Page 8 of A Million To Fall

The bills kept coming, though. Weirdly enough, electrical companies and banks don’t really care if the sole income earner died and there’s no one left to pay outstanding balances.

My dad’s insurance money and the wrongful death settlement kept us afloat. Until it didn’t.

We lost our home first.

Then our car.

And then I lost the last remnants of my mom—the version of her that clawed her way out of her grief with the help of anti-anxiety medication.

She’s still medicating, except that the things she takes now are neither covered by insurance nor dispensed by the pharmacy. What exactly that is, though, I don’t know. And I don’t want to. Self-preservation.

Sure enough, when I got home with Cassie and Bronx after taking them for burgers and shakes today—takeout in hand because I figure my mom hadn’t eaten all day—she shuffled out of her bedroom looking fifteen years older than a woman who’d barely turned thirty-eight. That’s when I figured I wasn’t going anywhere tonight.

But that didn’t stop Jake from blowing up my phone for over an hour, reminding, begging, then demanding I drag my ass to his birthday party immediately. And my mom insisted I go. She promised to make pizza for Cassie and Bronx, that she’d sit and play Chutes and Ladders with them.

“Is shitface coming over tonight?” I asked, arms folded over my chest.

“His name’s Eddie,” she scolded. “And no, he’s working tonight.”

“How about anyone else?” Eddie isn’t the only unsavory dude to come knocking on our door. Sometimes men show up, looking to get paid. And sometimes that means I take Cassie and Bronx out for ice cream, whether they want it or not.

My mom shook her head, smiling. “No. We’re good. I promise.”

I didn’t tell her I don’t trust her promises—that I’ve come home one too many times to her passed out or doing who-knows-what in her bedroom while Cassie and Bronx were left completely unsupervised. I don’t really leave my siblings with her unless I’m sure she’s alone, sober, and safe for them to be around.

But tonight, she seemed… okay. Tired, but present. Her eyes weren’t glassy. Her speech wasn’t slurred. She didn’t move in slow-mo.

I thought about how nice it would be to not be needed for a couple hours. And, yeah, I thought about Skye. About how maybe I’d finally work up the courage to ask her to winter formal. I mean, she’s way out of my league. I have exactly nothing to offer her. And I don’t dance. But I do have one of my dad’s old suits that finally fits, so…

That’s what convinced me.

Now I’m on the bus making my way toward the really nice part of Stillwater.

Jake lives in a gated community by the golf course, and for his sixteenth birthday, his parents gifted him a new Audi S5. My friends are all like that—carefree, doted on, comfortable. They’re all involved in extracurricular activities. Jake, Pacey, and Jonathan play soccer, and Lily and Skye—god, Skye; way out of my league—ride horses. Like, the fancy kind.

None of them work to support their families. None of them have one parent in the ground while the other does whatever she can to stay numb.

Once off the bus, I walk another ten minutes, then punch in the code and wait for the iron gates to open.

It’s clear the party’s in full swing when I make my way to the house. The loud thump of the music reaches me before I’m even at the driveway. I bet every kid in the community got invited, ensuring none of the surrounding parents are going to call the cops. Jake’s fucking smart like that.

“Holy shit, you’re really here,” Jake shouts from the kitchen when I walk in the house. He hurries toward me, leaving behind an offended-looking girl who I could’ve sworn Jake just had his arm around.

“Did you just ditch your date to say hi to me?”

Jake waves me off. “Nah, don’t worry. She’ll be there when I get back.” He claps a hand on my shoulder. “Glad you made it, Boss.”

I grin. “Yeah, well, anything for you.”

“Liar.” He gives my arm a light jab. “I’ve had three girls ask about you already.”

“Oh, yeah? Like who?” I ask casually, like I’m not hoping to hear Skye’s name.

“Well, there was Karianna, but I know you’ve been there, done… her,” Jake says with a shit-eating grin. “Morgan, and, well, you know Lily’s got a thing for you, right?”

“Lily Lily?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

“Yeah, like, Jonathan’s cousin.” Jake laughs. “The one you tripped on purpose when we were playing basketball when we were ten and she broke her wrist.”