Chapter 21. Florian
The sun felt heavy and warm on the back of my neck. Around me, Knox’s garden was insane. Roses, jasmine, and a hundred flowers that I could not begin to describe.
I ran my highlighter over a paragraph about structural functionalism, the neon yellow ink bleeding slightly into the expensive paper of the textbook.
I had three books open in a semicircle around me, a cold brew coffee sweating on a stone coaster, and absolutely nowhere else I needed to be.
I was doing research for an actual paper I wanted to write with Evans.
Knox even said that if I wanted to transfer from Community College to somewhere fancier, I should.
But I liked it there. It gave me everything I had. I could do my Master’s somewhere else.
For a moment, the sheer luxury of it caught in my throat. Not long ago at all, "studying" meant reading by the light of a streetlamp filtering through a grimy window while my stomach ate itself. Now, I was worrying about GPA and thesis statements. I was a student. I was safe. I was Knox’s boy.
I leaned back, stretching my arms over my head until my spine popped.
The breeze ruffled the pages of my notebook.
I felt dangerously happy. It was a fragile thing, this happiness.
I was terrified that if I breathed too hard, it would pop, and I’d wake up on a cot in the shelter with my backpack stolen again.
Having tasted poverty, I wondered how ethical it was for someone to have this much money while others starved.
I'd asked Knox once if it bothered him, having this much while others had nothing.
He'd told me his advisors thought he gave too much away.
That had been enough for me. Also, he genuinely just had a good, kind heart.
After all, he rescued me. Someone who could never repay him in a million years.
Someone who had nothing to give him but love.
He could be sure of one thing: I loved him more than anything. More than I could put into words.
My phone buzzed against the glass tabletop.
I froze. The happy bubble didn't pop, but it shivered violently.
I knew who it was before I even looked. The screen lit up: Finn.
He’d been calling for three days. Texting, too. Strings of desperate pleas that I had ruthlessly swiped away. Need help. Sick. Pls Florry. Pick up. You're the only one I have. That last one hurt. I never had anyone, not even him, and I was the child in this.
I stared at the phone as it vibrated, watching it inch across the glass. The "Do Not Disturb" function Knox had suggested I use was off; I was waiting for Knox to tell me he was on his way home.
Another buzz.
Ignore it, a voice in my head whispered. It sounded like Luna. He’s a leech. He’ll drain you dry and ask for seconds.
But then another voice, younger and stupider, whimpered, What if he’s dying? What if this is the one time he’s telling the truth? He took care of you after mom left. He didn’t know how, but he tried his best.
I picked up the phone. My thumb hovered over the red icon. Then, cursing my own weakness, I slid it to green.
"Hello?"
"Florry?"
The sound of his voice made my stomach drop. It was thin, reedy. It sounded like air escaping a punctured tire.
"What do you want, dad? I’m studying."
"I’m sick, kid," he wheezed. I heard a cough. "I ain't drunk. I swear on everything that's sacred, I ain't had a drop in two days. I can’t... I can’t keep anything down."
"Go to a hospital," I said, gripping the phone tight enough to whiten my knuckles. "Call 911."
"Can’t," he gasped. "No insurance. They’ll just kick me to the curb. I need... I just need some help. Water. Maybe some meds. I’m at the Starlight. Room 12."
The Starlight. It was a fucking motel on the edge of the industrial district, the kind of place where people went to disappear or overdose.
"I can't come there, dad. I have a life. I can't just drop everything because you…"
"Please," he interrupted, and his voice broke. "I’m scared, Florry. I think... I think I’m in trouble this time."
The line went silent, save for his labored breathing.
The guilt hit me. He was my father. He was a disaster, a wrecking ball, a thief of my joy, but…
that was the problem, wasn't it? Parents were often the worst people in our lives, and we still yearned to help them. If he died alone in a motel room because I was too busy enjoying my billionaire boyfriend’s garden...
"Fine," I snapped, hating myself. "I’m coming. But if I smell vodka, I’m walking out. You hear me?"
"Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah, okay. Thanks, kid."
I hung up and sat there for a moment. The birds were too loud, too cheerful. The sun was too bright. My dad had drunk all of our money away. He couldn’t keep up with the rent because he spent it in booze, so we had to move all the time.
I needed to tell Knox. The rules. Text check-ins. Updates on plans. If I disappeared to the Starlight without telling him, and he found out... I could not do that to him; this would be much more than simply bratting.
I dialed his number. He picked up on the second ring.
"Florian?" His voice was warm but there was a hint of worry. "Is everything alright? You don't usually call during study hours."
"Daddy, I... I have to go out," I said, rushing the words before I could lose my nerve. "It’s Finn. My father."
There was a pause on the line. I could hear the faint click of a keyboard in the background, then it stopped. "What happened?"
"He called. He sounds bad, Daddy. Really bad. Not drunk-bad, but sick-bad. He’s at a motel on the edge of town and he says he can't keep water down, and he needs help, and that he has no one but me.
" I took a breath, staring at my open textbook, tears already blurring my vision. "I have to go check on him."
"I see." Knox’s tone was guarded, but not unkind. "Florian, you know his patterns better than anyone. Is this a ploy for money?"
"It might be," I admitted, closing the book with a heavy thud. "But if it’s not... I just need to drop off some Gatorade and aspirin. Make sure he’s not dying."
"I don't like you going to that part of town alone," Knox said. "I can leave the office now. Wait for me."
"No," I said, a little too quickly. I needed to do this. I needed to prove, to myself, maybe to him too, that I could handle Finn without collapsing. "You have that merger meeting. I know you do. I can handle this, Daddy. I’ll take the driver. I’ll be safe."
Knox was silent for a long moment. I could practically hear him calculating the risks.
"I'll ask Kyle to be close by," he said finally, his voice firm. Kyle was his head of security. "Keep your phone on. Send me the location immediately. I will wrap up here and meet you there as soon as humanly possible."
"You don't have to…"
"I am coming, Florian," he cut in. "You can go ahead to assess the situation, but I will be there. Do not argue with me on this."
"Yes, Daddy," I whispered, relief washing through me despite my protests. I didn't want to be alone with Finn for long.
"Be careful," Knox added, his voice dropping to that register that made my toes curl. "Call me if anything feels off. Immediately."
"I will."
I hung up and scrambled to pack my things. The peace of the afternoon was shattered, replaced by the familiar, buzzing anxiety of crisis mode. That’s how my life had always felt.
The ride to the Starlight was a blur. The driver watched me in the rearview mirror but said nothing as I gnawed on my thumbnail.
When we pulled into the motel lot, the contrast was violent.
The Starlight was a two-story u-shape of peeling stucco painted a color that might have once been peach.
The asphalt was cracked, weeds shooting up through the fissures.
A rusted pickup truck sat on blocks near the office, and a woman in pajama pants was smoking a cigarette on the second-floor balcony, watching us with dead eyes.
"Could you wait here, please?” I told the driver. His name was Allan.
"Mr. Knox instructed me to keep you in sight, if possible," Allan said. He also sounded worried. He was a good guy.
"You can see the door from here," I pointed to Number 12. "I’ll be fine."
“I'll be waiting, Mr. Florian,” he said. I nodded, grateful. I knew Kyle must be watching from afar, too, and the fact that I could never find him, even after actively searching for him, was very unnerving but also weirdly reassuring.
I grabbed my backpack, the new one Knox had bought me, leather and smelling of wealth, and stepped out. I immediately regretted having chosen that backpack. Finn would notice.
The air here didn't smell clean. It smelled of exhaust, damp rot, and burning plastic.
I walked to the door of Room 12. The paint was flaking off in large chips. I raised my hand to knock but hesitated. My fist hovered inches from the wood.
Inside that room was the past. Inside was the chaos I had escaped.
If I knocked, I was inviting it back in.
But then I remembered the wheeze in his voice. I remembered being six years old, holding a cool washcloth to his forehead while he shivered from withdrawal, him calling me his "good boy."
I squeezed my eyes shut, steeled my spine, and knocked.
"It’s open," a voice croaked from inside.
I pushed the handle down. It wasn't even locked. I took a breath of the foul air, pushed the door open, and stepped into the dark.