Page 11

CHAPTER 11

VICKI

T he hospital room reeks of antiseptic and despair. My father, Jim, lies on the bed, pale and fragile, tubes snaking in and out of him like he's some kind of broken machine. He’s awake now, and the shame on his face is heavier than the IV bag hanging above him.

“Why didn’t you take the compound?” I ask, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. But I’m tired. Tired of all the excuses, the promises, the cycle of messing up and pretending it’ll get better. “It was right there. You could’ve been better. You could’ve tried .”

He looks at me with red-rimmed eyes, his hands fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “Even with that stuff, Vic,” he says, his voice scratchy, “I’d still have to want to stop. And I’m just… I’m not strong enough. I never have been.”

The words hit me like a punch. He’s always been the one to crack jokes, to stumble around and pretend everything’s fine, even when it’s not. Hearing him admit it out loud—it’s like something inside him has finally snapped.

“You’re my dad ,” I say, my voice breaking. “You’re supposed to be strong. You’re supposed to be there for us.”

He shakes his head, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. You deserved better than me. You all did.”

Debbie, my mom, sits silently in the corner, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She’s staring at the floor, her face as blank as a canvas. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to. We’ve been here before, all of us, in this same damn dance.

I can’t take it anymore. I turn on my heel and walk out, my chest so tight it feels like I can’t breathe. The hospital hallway is cold and sterile, but it’s better than that room. I push through the double doors and step outside into the late afternoon sun. The air is crisp, but it doesn’t help. I sit on a bench, my hands trembling, and stare at the cracked pavement.

Belleville. I thought I’d left this place behind. I thought I’d finally escaped. But here I am again, right back in the middle of my parents’ mess.

The bench shifts under someone’s weight as they sit down next to me. I don’t look up. I’m not in the mood for company.

“Hi, Vic,” comes a voice that’s both familiar and irritatingly cheerful.

I freeze. That voice—I know that voice. I look up, and there he is. Saucerhead Brown. My ex-boyfriend from high school. Bald, tattooed, and grinning like he’s just won the lottery.

“Long time no see!” he says, his tone as goofy and clueless as ever. “I heard ya moved away.”

I stare at him, my brain catching up to the moment. “Saucy,” I say flatly. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I stare at Saucerhead—Daryl—with a mix of disbelief and irritation. His grin doesn’t falter, but the words he just dropped hang in the air like a foul stench.

“What do you mean, you heard I moved away?” I snap, crossing my arms. “You’re here because of my mom, aren’t you? What does Fester want now?”

He chuckles, scratching the back of his bald head like he’s trying to remember the script. “Oh, you know how it is, Vic. Deb owes Uncle Fester a chunk of change. Interest and stuff. It’s just business.”

“Business?” My voice rises, and a passing nurse shoots me a glare. I lower it, but the venom doesn’t leave my tone. “My mom paid him back. Every last cent. What’s he trying to pull?”

Daryl shrugs, his massive shoulders rolling like boulders. “Interest adds up, Vic. You know how Uncle Fester is. He’s got his rules.”

“Rules?” I scoff. “Fester’s just using you, Daryl. He’s always wanted our land, and now he’s got an excuse to take it. You’re his muscle, but you’re still just a pawn to him.”

His grin falters for a moment, but it’s back as quick as it left. “Aw, come on, Vic. Don’t be like that. I’m just doing my job. Besides, Fester takes care of me.”

“By making you threaten people?” I lean in, lowering my voice. “You’re better than this, Daryl. You always were. Fester’s going to get you killed, or worse, arrested. And for what? A meth lab on our land?”

He blinks, surprised. “How’d you know about the?—”

“Doesn’t matter,” I cut him off. “What matters is you walking away before it’s too late. You don’t have to do this.”

Daryl sighs, his cheerful demeanor cracking a little. “Vic, you’re sweet. You always were. That’s why I wanted to talk to you, to apologize. ‘Cause I might have to hurt your dad or Chad real bad.”

My stomach knots. “You’re not serious.”

He shrugs again, but this time it’s not as casual. “It’s business, Vic. I don’t like it, but it’s the job. Uncle Fester’s got his rules.”

I shake my head, my fists clenching. “You’re kidding yourself, Daryl. Fester’s a snake, and you’re letting him use you. You think he won’t turn on you the second it’s convenient?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he stands, towering over me on the bench. “You be careful, Vic. Uncle Fester doesn’t take kindly to people sticking their nose in his business.”

“Funny,” I say, standing to meet his gaze. “Neither does my boyfriend.”

Daryl’s brow furrows. “You mean that rich guy? Fester’s rich too, you know. What’s he gonna do against Uncle Fester?”

I laugh—a sharp, bitter sound that surprises even me. “Oh, Daryl. You have no idea who you’re dealing with. I’m telling you this for your own good: walk away.”

He gives me a sad smile, like he’s looking at a puppy he’s about to put down. “I gotta do what I gotta do. Take care of yourself.”

With that, he turns and walks away, his boots crunching on the gravel. I watch him go, my stomach churning. One way or another, Fester’s going to have to be stopped. But for now, I need to figure out how to keep my family out of his crosshairs.

I push open the heavy hospital doors and step back into the sterile hallway, my thoughts still tangled with Saucerhead’s warning. The buzz of fluorescent lights and the faint hum of medical equipment follow me as I head toward my father’s room. But before I get there, I hear a familiar voice—soft but clear—coming from the nurse’s station.

“Are you sure it’s not too late to sign up?” my mom is saying, her voice trembling slightly. “I mean, I know I’ve messed up a lot, but I’m ready now. I really am.”

I freeze mid-step, my heart skipping a beat. Deb? My mom? Asking about rehab? I haven’t seen her this lucid in years. Her curly hair is a mess, and her tie-dye shirt looks like it’s seen better days, but there’s a determination in her eyes that I haven’t seen since before the drugs took hold.

The nurse gives her a warm smile. “It’s never too late, Mrs. Sloane. We can get you started as soon as you’re ready.”

Deb spots me hovering in the hallway and waves me over. “Vicki! There you are. You ready to grab some lunch? I need to get out of this place for a bit.”

“Uh, sure,” I say, still processing what I just heard. “How about the cafeteria?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Only if we’re feeling masochistic.”

The cafeteria is as grim as I remember it—fluorescent lights, plastic trays, and the faint smell of overcooked green beans. We grab a couple of sandwiches that look like they’ve been sitting out since the early 2000s and find a table near the window.

“So,” I say, picking at the limp bread of my sandwich. “Rehab, huh? That’s… new.”

She takes a bite of her sandwich and grimaces. “God, this is awful. But yeah, rehab. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Your dad’s… well, he’s not the only one who’s hit rock bottom.”

I set my sandwich down and lean forward. “Mom, that’s… amazing. But what about Dad? Is there any way we can help him want to get better too?”

She sighs, stirring her iced tea with a plastic straw. “I don’t know, honey. There’s been so much damage. So much pain. Some days, it’s hard just to get out of bed, let alone face everything we’ve done to each other.”

“But you can’t just give up on him,” I say, my voice cracking. “You’re his wife. He loves you. I know he does. Maybe if you go first, he’ll follow.”

She gives me a sad smile. “I’d like to believe that. But your dad’s stubborn. Always has been. And I’m not sure he’s ready to face what he’s become.”

I glance down at my hands, the weight of everything pressing down on me. “Mom, what if we just… left? Let Fester have the land. Rocky could help us. We could start over somewhere else.”

Her face hardens, and for a moment, she looks like the fierce woman she used to be. “No,” she says firmly. “Our family has been on that land for four generations. I’m not letting Fester Boyle chase us off like a bunch of scared rabbits.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the look in her eyes stops me. It’s the same stubbornness I’ve inherited, the same refusal to back down when it matters most. For the first time in years, I feel a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she’s not as broken as I thought. Maybe there’s still something worth fighting for.

“Okay,” I say softly. “But promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Promise me you’ll fight for yourself too. Not just the land or Dad or me. You. ”

She reaches across the table and takes my hand, her grip surprisingly strong. “I promise.”

We sit there for a while, laughing about how terrible the food is and reminiscing about the good old days—or the days that weren’t as bad, at least. It’s the most normal we’ve been in years, and for a moment, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, things can get better.