Page 69 of On the Line

Jesus fucking Christ.

I can’t imagine what he did to look as beat up as he does.

But I have a few ideas.

Charlie notices me first. “Oz!” he exclaims, running into my arms.

Sophia immediately shushes him.

“Hey buddy,” I whisper, ruffling his short curls, his head still only reaching up to the middle of my chest. “Are you okay?”

“Dad got beat up,” he deadpans, looking up at me with big blue eyes.

“Did he now?” I mutter, looking over to Hux. He confirms with a nod.

I can’t seem to muster any sympathy for my dad. All I feel is disappointment in his actions, and rage for the kids having to deal with his bullshit.

Charlie releases me from his hug and I walk over to Sophia, dragging her into me. Her arms wrap tightly around my waist and she sniffles into my chest. My heart cracks. With my chin resting on the crown of her head, I make large circles with my palm on her back.

“What happened this time,” I ask Huxley from over Sophia’s head.

“Same shit, different day,” he responds with an eye roll. “He was found unconscious behind O’Toole’s in the early hours of the morning. He got dropped off at the hospital by EMTs.” He scratches his head, then drops his hand in exhausted defeat. “It took them a while to figure out who he was. It was only at shift change that one of the nurses—Betty’s niece actually—realized it was Dad.”

Betty was my mother’s friend, once upon a time. It ended badly. Betty found out that Carol—our mom—had been fucking her husband. It didn’t take long for the whole neighborhood to find out. Dad never mentioned it.

“Was it Matty?” I ask. The loser loan shark working out of O’Toole’s. My dad has been digging a bigger and bigger hole with him for as long as I can remember. With his connection to the Irish mob, I’m surprised Richard hasn’t gotten himself killed by now.

Huxley shrugs. “Probably. He hasn’t woken up to tell us himself.”

Gently pushing Sophia out of my arms, I walk closer to the bed and peer down.

Shit. This is the worst I’ve ever seen him. My hand moves to touch him like it has a mind of its own. Managing to stop it before reaching his arm, I grip the bed railing instead. “Is he sleeping or …”

“Sleeping,” Sophia murmurs.

“He’s on a lot of painkillers,” Huxley adds. “He’s got a few broken ribs and a punctured lung.”

I nod but say nothing.

We all fall silent for a while. Then finally, I ask, “Are you guys hungry?” The youngest two nod emphatically, and I give them a small motion of the head toward the door. “Let’s go find something to eat then.”

Sophia and Charlie head out, but I stay back, noticing that Huxley hasn’t moved. Fists shoved in his pockets, shoulders tense and brows creased, he’s still staring down at the hospital bed.

“You coming?”

He doesn’t look up. “In a bit.”

I pat him on the shoulder and he tenses even more, his body jerking slightly away from my touch. Not bothering to say anything, I leave the room. Regret trails behind me like a melancholic ghost, wishing things could be different between Huxley and I.

Feelinglike my soul has just slammed back into my body, I jerk awake, nearly toppling out of the chair I’ve been sleeping in. My head swivels around the room trying to orientate myself, but my foggy brain lags until finally I remember I’m still in my dad’s hospital room.

When it was clear Richard wasn’t going to wake up for a while, I told Huxley to take the kids back home and I stayed behind. I’m not even sure why I stayed overnight.

For Sophia and Charlie’s sake maybe.

Definitely not mine.

I groan softly, dragging my hand over my face. My gaze lands on the hospital bed and I swallow a yelp when Ifind swollen eyes, color so similar to mine, staring back at me.

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