Chapter 11
eleven
Getting Chase into the house proves as difficult as getting him into the car was. He twists and turns, trying to get out of our hold. Luckily, Matteo is supporting most of his weight, and by the time we reach the rickety porch, Chase has gone almost completely limp.
The moment we pass the threshold, Finn, who must have recently gotten home, takes Chase from my arms and helps Matteo get him to the bathroom.
Hazel nervously bites a hangnail in the foyer, and my first thought is to envelop her in a hug.
Tension eases from her body almost instantaneously, her arms wrapping around me and holding tight.
“You okay?” I ask quietly. She nods before I hear a sob break. Smoothing a hand over her short, light brown hair, I say, “He’ll be fine, Haze. I promise.” Even if I don’t know that for certain, I don’t want her to worry.
She pulls away, wiping at her face. “I’m sorry I told Finn not to call, I just hate to have you come all this way to deal with this when you already do so much.”
“Nonsense. I’m glad I could be here.” I wipe beneath her eyes, then kiss the top of her head. “I’m going to check on Chase, but I’ll be back, okay?”
Hazel nods, and I join the three men in the bathroom.
As I pass through the living room, I notice my father on the couch, an arm slung over his eyes, two beer bottles knocked over beside the couch.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him since his voicemail, and not even an iota of surprise passes through me.
In a strange way, it’s like I never left.
I sigh, grabbing the bottles and tossing them into the overflowing trash can before I continue down the hallway to the boys, ignoring the clothes that litter the house.
In the bathroom, I find Finn leaning over Chase, who’s on the tiled floor. Matteo stands a few feet away, face inscrutable.
“Thank you. You don’t have to stay. I can take it from here.”
Matteo gazes at me, then pushes a stray lock that’s fallen out of my ponytail behind my ear, fingers lingering for a second before he pulls back. “I want to help.”
“Finn can drop me off later. Really, it’s—”
“Stop. Let’s get him cleaned up and in bed.”
Seeing Matteo in the bathroom where I used to get the twins ready is a jarring juxtaposition between my life before I left and after. The room, the whole house even, feels smaller, and that has nothing to do with his height and everything to do with the fact that I outgrew this place long ago.
His eyes remain on mine, earnest as ever, so I turn back to my brothers, instructing Finn how best to help Chase once he’s undressed. By the way he nods and interjects, it seems he’s been through this plenty of times.
Like, since I left, the burden of dealing with our father has fallen on him.
Matteo and Hazel help me tidy up, and when Chase is showered and clothed once more, we get him to his and Finn’s room. I have him drink water and get some crackers in his body before we turn him on his side, a trash can beside his bed and another glass of water on his nightstand.
I watch him breathe for a minute or two, thankful for the subtle rise and fall of his chest. When we were young and I wanted to distract him from what was happening outside the confines of his room, I’d crawl into bed with him and pull his sheet over our heads.
To me, it was a poor man’s version of the tents Dad used to create for me in the dining room, but to Chase, it was the place he could tell me about his day, his favorite toys, what food he liked at school, his friends, or even, on the rougher days, how seeing Mom or Dad made him feel.
Everything in this house is a painful reminder of the guilt I feel knowing I’m leaving behind my siblings and a father I believe is still in there somewhere. A reminder of a time I keep trying to claw myself away from.
When I can finally breathe easier knowing Chase is safe and will be okay in a few hours, albeit dealing with the painful consequences of his actions, I sit on my bed in the room I used to share with Hazel, facing the twins, who sit on hers.
I told Matteo he could join, but he excused himself to continue cleaning.
“How many times has he done this?” I ask.
Hazel and Finn exchange a look. Finn says, “Never like this. He comes home after drinking a few sometimes, but never so badly that he can’t take care of himself.”
I put my chin in my hands. “And him?” I point my head in the direction of the living room, where our father hasn’t so much as twitched despite the noise we’ve been making.
“How long has this bender lasted?” It has to have been at least a couple of weeks, since that’s when he left the message for me and he wasn’t here for Thanksgiving a few days later.
“Couple of weeks,” Hazel confirms. “But we have him under control.”
I can’t meet either of their eyes. The twins shouldn’t be dealing with this.
Finn speaks, quiet but insistent. “Del, we can take it from here. I was just spooked.”
“But you shouldn’t have to.” I shake my head, finally looking up. “Let’s get you a second car. If you see anything used you like, tell me. With Chase transferring, you’re going to need another one.” I’ll be getting my first payment from the new deal soon anyway.
“You don’t have to pay for it,” Hazel says. “We can work and pay for one ourselves. I have a friend who says there’s an opening at the ma—”
“No. I want you to be able to focus on school. I’ll handle the money.” Frustration lines her face, lips curled down. “Only one more semester, and you’ll both be onto bigger and brighter things. Just get through the next few months.”
Hazel is the smartest of the four of us, at the top of her AP classes, which I never even took in high school. She’ll get an academic scholarship without an issue. Finn is a star football player for the high school, and I have no doubt he’ll go anywhere he wants. Scouts are already recruiting him.
They deserve as normal childhoods as I can give them. They shouldn’t have to work.
Hazel stands, the features that are so much like Chase’s pinched.
“We’re almost adults, Delilah. In one month, Finn and I are going to be eighteen.
We appreciate everything you’ve done to keep us going, but if today has made anything clear, it’s that handing us money doesn’t smooth everything over.
” Gentler, she continues, “You worked in high school to make sure we never went without the things we needed. Now it’s our turn to take on some of the responsibility you’ve been shouldering for years. ”
The words feel like an accusation, and the implication nearly bowls me over. Is she saying that by paying for the house, school, and everything else they need, I’m enabling Chase?
I think that’s the end of her speech, but like a punch to the gut, she finishes with, “It would be nice to feel like an equal instead of an obligation.”
I blink. Then blink again. She leaves the room, Finn frowning after her.
“I…I don’t…” I stammer. Settling a palm on the pain in my chest like it’ll help get the words out, I say, “I just want you to have good lives. To have free weeknights to hang out with your friends and do fun things. I don’t see you as an obligation.”
But don’t I? Isn’t everything I’m doing because I feel it’s my duty? It’s an obligation I love, but…
Are they my equals?
“She’s just…she’s mad at me for calling you. Don’t take it too seriously,” Finn murmurs.
We’re silent for a few moments as I turn her words over in my head, then fold them up and bulldoze them into any dark recess I can find. There’s nothing I can do about it right now except be more proactive about Chase.
“This might be a one-time thing for Chase, but if it isn’t and he does it again, let me know.
Please,” I beg. Once the pattern begins, I’m not sure I’ll be able to figure out how to stop him from becoming the thing we hated growing up.
But if I can catch it early, stop him, make him see that this is the wrong path, that he’s so close to the right one, maybe I can put an end to it before it really starts.
“I’ll call him and try to talk some sense into him. ”
Finn nods, a small reassuring smile splitting his face. When I get back into the living room and note how much cleaner it is already, I try not to break out into hives that Matteo has experienced the last couple of hours of this with me.
“Hey.” He pulls another garbage bag closed, tying it off. “You alright?”
“Yeah.”
My father is still passed out on the couch. When I shake him awake, he jolts up, and I back up into Matteo’s chest. His hands land on my hips, anchoring me. I don’t have time to examine the heat radiating from the firm touch to the rest of my body.
Hurricane gray eyes meet mine. Ones I’m more and more glad I didn’t inherit with each passing year, even if two of the people I love most in the world did.
“The fuck are you doing here?” The words come out like he has cotton in his mouth, and I don’t know if he’s talking to me or Matteo.
Seeing Dad like this is a distressing reminder that I’m partly to blame for his behavior.
Gone is the man who cobbled together a homemade kite with newspaper, sticks, and string so we could try to fly it at the park.
The man who, later that evening, made me a paper crown and declared me the “queen of the sky.” The man who made tents for me when I felt down or when the rain was too loud.
And yet, a part of me will always cling to the idea that he’s in there somewhere.
I know I shouldn’t give him money every few months, know that he uses it to fund this lifestyle, but if I stop and he leaves…
I’ll never get him back.
“Dad.” I hope the word is enough for him to recognize who I am. “Why don’t you take a shower and get to bed? Do you have work tomorrow?”
He glowers at me, and I sigh. Matteo’s big hands on my waist have yet to drop. When I tap the right one lightly, he reluctantly lets go.