Page 5 of Chaos (The Serenity Ranch #2)

She leaves the room without answering, leaving me with an ominous pit in my gut and the itchy promise of tears behind my eyes.

I repeat— fuck .

We don’t talk on the drive back to my apartment.

I know that I should be thanking Lux; I know it’s only because of her and her wallet that there aren’t any charges being pressed against me.

I’m not sure when she managed to speak to the people whose house was partially destroyed—whose house partially destroyed me right back, when you take my busted fucking ankle into consideration—but she must’ve.

Because as the same sullen police officer who arrested me once I was freed from my crumpled car uncuffed me, there was no talk of jail, of a court date, of anything legal.

I should be grateful, but I can’t quite manage it. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Lux scoffs, white-knuckling the steering wheel of the same truck she’s had since she was a teenager. “Oh, I should’ve just let you rot in jail for God knows how long?”

“I wouldn’t have gone to jail,” I rebut, though I’m not all that sure.

Lux doesn’t look sure either. “This isn’t your first offense, Lottie. You already had one foot in a cell.”

Well, shit. When she puts it like that.

In my head, I kiss my teeth and snark something about not needing her.

Externally, I begrudgingly recognize defeat. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

Again with the ominous shit. Figuring she wouldn’t grace me with an explanation even if I asked for on, I let the silence persist. Once we reach my apartment block, I don’t ask for help getting out of the car and Lux doesn’t offer any.

I hobble and swear my way up three flights of stairs and into my apartment, relieved to find my roommates absent.

They’re always either fighting or fucking, and I’m not sure either would be a suitable soundtrack for whatever plot twist is imminent.

Nor would they be particularly reassuring to the woman already eyeing my home like it’s some kind of hovel.

I’m less relieved, however, when I shoulder open my bedroom door and find a blond, man-sized rat lurking in my space, and the damn boot on my foot doesn’t let me back up quick enough to evade an unwanted hug. “Holy fuck, babe.”

My hands curl into tight, furious fists. “Get off of me.”

Ricky doesn't listen. He maintains his tight hold until I drive my knuckles into his stomach, and even after he’s forced to retreat, he still doesn’t take the damn hint. “I was so worried about you.”

Something like a smile curves my mouth, but there’s no joy in it—just amazed disbelief and the strain of keeping homicidal urges at bay. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

The dumb, stupid, idiot motherfucker actually tries to cup my face tenderly. He actually looks surprised when I bat him away. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Shit, lemme—”

“Get out.”

He jerks like I’ve slapped him, and oh, do I wish I had. “What?”

“Get the fuck out of here. I never wanna see you again.”

Ricky gapes incredulously, so damn confused, I almost laugh. “What’re you talking about?”

“You left me,” I remind him, too pissed to care that the one person I would least like to witness this conversation is currently lurking an inch behind me. “You broke into that house, you dragged me out there, your brother set off that alarm and crashed my fucking car, and you left me .”

“I didn’t drag you anywhere,” Ricky refutes, and it’s so fucking typical that that’s the part he gets hung up on. “C’mon, Lot. I was drunk. I was high. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“You are so full of shit.”

“ You are kind of being a bitch.”

“Hey,” Lux barks. Her hand lands on my shoulder, and I wonder if it’s instinct that guided it there. A second later, I wonder if it’s common sense that snatches it away. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

As if he’s only just noticing her presence, Ricky squints at Lux. “Who are you?”

“No one,” I answer at the same time Lux says, “Her sister.”

Ricky blinks. “Lottie doesn’t have a sister.”

“Oh, okay, then.” Lux bleeds pure, thick sarcasm. “If you say so.”

Gaze flitting back to me, Ricky accuses, “You said you didn't have any family.”

“You left me in a crushed car,” I spit. “I think we’re even.”

“Jesus, Lottie, it’s not like you were dying .”

“Yeah, Lottie,” my sister parrots, her voice a mocking drawl. “Don’t be so dramatic. At least the car wasn’t on fire.”

I shoot her a look—a silent stay out of it that she responds to with a sigh and two innocently raised hands—before returning my focus to the dumbass I cannot believe I wasted over a year of my life hanging out with .

Stepping aside, I gesture at the door with a dramatic flourish.

“Fuck off, Ricky. I mean it. We’re done. ”

Ricky blinks again. He scoffs. He shakes his head. He snickers beneath his breath like he really thinks this is all one big joke. He sobers when he takes another look at me, when he really looks at me, when he finally realizes how not joking I am.

“Yeah, okay.” His shoulder knocks into mine as he stomps out of the room, calling some lovely parting words over his shoulder. “See you in a week when you remember you’ve got no one else.”

I laugh in his wake, but fuck if that doesn’t hit harder than I care to admit. If it doesn’t make me feel small and inferior and oh-so-alone, things I’ve felt enough of to last a lifetime, things I started burying a long, long time ago.

My thumb finds its way to my mouth. I’ve barely started biting on the nail—a bad habit I always think I’ve kicked until it rears its ugly head again—before my hand is gently slapped away. “Don’t ruin your nails over him .”

I shove my hands into my back pockets. Excellent point.

“Boyfriend?”

“Absolutely not.”

Lux makes a noise of complete and utter relief.

With Ricky gone, she eases her way deeper into the room, and any lingering man-related irritation evaporates.

I suddenly find it really hard to stay still.

I suddenly view the small space with hypercritical eyes.

I suddenly care way too much about the glorified cave I do little more than rot in when I’m not working—I care way too much about what someone who only cares about me when I’ve done something wrong might think of it.

Lux doesn’t give anything away as she pokes around. Not until something on my desk catches her attention, something she picks up and frowns at. “You changed your last name?”

I swallow. “Not legally.”

With a bitter laugh, Lux drops the plastic card with my picture, my birthday, and the words ‘ Lottie Higa ’ stamped on the front. “You’d rather risk using a fake ID than be a Jackson?”

No. I’d rather risk using a fake ID than be constantly reminded that no one wanted me to be Jackson anymore. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You used Mom’s name,” she accuses as if it’s some grave betrayal, and I guess, all things considered, it kind of is.

“It’s our name too. And I don’t wanna talk about Mom.”

I don’t want to talk at all because talking leads to fighting, and I’m too tired to fight.

My ankle hurts and I smell like hospital and I haven’t showered since I took on the front of a house and lost so there’s still a fine layer of dust coating damn near every inch of me.

I want to clean up and put on my pajamas and maybe scream into my pillow for a little while, but I can’t do that, not with Lux here.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say halfheartedly, hoping that’s all that’s necessary to get rid of her.

Evidently, it’s not.

And at the same time I realize she isn’t going anywhere, I realize she isn’t just poking around. She’s looking for something. For the two bags she finds stuffed beneath my bed, a duffel bag that she clutches tightly and a backpack that she tosses at me. “Start packing.”

I stare at her dumbly. “Excuse me?”

Wrenching the top drawer right out of my dresser, Lux tips the contents into the duffel. “You can’t seriously think there’s not gonna be consequences for this.”

“You can’t seriously think you can just clap your hands and I’ll do what you say.”

“Fuck knows I’ve never thought that,” she mutters snarkily before sighing, turning to me with her hands on her hips. “That couple whose house you ruined won’t be pressing charges because I paid for the damage. And now you’re gonna pay me back.”

“Oh, fuck off.” I can’t help but laugh. “We both know you can afford it.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, Alexandra?”

“You’re gonna come home,” she states like it’s a fact, like I’m already halfway back to Serenity. “You’re gonna work for me. Pay off your debt. And,” she adds before I can spew the refusal already brewing. “You’re going back to rehab.”

Again, I laugh. Cackle a touch deliriously as a fine layer of panicked sweat makes my skin feel clammy. “You can’t make me.”

Lux does not laugh. There’s nothing delirious about her. She is serious and unwavering and cocky . “You wanna bet?”

No. No, I don’t. Not against her. And she knows it, she’s smug about it, but she tempers her righteousness enough for me to see how much she is not playing around.

“Six months. That’s all I’m asking. Come home, work, stay sober.

If you do that, you can have everything back.

Your cards, your accounts, everything. And if it’s what you really want, you’ll never see me again. ”

I wonder if she would believe me if I told her I never cared about any of that.

That not once in the past two years has I ever really missed the monetary manifestation of so much familial guilt—no, not guilt, because our grandparents never felt bad about not loving us, about leaving me and my siblings to fend for ourselves after our parents left us to them.

They threw money at us because that was their parenting technique, that was their love.

That money had strings back then and it still has them now. I didn’t want it then and I don’t want it now, which is why it’s so, so easy to say no. Or to start to, at least.

Lux sees the word on the tip of my tongue, and hers clucks. Her mouth quirks into something arrogant, something provoking. “What?” she taunts. “You don’t think you can do it?”

Oh, fuck her for doing that. For thinking that would get me. For being right . Because it’s like the moment she challenges me, a defiant switch in my brain flips. The need to prove her wrong overwhelms anything else.

“Six months,” I repeat—I clarify.

“ After a thirty-day programme.”

I grit my teeth. Seven months. Seven fucking months. Over half a year of my life gone just to prove that I’m not a mess, a lost cause, whatever else she thinks of me. Half a year in exchange for the whopping sum I left in the bank account I lost access to the same day I lost everything else.

I… I can do that. Surely, I can do that. If I can’t, then fuck, maybe Lux is right and I do have a problem.

“ Fine .”