Chapter 8 Sierra
SIERRA
I sleep until noon because that’s what my body does after closing shifts. By the time I shower, dress, and actually feel like a functioning human, it’s early afternoon and the guilt has already set in.
I haven’t been to my parents’ house in almost a week.
For most people, that’s nothing. For the Dixons, it’s practically abandonment.
The drive south takes twenty minutes, and I spend every one of them rehearsing my smile in the rearview mirror. Practicing the way my face needs to look when Mom asks how I’ve been. When Dad studies me with those quiet, worried eyes.
Fine. I’ve been fine. Everything is totally, completely fine.
I’m not even convincing myself.
I pull into my parents’ driveway, the weight I’ve been dragging around feeling a little lighter for the first time in days. Home. Even with everything falling apart, this place still feels like safety.
Their house sits in a subdivision on the southern edge of Vegas, a two-story white stucco with a flat roof and the kind of front porch where neighbors stop to chat. It looks exactly like every other house on the block, except for the flower beds.
Those are mine.
I planted every bloom myself. Marigolds and petunias and lavender that perfumes the air when the wind blows right. Coming here to tend them is the closest thing I have to a garden of my own, and some days, kneeling in the dirt with my hands buried in soil is the only thing that makes sense.
I park in the driveway and head straight for the flower beds, crouching down to inspect the damage. A week is too long. There are weeds everywhere.
“I was wondering when you’d come check on our babies.”
Mom steps onto the porch, my heart lifts at the sight of her. Same blonde hair, same brown eyes, same soft smile that makes everyone feel like the most important person in the world. She’s rounder where I’m curved, a bit shorter than me, but we’re cut from the same cloth.
“Looks like we’ve got weeds to deal with,” I say, focusing on a dandelion instead of all my problems. “You helping or ‘supervising’?”
“Don’t be a smart ass.” But she’s laughing as she grabs her gloves from the garage.
We kneel side by side in the dirt. The sun is warm on my back, not quite brutal the way it gets in deep summer. A breeze carries the smell of lavender and fresh-cut grass from somewhere down the street.
This. This is what home feels like.
“Sarah’s been having the worst morning sickness,” Mom says as she yanks a dandelion. “Poor thing can barely keep anything down.”
“Is she drinking ginger tea? That’s supposed to help.”
“I brought her some yesterday. She said it helped a little.”
I picture my sister-in-law, green-faced and miserable but still glowing with that first-trimester joy. She and Greg have wanted this baby forever. The morning sickness is just the price of admission.
“And you won’t believe what I caught your father doing yesterday.” Mom’s voice takes on that disapproving edge I know so well. “He snuck out to buy fast food for lunch.”
I bite back a laugh. “The rebel.”
“It’s not funny, Sierra. He has high blood pressure.”
“I know.” I do know. I also know that Dad has been eating nothing but grilled chicken and steamed vegetables for two years, and sometimes a man needs a burger. But I keep that opinion to myself.
“Your cousin Audrey is seeing someone new,” Mom continues, moving to the next patch of weeds. “A middle school teacher. He runs a video game club for his students, stays after school twice a week on his own time.”
So much for poor Devon. That lasted, what, a week?
“Sounds like a prince.”
“He really does seem sweet.” She sits back on her heels, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her gloved hand. “I’m just glad she’s happy. There were stars in her eyes when she looked at him.”
Here it comes. I can feel the question building like pressure before a storm.
“What about you, hon?” Mom asks, and her voice is gentle but persistent. “Are you going to start dating anyone soon? You and Viktor broke up a while ago, right?”
For one awful second, I feel his fingers on my arm. Hear his voice in my ear. You think you can just walk away from me?
I rip a weed out of the ground harder than necessary. “About a month ago. It hasn’t been that long.”
“That seems like long enough to me.” She pauses, and I can feel her watching me. “I never cared for that man. I’m glad you ended things.”
She doesn’t know the half of it. My parents didn’t know he was Bratva. All they saw was a “supply chain manager” who wanted to use Dad’s company for something shady, and that was enough.
But they don’t know what came after. They don’t how ugly he got.They don’t know he’s still coming around, still watching, still waiting. They don't know why I'm wearing long sleeves today while sweat drips down my back.
And I’m not going to tell them.
Dad’s blood pressure is already a problem. Mom would worry herself sick. My brothers would do something stupid and heroic and probably get themselves killed.
Better to keep it buried. Better to smile and pretend.
Mom sighs, brushing dirt from her gloves.
“I just want you to be happy, sweetheart. Settled.” She glances toward the house, where we can hear Dad puttering around inside.
“Julian knew what he wanted from the time he was sixteen. And Greg found Sarah and never looked back.” Her eyes find mine, soft with love but edged with concern.
“I worry that you’re still... searching. ”
She means well. I know she means well.
But all I hear is: Your brothers have it figured out. Why don’t you?
“I’m not searching, Mom.” Frustration makes the lie slip out, “Actually, I’ve been seeing someone.”
Her whole face transforms. “Really? That’s wonderful! What’s his name?”
“Matteo.”
His name feels strange on my tongue, but not wrong. Not entirely.
Also: what the hell did I just do?
Yesterday, this man suggested we get married to piss off my psycho ex. I said I’d think about it. And apparently my brain decided that “thinking about it” meant telling my mother we’re in a relationship.
Cool. Very normal. No notes.
“Tell me about him. Is he good to you?”
The genuine joy in her voice makes guilt twist in my stomach. “He’s... protective. Takes care of people.”
It’s not entirely a lie. He did walk me home. Did give me his number for emergencies.
The front door opens before I can dig myself deeper into this hole. Dad emerges, tall and pale with his easy smile—the one that doesn’t quite hide the worry in his eyes.
“How’re my girls doing?”
“Good.” I stand, brushing dirt from my knees. “Garden looks great.”
His gaze sweeps over my face, and I watch his expression change. The smile fades. His brow furrows.
“Are you getting enough sleep, Si? You look tired.”
Shit.
I should have spent more time on concealer this morning. Should have known he’d notice the dark circles.
“I’m good, Dad. Just worked late.”
“I worry about you working those hours at the bar,” he says, and I can already hear where this is going. “Maybe you should go back to school, finish that business degree. Then you could get a job with normal hours.”
We’ve had this conversation a hundred times. It never gets easier.
“I’m happy with what I’m doing.”
“I know, but bartending doesn’t have much of a future, does it?” He crosses his arms, and I know he thinks he’s being helpful. “If you had that degree, maybe you could manage the place instead of just serving drinks.”
A knot of frustration and guilt twists inside me, along with something that feels too much like shame.
I want to tell him about the flower shop. About the savings account I’ve been building for three years, nickels and dimes and every spare dollar I could scrape together. About how close I am to finally making it real.
But I already told them I was going to get a business degree. Already announced that plan to the whole family, let them be proud of me, let them think I had it figured out. And then I dropped out after a year because I was miserable and couldn’t pretend otherwise.
I can still remember the careful way they said we support you while their eyes said we’re worried. The same way they never had to worry about Julian or Greg.
I can’t do that again. Can’t announce another dream and watch it curdle into another disappointment. The flower shop stays mine until it’s real. Until I can show them a key and an address instead of just another promise I might not keep.
“I’m fine, Dad. I promise.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but lets it go.
We visit for a while longer, talking about nothing important.
I love this. I do. The easy rhythm of family, the way conversation flows without anyone trying too hard.
But underneath the comfort, there’s a weight I can’t put down.
Every smile takes a little more effort than it should.
Every question about my life is a landmine I have to step around.
I’m not exhausted by them. I’m exhausted by all the things I can’t say.
I’m gathering my things to leave when a familiar sedan pulls into the driveway behind my car.
Julian climbs out first. He’s the oldest, the responsible one, the son who followed Dad into the shipping business and never once complained about it. On the other side, his wife Harper emerges holding a Tupperware container.
“Hi, guys!” Harper waves with her free hand, her smile wide and warm. “I brought chocolate chip cookies.”
Julian shakes his head as they walk toward us. “She spent half the morning baking because we had an argument–”
“It’s not really an argument,” Harper interjects. “More of a differing opinion.”
“About what?” Mom asks, accepting the cookies.
“Julian wants to buy a completely impractical sports car.”
“It doesn’t have to be practical.” Julian grins. “It’ll be fun.”
“And what about when we have kids someday? The car you want has no back seat.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”
Harper looks at my parents, her expression pleading. “He’s nuts, right?”
Dad shoots Julian an apologetic look. “She has a point about the practicality.”
Mom nods.
But I catch Julian’s eye and flash him a grin. “I say go for it.”
He laughs and throws an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a side hug that smells like his cologne and feels like safety. “I knew I could count on you, sis.”
Harper rolls her eyes but she’s smiling. She always smiles when she looks at Julian. They’re so in love it’s almost obscene, the way she lights up whenever he walks into a room.
I watch them, and something aches behind my ribs.
This is what love is supposed to look like. Easy. Real. A partnership where you argue about sports cars and bake apology cookies and never, not once, have to hide bruises under your sleeves.
I think about Matteo’s proposal.
A fake marriage. A business arrangement. A means to an end.
Standing here in my parents’ garden, surrounded by people who love each other genuinely, the idea feels almost dirty. Wrong in a way I can’t quite name.
But then I think about Viktor. About the texts. About that smile he gets when he knows he’s scaring me—the one where his mouth curves but his eyes stay cold. The one that says he’s enjoying this. About how scared I am, all the time, and how tired I am of being scared.
Matteo offered me a way out. Protection. Safety.
Maybe I’ll never have what Julian and Harper have. Maybe I’m trading the chance at something real for something that’s just safe enough to survive.
Right now, I don’t care.
I just want to stop looking over my shoulder.