell myself.
But now I'm tired and really don't want to walk or run back home even though I could do it. I have my metro card—I have several so that I can scatter them in places where I won't forget to grab one. I can take the bus home, or the L, the Halsted-Orange line isn't far from my house. I had always wanted to live on Halsted and I came ever so close—just blocks away.
I sit and look at the people around me. Families with young children, teenagers goofing around, tourists taking in the sights. I realize I miss my family. I picked up the twins after school on Thursday and took them to the park for a couple of hours before taking them home, practically flinging them at my mother before I turned and ran. I just didn't have it in me to talk to her beyond the standard pleasantries. But Dad knows something's up with me, that much is clear. And I'm sure Kyle won't be far behind. He's always been keyed in on my emotions. We share everything, declaring each other a safe place. He even shared what happened to him when he was twelve and undercover with my father. Something that I hadn't been aware of at the time and made me understand just a little bit better why my dad went so ballistic when I went on my little drug buying excursion when I was ten—he knew just how ugly things could get.
Kyle's trauma was awful, and he had shouldered it all alone for years until he finally told Voight and then eventually his father and Kelly, then Madison. But he had told me before his family and somehow that made me feel as if my standing had been elevated. I think he just wanted to gauge my reaction, practice his speech. But I was honored all the same. He always treated me as an equal, even when I was a snot-nosed ten year old. He shared his secrets so I knew I could trust him with mine.
I knew the experience affected my father as well. He had suspicions about Kyle's traumatic event, but the kid wouldn't admit to it and with good reason. He denied and begged Dad to leave it alone—and he did, but once I discovered the story I could tell it never stopped making him feel as if he failed. Kyle, even now assures him that if he had gone forward with his suspicions that it would have cost several lives and not fixed anything. But life isn't so simple and neither is guilt. I'm sure this shaped how he raised me and reacted to my adventures growing up—he knew potential tragedy was always just around the corner.
Kyle
I knew Liam had been struggling, I just didn't know why. I was supposed to know or maybe he was supposed to tell me. We were both only children growing up and I had considered him my responsibility since he was ten. I was the all-knowing, protective big brother and he was the one who thought he knew more than he did. But he generally got away with everything, because he was just that good. But lately his charm wasn't keep up with his mistakes or maybe he just didn't care anymore and that was my biggest concern.
Jay was a good guy and great father. He had amazing instincts and I learned a lot from him. After our little accidental undercover operation, our relationship went to another level whether we liked it or not. When I expressed interest in becoming a cop he took me seriously and told me not only the good but the bad, as well as the awful. He didn't pull his punches and for that I was grateful. And only recently did I come to find out that even though he respected my wishes of his silence after my rape by Michael Camden that fateful night, he hadn't remained totally hands-off. I denied the event as Camden had threatened both my father and Kelly Severide's lives if I spoke out, and I had no doubt of its truth so I kept it all to myself. But Jay knew and it hurt him to stay quiet, damaging him in ways I may never understand. But not long after Camden was arrested and imprisoned for a murder that happened right in front of me, Jay went to the prison and beat the crap out of him. He never stated why, though I'm sure Camden had an idea why Jay was there doing what he was doing, but some kind of bizarre man code allowed the dust to settle, and my father and Kelly remained safe. I knew Voight had done the same thing when I was older and had finally put words to my attack. But Jay, he had quietly gone to bat for me and perhaps this is part of the reason that I found it necessary to do my very best for his son.
And now Liam was in his own unknown battle. I knew he had had difficult cases recently. But there was more, something deeper that he was holding on tightly to, something was burning him from the inside. He had changed when his mother came back—carefree and fun loving to something more reserved, but he would swing back to his old ways and I thought perhaps it was his maturity ebbing and flowing. His love life was something of epic proportions and never ceased to amaze me at how many women were in his contact list. I constantly warn him that his lifestyle will eventually catch up with him in some manner, be it an unexpected pregnancy, STD or stalker. I caution that something will come crashing down on him. But he seemingly had no interest in finding a woman to invest himself in—he didn't even try. I think he subscribed to this lifestyle for two reasons: one was simply that he could. With his looks and charisma, he had tons of options. Two, was that he was in a lot of pain. I know his mother's departure all those years ago left an emptiness that still screams at him. He wasn't going to take a chance on being rejected ever again.
But at the other end of the spectrum he was so good with my daughters, they would ask constantly if they could go see their Uncle Liam. He had the energy that they had stolen from me years ago. I'm pretty sure Kara thought he was her personal pony as he would sling her up on his shoulders and bounce around making her giddy at just the thought of it. And somehow he could always keep mercurial Mackenzie on an even keel. And I know he is just as good with the twins. Once he even was brave enough to take all four of them to the zoo—at the same time—by himself—and they all survived with no tears—not even Liam. He is a brave, brave man.
But there is a nick in his armor and he is bleeding and I have to help him staunch the flow. It's my job. Jay called me earlier asking if he could stop by and that told me he was worried as well—never a good sign. I wasn't sure how much Liam was talking to him lately. I know that he had skipped the last several Sunday dinners and even used babysitting my kids as an excuse for one of them. But it all fairness he was watching them as Madison and I had won tickets for a dinner cruise on the lake—something we desperately needed but would have never splurged on. Liam took the girls to the nature museum and all they could talk about that night was the butterflies and how one had landed on Uncle Liam's head and how the guide lady volunteered to get it and blushed as she took it off his hair. He appealed to women from near and far and in every age group. One night not long ago, maybe after a beer too many while I was commenting on his Don Juan essence, he just looked at me and shook his head saying, "I attract women of all ages, but I couldn't even get my mother to stay with me." I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw a tear trying to escape. I knew he had always struggled with her departure, who wouldn't. But I wasn't so sure that he hadn't been struggling just as much with her return as well.
I was still moving into my office. I had visited Hank Voight here many times and for whatever reason he wanted me in this spot. I didn't feel even remotely ready and had told him as much—which is when he told me that my lack of confidence made me more ready than most. But I couldn't help but think this was payment for the hit he had put out on my father all those years ago—that now we were even. But we'd never be even. I've forgiven, but never forgotten—and never would.
All but one of the officers and detectives under my command were older than me and I knew it could be an issue, but I just plugged along and let most of the comments slide and found as I did so, they started giving me a little slack. Everyone who had been here when Jay had been in the unit has moved on. Even an elite unit gets to be tiresome. They had all served for years and Jay had even taken over command for a time when Voight had been out for an extended stretch due to personal issues and injuries. He didn't like it as much as he thought he would, even though Liam was older by then. The hours were even more ridiculous and playing games with the Ivory Tower was more than he could take on a regular basis. Intelligence played things differently and the methods would never come to be accepted by the people at the top. I was beginning to understand and find the very same frustration.
I moved a very tall stack of papers and files from one side of my desk to the other. I didn't even open them, but somehow by relocating them I felt a little better. Madison was not at all thrilled with the promotion. She, of course loved the pay raise, but not the additional hours. I wasn't happy with that part either. But I just couldn't pass this opportunity up as it rarely, if ever comes along. I looked at the pictures on my desk of Mackenzie and Kara standing with their mother. Then there was a picture of Liam and me, arms around each other smiling like we didn't have a care in the world. But as I look up I see Jay heading my way, looking as if he had every care in the world.
I stand up and welcome him, as he closes the door behind him. "You're worried," I begin, "about Liam. Another no-show for dinner?"
"Yes. He's lying to me—saying he has to work when he knows I'll discover it isn't true. But he won't talk to me."
Jay looks exhausted. I know his workload is enormous and parenting young twins with all kinds of emotional baggage couldn't be easy, plus the man was in his early fifties now. And now, Liam was in the middle of something and it just heaped onto Jay's burden.
"He's had some tough cases the last couple of weeks. Kids," I finish, the last word making Jay wince.
"He hasn't told me. We haven't talked, not really, not in months—longer. He's been drifting for a while, but I've been so busy—I didn't even realize."
"Liam's an adult now and you're a busy guy. In fact I don't know how you do it." And I don't. I'm younger, and though I also have two young children, they don't require quite as much mental energy as Jenna and Josh do. Their routines, fears, constant nightmares, appointments with social workers and mental health workers. I know that Emma bears much of this burden simply because her job isn't as time consuming, but Jay is involved.
"Tell me about the cases," Jay says and as I look at him, I realize I owe him this much. That Liam can be mad at me if he wants, but if he isn't going to talk, then I will. One of us has to get to the bottom of this—somebody has to give him the tools to fix his funk—even if we have to throw them at him.
"A couple of weeks ago, there was a young girl, six or seven, wrong place wrong time. No doubt gang related. She gets shot and is down on the sidewalk, bleeding, her mother is holding her screaming despite the shooting that continues going on all around them. She couldn't pick her daughter up, couldn't move her. SWAT just happened to be in the area and rolled in. Guns still blazing, Liam doesn't even unholster his, he goes straight to the little girl, she's still alive and he just scoops her up and runs the two blocks the hospital. By the time he gets there she's dead. He had so much blood on him they couldn't believe he hadn't been hit."
"She died in his arms," Jay said, his face tight with emotion. He's been there before, he knows the gut wrenching pain of being unable to save a child. The ghosts of failure forever haunting you.
"She did. The medical staff said that the mother clung to Liam as if somehow she didn't leave him it would bring back her little girl, called him a guardian angel. But he wasn't, he wasn't good enough, fast enough, is what he told the doctor that had pronounced her. Nobody could have saved her, the bullet ripped through her aorta, she bled to death before he cleared the first block."
"Fuck," Jay said as he looked down at the floor.
"Then last week—well it got worse. Hostage situation, Liam had the kill shot, right between the eyes, he definitely takes after you in his marksmanship, but it was too late. The guy had slaughtered his entire family; wife and two toddlers. Social services had begged the woman to leave her husband but she wouldn't. He hadn't been abusive just unstable, she was certain her support would get them through this, she was making sure that he was taking his meds. In the final report it said her last statement to the case workers was that families stuck together, wives stayed with their husbands and children."
"He knew all this?"
"He entered the building, saw the massacre—he read the report."
"Fuck," Jay repeated and I knew exactly what he was thinking, because I was thinking the same thing.
Jay
I left Kyle and drove for a bit, but the city isn't a great place to drive while distracted so after I nearly rear-ended the car in front of me, I stopped and parked near a crime scene from several days ago. I didn't think I would find anything illuminating, but I just need time to myself and I didn't know where else I could get it without interruption. I entered the premises with the key I still had from the other day, it was a small office where a disgruntled employee had come in and shot the owner and one other employee. The blood stains were still present, along with the holes in the wall, a testament to the violence that had happened. Now, with two dead and one in jail, the business ceased to exist—merely a blip on the radar, its only claim to fame was the two minute splash it made on the nightly news as the reporter explained its demise. Everything seemed so twisted and disposable these days, including human life.
I sat on the couch in the front entry area. I think it had been home to a private accountant. He had hired two employees and apparently one had an issue, now there was nothing. Life could so easily change in an instant. I've seen it nearly every day of my adult life. I often show up too late and even if I'm there in time, it is still often on the worst day of someone's life. I can completely understand the pain of those two incidents that Liam had gone through as if they had happened to me. But it was somehow worse that they had happened to my son. I would have taken the burden of his pain and disappointment if I could. I just can't understand why he hadn't come to me, told me what happened. He had always shared his tough days with me—until he didn't.
I can still remember the small face looking at me, wondering where is his mother was and why she hadn't come back. Every night as I tucked him in—if I was there to do it, he would ask me where she was. I have to admit that not only did I not have any answers, but there were nights I was grateful to have worked late so I didn't have to face the question and feel so powerless. But I didn't have much time to dwell on it as I was too busy looking forward as I realized that I was going to have to raise him all by myself—having no idea if I even had what it took. I was the one wiping away his tears when I would come home late and he was terrified that I had been hurt or worse. I was the one constantly reassuring him that I was okay, that everything would be okay, even when it wasn't the truth. But we both knew the words lost their strength and influence the older and wiser he got. I remember my first day home after getting shot when he was ten, I woke up from my drug induced nap to see him looking at me, tears tracking down his cheeks. He asked in a tiny voice if someone was still brave if they were scared. I told him that's when a person was the bravest. He then told me that he guessed he had been pretty brave because he had never been so scared as he had been the previous few days. My little soldier, always my brave little soldier and I hated that he had to be.
I was grateful when Will moved back to Chicago and didn't hesitate to jump into a relationship with Liam. And through him Liam managed a relationship with my father that would have never happened otherwise. Just because I couldn't get along with the man didn't mean that my son didn't deserve an opportunity. And I did discover he was a much better grandfather than father. I was grateful for their time together, but it made me miss my mother that much more.
My relationship with my dad had always been abrasive, our last conversation stuck in my head like a painful thorn. If I could go back and change it I would, but he was gone forever and it was only then that I found he had watched me from afar with pride. I didn't want that distance between Liam and me, I wanted him close and constant, but suddenly that didn't seem to be the case. I racked my brain at just when it was that he began to retreat. Had I done something? Had I not done something? It seemed as if I looked up and he was just gone.
He went to college in the city, Loyola, mostly because a mysterious scholarship was provided for him. We had been raised Catholic, but I departed the church not long into my adulthood, but Will still dabbled and my father embraced it until his death. He had somehow had set up a fund that ended up assisting Liam with a healthy stipend when the time came. He had been debating between the University of Illinois at Chicago and Loyola and the scholarship made the decision for him. I figured it was either a final gift from my father or he got his way one last time. But either way, Liam got a great education and lived at home for another four years to save on costs.
Those four years were a gift. He was an adult, going about his business as one, but would still come to me for advice and camaraderie. We discussed his problems along with his accomplishments. We were still father and son, but we had also become friends. Then at his college graduation he looked out into the crowd and saw me, Will, his friends and his mother. He told me of the sighting when we caught up to each other following the ceremony, but I didn't believe him, figuring he had just wanted to see her and formed a face from the crowd that would work. But then I turned and it was her—Emma had returned after so many years away. We were stunned and the face that Liam wore was beyond torn—I didn't know how to read it and put off deciphering it, but clearly I had better get started on its significance.
Emma and I didn't instantly get back together. We took our time going over our past and present. However I found my yearning for her was ever-present and continuous. Liam was busy at the Police Academy and then starting his professional career so he wasn't around much to weigh in, but as I thought about it now, perhaps he was conveniently occupied more than he should have been, an avoidance tactic that had served him well.
When a visa issue popped up, threatening to send Emma back to Ireland I realized that I couldn't lose her again so I asked her to marry me. Would it have happened without that pressing down on us? Maybe. Eventually. But Liam had just nodded when I told him. I can't say he was excited or upset—he just accepted it. Then the twins entered our lives and now—well suddenly I didn't know which way was up or what Liam was up to, and it terrified me.
I remember often feeling like I had no idea what was going on with him as he grew up and hit his teen years. He was always a good kid, but he hit bumps and sometimes I wasn't there to steady him. I just hope he always knew how much I loved him and still do, but somehow I have a feeling that his drifting has caused a rift in our relationship and he is no longer a teenager that I can force to his room and sit down for a lecture.
Throughout his college years we made a point to get together at least once a week and talk. A time where phones were set aside and the focus was only on each other. Sometimes it would be about nothing, but often there was more to it than we cared to admit. When he first became a cop we kept it up, talking about his cases, his undercover experiences, but slowly those died off and became a memory.
The marriage, the kids, the job have consumed me while my first born—my only born has paid the price. Hell, I couldn't ground him anymore but I could still lecture him and lecture I would—as soon as I could find him. I took a breath and wiped a tear away I hadn't realized was there. Emma and the twins were my heart, but Liam, Liam was every bit of my soul.
Later that week the morning had started off typically with Jenna waking us screaming; the terror of her nightmare coming through. It was a common occurrence. Josh tended to whimper through his nighttime disgruntlement's, but Jenna couldn't keep hers to herself. It reminded me of all the nights I would wake up and find Liam curled up next to me, quietly comforting me in my time of need. I found Emma holding onto her for dear life as the little girls arms flailed. I could see the struggle and relieved her of her duties, sliding behind Jenna holding her as the doctor had recommended; firmly, yet safely so that neither one of us got hurt. I had always debated about saying "daddy's got you" as I hadn't wanted to trigger anything as I imagined that somewhere in her history the title had been used in a sickening way. The kids had been calling us mommy and daddy since the adoption became official and the title never seemed to bother her, but I still shied away from the phrase when she was upset. Now I sat and soothed her, assuring her that it was okay. She finally seemed to snap out of it, popping her thumb in her mouth as her big brown eyes blinked back to the present. She turned and looked at me as her body relaxed and her mouth turned up in a smile, pulled her thumb out of her mouth and asked if she could see Liam today. I smiled and told her maybe.
My mind raged at Liam, silently yelling that he can push Emma and me away, but not the twins. He was forever their savior and he knew that—he knew how important he was in their healing. One of the many reasons we petitioned for custody and eventual adoption was so that he would be a part of their lives. True he had Facetimed, texted silly selfies and even picked them up a few times in the last month for a trip to the park, but he knew how important Sunday dinners were to them. I was angry, frustrated and terrified at what would cause Liam to retract into his own world, and risk the twins recovery by doing so.
Emma had come back and started the morning routine with Jenna as I headed out to find Josh who was just climbing sleepily from his bed. "Hey partner, time to get up for school." I greeted him.
"Will Liam pick us up today?" He asked rubbing his eyes, his hair sticking out as if he had put mousse in it the night before and rolled around on his head.
"Maybe, but I don't know. It's late, time for a shower," I said as I pulled his shirt off in preparation.
"Let's shower together," he suggested. Every time we thought progress was made we would discover that their history would wind its way back into our present. We didn't know all the details of their years of horror, but little peeks would present themselves and make my heart hurt.
"How about," I tell him getting down on his level, "you shower in your bathroom and I'll shower in my bathroom and we'll see who gets done first. But, you have to wash your hair—and get all the soap out, dry off and get dressed."
"Okay," he replied, his eyes lighting up at the challenge as he raced towards the bathroom.
I sigh at one battle resolved. But today is the day I have to find Liam and make him talk to me. If he knows of the twins disappointment in his actions then maybe that will be enough to bring him around or at least tell me what is keeping him away. However, I would soon find out that today, wasn't going to be like any other day or a day that I ever wanted to deal with. The day would start out as it often did, but by the end, I would be shaken to my core.
To be continued...
Soundtrack:
Vagabond by Aquila Young Prisoner by Stumfol - City on the Water by Stone Foxes "Brother" by The Rural Alberta Advantage -You're Somebody Else by Flora Cash