Page 24 of Unsteady

The emotion is overwhelming, so much so that the moment we pull into the driveway, I know I won’t be able to sleep without something—something to push everything bubbling within meout.

My hands are shaking as I type out a quick Busy tn? text to a usual hookup. I don’t wait for a response before jumping out, seeing Oliver already unfastening Liam from his seatbelt.

The house seems quiet, but that isn’t a good or bad sign, something my eldest little brother and I know well.

I hate that the front door is unlocked, because it means Liam, still chattering and singing under his breath, is the first through the threshold. It doesn’t matter that I shout at him to stop and wait, he takes off, Oliver and myself chasing behind him until we all crash into one another like dominoes.

“Is he asleep—”

Liam’s question is cut off by Oliver’s hand over his mouth.

Our father isn’t asleep—if anything, he’s passed out. There’s a torn up box of beer cans, empty on the floor of the living room, an empty half-broken bottle of whiskey at the corner of the kitchen just before the stairs.

No, I realize with my heart leaping into my throat.He’s crying.

“Take Liam to my room.”

That’s all it takes before Oliver is ushering a now quiet Liam up the creaking stairs.

“Dad?” I start, inching slowly towards him, unable to decipher his mood. “I—”

“Oh god,” he cries, lifting his head up from the cradle of his arms. His eyes are red and sunken, cheeks rosy with intoxication and wet with tears. “Sadie, I’m so sorry. I just…”

“I know.” I don’t, but I want to stop him now before the pieces of me still held together crack entirely. “I thought you were out of money. How did you get all this?”

“Please. I’m sorry,” he blubbers, ignorant or unhearing of my question, his hand gripping tightly to my wrist.

“Don’t touch my sister,” Oliver sneers, storming into the kitchen and grabbing Dad’s hand off my arm.

“I’m your father,” he snaps, turning from pathetically sad to heated anger in the blink of an eye.

“Barely,” Oliver spits back, but he’s pulling me away from the kitchen. He’s brave talk when facing off with Dad, but the fear is in his eyes—he’s still scared. We all are.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, rounding the corner to the stairs.

Oliver shakes his head. “There’s some fucking woman up there saying she’s Liam’s mom and now he’s hiding.”

My stomach drops.

Liam doesn’t know, Oliver probably barely remembers. It was five years ago and I’d woken up early for a before-school practice, hoping to bring Oliver with me to avoid anything with our dad. But when I’d walked down the stairs, Dad was passed out across the couch hugging a bottle, and a baby was on the floor, just looking at me with wide brown eyes.

I was terrified, a sixteen-year-old high school student with already too much responsibility with Oliver; and suddenly, there’s a bouncing little baby boy to add to the absolute shit show of my life.

My coach stepped up. He knew I needed to keep it all a secret until I was eighteen at least, or we’d all be taken away and separated. So, he helped me find sitters, and helped me deal with my father so that I could skate and keep winning.

I owe him everything.

The pit in my stomach churns to anger, feeling my loud steps towards my brother’s room. Oliver is on my heels and as much as he is my baby brother, he’s a protector through and through—beneath all that anger.

The woman is clearly drunk, swaying on her hands and knees as she tries to draw Liam out from hiding beneath his bed.

I grab her by the collar of her shirt, dragging her back. I’m sure if she were standing, I'd be at a height disadvantage. But, I’m strong and she’s strung out.

“Get the hell out, psycho!” Oliver shouts.

I manage to drag her out, demanding Oliver to check on Liam, before shoving her to the top of the stairs like I might fling her off.

“Are you really his mom?” I ask, hating the word. “Did you give birth to him?”

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