“He and I had a very frank conversation.” My dad’s voice is sharp, leaving no room for argument. “Either he shapes up or he won’t be part of this team for long.”
I nod, processing.
“What a lineup this season, huh?” I murmur.
My dad lets out a short, dry chuckle. “That’s one way to put it.”
Silence stretches between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s…nice, in a way.
Then my dad exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I’m sorry, Monroe.”
I look over at him, confused. “For what?”
He hesitates for a moment, then continues. “For putting you in the locker room. I’m sorry you had to hear the guys talk about you like that. Trust me when I say, I’ve fully laid down the law. And so has Rhodes, apparently.” His lips press into a thin line. “You aren’t to be messed with. And if it happens again, the consequences will be severe.”
I swallow.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I want you to find your footing again, but not at the cost of feeling like you don’t belong here.”
That hits somewhere deep in my chest. I open my mouth, then close it. I don’t even know what to say to that, so I just settle on, “Thanks, Dad.”
Quiet falls over my living room again. I think we both get lonely and just don’t know how to tell the other one.
After a beat, I glance at him. “Want to watch a movie?”
“At ten-thirty p.m.?”
“Yeah.”
He nods. “Yeah, okay.”
So we do. And it’s really nice.
* * * *
My shoes tap lightly on the floor of the hall as I head to Elsie’s office. I assume I’m being given either more tasks or a new set of tasks altogether. I haven’t missed or been late to a shift in the full week I’ve been working.
I also haven’t had a drop of alcohol since my dad’s ultimatum. No parties. No drugs. And my body hates me for it. I’m currently sitting firmly in the “why the fuck did I think this was a good idea?” and “is cold turkey really effective?” phase of sobriety.
My sleep right now is a joke—I’m exhausted but wired at the same time. Some nights I find myself staring at the ceiling until dawn, unable to keep my mind from racing. Other nights, the nightmares come instead. Both are terrible. My hands shake all the time, and I am sweating constantly. The worst part is the headaches.
I’ve traded ruining my liver with alcohol to ruining it with ibuprofen.
I wonder how long I’ll have to work here before I’ve proven myself trustworthy again in my dad’s eyes. Probably at least through graduation. I’m going to have to prove that I can follow through with at least one commitment.
Dad is worried about me backsliding, I can feel it in the way he carefully watches me, checks in regularly. He’s careful but not overbearing, like he’s scared I’ll bolt. Which, to be fair, is something I definitely would have done a few weeks ago. But what he doesn’t know is how little desire I truly have to go back to the place I was in before. Once you reach rock bottom, the only way out is up.
Whether I was happy about it or not, this was my way up.
Didn’t mean I had to be all sunshine and rainbows about it, though.
I knock on Elsie’s door, a softtap tap tap.
“Come on in, Mo,” Elsie calls. My heart constricts. Only two people in the world were allowed to call me that, Dad and Elsie. No one else.
I gently twist the doorknob and let myself into the office. It was simple, like Elsie. Bare tan walls, filing cabinets lined the back wall, a wooden desk and a black rolling chair. The computer monitor casts a blue light on Elsie’s face, and the screen reflects in her reading glasses.
“Have a seat.” She looks down the bridge of her nose at me and gestures to the chair in front of her. “How are you doing?” Her eyes narrow at me as I start to answer. “Don’t bullshit me, either.”