I went to two more bars. Three. I learned the smell each one left on my clothes. I sat in my car with my forehead on the steering wheel and let one sob out like a cough so I could be done with it. Then I wiped my face with the back of my hand and went home like a person who wasn’t actively losing.
The next morning, I left when the sun was barely up. I didn’t tell Jackson where I was going. If he asked, I would’ve lied.
The bell above Momma Laverne’s door chimed like it always had. Grease, coffee, sugar—comfort in scent form. I slid into the booth across from Dad without a word. He took one look at me and reached for my hand. My lip trembled and I bit the inside of it so hard, I tasted iron.
Momma Laverne made her way over and poured coffee I didn’t touch then set a plate of biscuits in front of me. “Well,” she said mildly, “you look like you’re about to punch somebody.”
“I already did,” I muttered. “Just not with my fists.”
Dad’s brow twitched. “What happened?”
“I went to the bars last night,” I said. “All of them. Told them if they serve him, they answer to me. And the Saints.”
Momma Laverne let out a slow breath through her nose. Not impressed. Not shocked either. “Honey,” she said carefully, “that’s a bold move.”
“I don’t do subtle.”
Dad leaned back, arms folding across his chest. “And how did Jackson take it?”
“He hasn’t found out yet.”
That silence? That one had weight.
I stared at the cracked vinyl table instead of either of them.
“I buried him,” I said flatly. “I stood there while they handed his mother a flag. I clawed my way out of a bottle of pills because I couldn’t survive losing him.”
My voice sharpened, heat creeping up my spine.
“I did rehab. I did the shaking and the sweating and the ‘share your feelings’ bullshit. I’ve got a sobriety pin in my jewelry box that I fought like hell to earn.”
Dad’s jaw tightened at that.
“And now he’s standing in our kitchen every night pouring whiskey like it’s medicine.”
The words cracked on the last syllable. I was shaking now, and tucked my hands under the table while they pretended to not notice.
“I know what that looks like,” I went on. “I know what that slope feels like under your feet. First it’s just to sleep. Then it’s to quiet your head. Then it’s because you don’t know how to exist without it.”
Momma Laverne slid into the booth across from me. “And you’re scared,” she said.
“I am pissed,” I shot back.
She held my gaze. “And scared.”
My shoulders sagged just a fraction. I focused on a broken chair shoved into the corner, my throat tightening as I blinked furiously before turning my attention back to them. “Yes,” I snapped. “I’m scared.”
Dad reached across the table, steady as ever, and held his hand out. Flat on the table, palm up. Not a demand. Just an offering. An anchor if I decided I wanted one. I hesitated before taking it.
“I cannot go back there,” I said, lower now. “I won’t.”
“Back where?” he asked gently.
“To being the girl who needed a pill to survive her own brain.” My voice didn’t waver. “I built Willow’s Harbor out of that wreckage. Women walk through those doors every week because I didn’t give up. I cannot drown because he doesn’t want to face his ghosts.”
Momma Laverne nodded slowly. “You love him,” she said.
“With everything I’ve got.”
