Dad’s keys jingled behind us. “Your mother’s been practicing her pancake flip.” The forced lightness in his voice made my chest ache. It was like we were all trying too hard to pretend the last few months hadn’t happened.
The front door opened to a wall of warmth and the smell of vanilla candles—they immediately conjured the memory of Elena’s dark vanilla scent. My boots felt heavy on the familiar hardwood. Twelve weeks of sharing a room and constant community gathers made the comfort of home with my family feel almost surreal, like I was watching someone else’s life through a window.
“Go get settled in, sweetheart,” Mom called over her shoulder from the kitchen. “I’ll start on those pancakes.”
I trudged down the basement stairs on autopilot, my duffel bag thumping against each step. But when I hit the bottom and flicked on the lights, I froze.
“Uhhh, Mom?” I called up the stairs. “Where’s my stuff?”
“In your bedroom upstairs. I want you where I can keep an eye on you.”
Oh, son of a bitch.Actually, I was the son of a saint. I’d put my mom through hell, so if this was what she needed, so be it.
When I was back in the kitchen, seated at the island while Mom whipped up breakfast for dinner, she asked, “Have I ever told you about my sister?”
“Not much. Just that she died when you were younger.”
Mom hummed quietly while she worked. “She was three years older than me.”
The pancake batter sizzled as it hit the griddle. Mom’s hands were steady, but her voice had that slight tremor I’d learned to recognize. The one that meant she was trying to keep it together.
“Sarah was... God, she was beautiful. And smart. So damn smart. But we couldn’t outrun what was happening at home. The drinking, the drugs, the violence...” She trailed off, focused intently on the pancake like it held all the answers.
I watched her flip it with perfect precision, wondering how many mornings she’d practiced while I was gone. Wondering what memories haunted her during those quiet moments.
“I thought if I just stayed close enough, we could protect each other.” The spatula scraped against the griddle. “But sometimes... sometimes loving someone isn’t enough to save them.”
“Mom...” My throat tightened as the weight of what I’d put her through settled heavy in my chest.
She turned to face me, and there was something fierce in her eyes beneath the tears. “But you, Chase? You chose to get help. You’re fighting. And I...” Her voice broke as she cupped my face. “I get to watch my baby heal.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “For making you worry?—”
“Shhh.” She pulled me into a hug, and suddenly I was six years old again, safe in my mother’s arms. The kind of safety it sounded like she’d never had at my age. “Just keep doing the work, baby. That’s all I need.”
I hugged her tighter, breathing in that mom-smell of vanilla and pancake batter.
The work.
I’d done it before, hadn’t I? Back when I first met Elena, I’d gotten my shit together. Got that instructor job at the resort, stopped hooking up with random girls at Cody’s parties...
And it had worked. For a while.
Just keep doing the work.
Which meant I had shit to do.
Find a meeting. Find a sponsor. Find a job.
I’d start there.
It wasweird as shit to have my cell phone back in my hand for the first time in twelve weeks. Eighty-four days. Two thousand and sixteen hours, give or take, but who’s counting? I’d left it at Mom and Dad’s, not to be tempted, despite the policy at Harbor Hall allowing phones. The device felt foreign now, like someone else’s possession I’d accidentally picked up.
I sat on the edge of my bed in my childhood bedroom that Mom had insisted I move back into. No more basement dwelling for her precious recovering addict son. When the screen flared to life, my phone immediately started convulsing with three months of missed notifications. Texts. Emails. Voicemails. Social media alerts. Each vibration felt like an accusation.Where were you? Why didn’t you answer? Do you know what you missed?
The family group chat alone had hundreds of unreadmessages. I started scrolling, my stomach churning as I started from the day everything went to hell.
ELLIOT
