The Captain's Dirty Little Secret

Chapter 19: Chapter 19 - Back Home

Behind Roxie, the party music faded as she walked away from Mason’s house.

At first, she could still hear people laughing on the lawn and someone yelling from the porch. Then the sound got smaller, swallowed by the wet street and the quiet houses around her.

She kept her phone in her hand and walked fast.

The sidewalk ended near the old bridge, where the road curved toward the main street and the creek path cut behind the trees. During the day, people used that path for jogging, walking dogs, and pretending Briarwick had nice little community spaces.

At night, it was the kind of place crime documentary loved to film.

Roxie stopped at the entrance and looked back.

The road behind her was empty.

Zac had actually listened.

She should have felt relieved. Instead, her stomach tightened, which was stupid because she was the one who told him to leave.

She slipped her phone into her jacket pocket and started down the path.

The gravel crunched under her shoes. The creek ran low beside the trail, making enough noise to cover the traffic from the road. Trees blocked most of the streetlights, so Roxie kept her eyes on the ground and watched for roots, broken glass, and muddy spots.

Her phone buzzed.

Karen: Home yet?

Roxie pulled it out and typed without stopping.

Roxie: almost

It was a lie, but Karen had enough problems tonight. Angela was probably half-dead in the backseat, and Karen would absolutely call her three times if she knew Roxie was still walking.

Roxie shoved the phone back into her pocket and picked up her pace.

The path curved near the drainage pipe. That was where the trees got thicker and the houses disappeared behind the bend. Roxie knew this part. She had used it a hundred times when she was younger because it was faster than taking the main road.

Now she knew shortcuts were mostly places where nobody could see you. They were useful.

A branch cracked behind her.

Roxie stopped.

Her whole body went tense.

She turned around fast.

The path behind her was empty.

She stared into the dark for a few seconds, listening hard. The creek kept moving. Leaves shifted overhead. Somewhere far off, a car passed on the main road.

”Get it together,” she muttered.

It was probably an animal. Or the wind. Or her own nerves acting up.

She started walking again, faster this time.

The bridge came up ahead. The path dipped under it, where the concrete walls were covered in old spray paint, names, curses, and a badly drawn raven with three legs. Roxie kept her head forward and passed under without slowing down.

Then she heard footsteps.

Behind her.

Roxie froze.

The footsteps stopped too.

Her hand tightened around her phone inside her pocket.

For a second, she stood there trying to decide what to do. Calling Karen would make Karen panic. Calling the police would turn into a whole explanation about why she had left a party alone after midnight and walked through the creek path in a skirt. Screaming would only tell whoever was behind her that she was scared.

So she walked.

Then she ran.

Fast.

Gravel slipped under her shoes as she pushed up the small rise toward the street. Her breath came hard, and her phone bounced in her pocket with every step. She did not turn around because turning around was how people tripped in horror movies, and Roxie refused to die.

She reached the sidewalk near the laundromat and stumbled a little before catching herself against the wall.

The street was empty.

She turned this time, breathing hard.

Nobody came out of the path.

Roxie stared at the dark opening between the trees. Her heart was going too fast, and her hands were shaking now, which annoyed her almost as much as being scared.

”Idiot,” she whispered, though she had no idea if she meant herself or whoever had followed her.

She backed away from the path and hurried down the block.

This side of Briarwick looked different from Mason’s street. The houses were older and closer together. Fences leaned. Mailboxes were rusted. Cars sat in driveways with flat tires and expired tags. A few windows had blankets for curtains. One house had three broken bikes in the yard, stacked like nobody had the energy to throw them out.

Roxie kept her face blank as she walked.

This was why she never brought people here.

She hated pity.

She would rather let Kendall post a hundred pantry jokes before letting anyone at school look at her house and feel sorry for her.

Her own house sat near the end of the block, small and worn down, with peeling paint and a porch that dipped on one side. The porch light, usually dead, was on.

Roxie slowed.

That was weird.

The kitchen window was lit too.

Her mom was usually asleep by this time, or passed out on the couch with the TV too loud. Sometimes she’s gone for days.

But now, the kitchen was awake.

Roxie climbed the porch steps carefully because the second board creaked. Her hands still shook a little when she unlocked the door.

Warm air hit her face.

”Baby?” her mom called from the kitchen.

Roxie paused in the doorway.

She smelled food.

Her mom appeared a second later wearing an oversized shirt, messy hair, and a smile too big for the hour. Her eyes were bright in a way Roxie recognized immediately. The pupils were wide. Her movements were quick, like her body had too much electricity in it.

”There you are,” her mom said. ”I made you something.”

Roxie stared at her. ”You cooked?”

Her mom laughed, but it came out too sharp. ”Why do you sound so shocked? Go sit. Eat first.”

Roxie stepped inside and shut the door behind her. ”Mom, what’s going on?”

”Nothing’s going on. I can’t make my daughter food now?”

Roxie did not answer. She walked into the kitchen and saw the table set with two plates, a pan of rice, and a bowl covered with a mismatched lid. Her mom touched her shoulder as she passed, then smoothed Roxie’s hair like she did when she was younger.

Roxie knew that look. She had known it since she was too young to know what it meant.

Roxie moved away.

Then she saw Steve.

He sat at the table with one arm stretched over the back of the chair and a beer bottle near his hand. He looked too comfortable, like the chair belonged to him and the kitchen belonged to him and Roxie was the one interrupting.

He looked up slowly and smiled.

”Well,” he said. ”Our baby comes home.”

Roxie stopped near the counter.

Her mom clapped her hands once. ”Sit, baby. Steve brought chicken.”

Roxie looked at the covered bowl, then at Steve, then back at her mother.

”Where did you get money for chicken?”

Her mom’s smile slipped.

Steve gave a low laugh. ”That’s the first thing you say?”

Roxie looked at him. ”I was asking my mom.”

Her mom’s face tightened. ”Don’t start with that attitude.”

”I’m asking because the electric bill came again.”

The room got quiet for half a second.

Then Steve leaned back and took a drink from his beer. ”She comes home from a party and starts talking about bills. You must be the class favourite.”

Roxie ignored him. ”Mom.”

Her mom turned toward the counter and grabbed a plate too hard. ”I know about the bill.”

”Then why are we buying chicken?”

Steve laughed again.

Roxie looked at him. ”Do you have something to add?”

His smile widened. ”You always talk like that?”

”Only when men sit in my kitchen acting like they paid the bills.”

Her mom spun around. ”Roxxane.”

Roxie hated her full name coming from her mother’s mouth. It always showed up when her mom wanted to act like a parent after skipping the job for days.

”What?” Roxie said. ”He’s drinking beer at our table while you’re telling me we have food money now. I’m allowed to ask questions.”

”You’re allowed?” her mom repeated, voice rising. ”Listen to yourself.”

”I am listening.”

”You walk in here like a slut, smelling like a party, and you think you get to judge me?”

Roxie looked down at her clothes, then back up. ”This is about a bill.”

Her mom laughed once, ugly and hurt. ”It’s always about something with you. Always a complaint. Always that face.”

”What face?”

”You think you’re better than me.”

Roxie’s throat tightened, but she kept her voice flat. ”I’m tired. I’m going to my room.”

Steve’s eyes moved over her outfit. He did it slowly enough for her to notice, and his smile turned lazy.

”Let the girl eat first,” he said. ”She looks like she had a busy night.”

Roxie’s skin crawled.

”Don’t talk about me,” she said.

Steve lifted his brows like he was innocent. ”I’m being nice.”

”No, you’re being gross.”

Her mom stepped toward her. ”Why are you talking to him like that?”

”Because you won’t.”

The words hit the kitchen hard.

Her mom’s eyes flashed.

Steve set his beer down and looked between them like he had just found a better show than whatever was on TV.

Roxie should have stopped there. She knew she should have. But her pulse was still racing from the creek path, her face still burned from the party, and the whole night had been one long reminder that people were always watching, always waiting, always ready to turn her into a story.

She looked at her mother’s wide pupils, the food on the table, Steve’s beer, and the bill still sitting by the microwave.

”You spent money on him again, didn’t you?”

Her mom’s mouth opened.

Roxie already had her answer.

”Are you serious?” Roxie asked.

Her mom slammed the plate onto the table. ”Do not talk to me like I’m a child.”

”Then stop acting like I’m the only adult here.”

Steve muttered, ”Damn.”

Her mom’s face twisted. ”You think you’re so grown?”

”I think someone has to be.”

Steve cleared his throat. ”Maybe everybody should calm down.”

Roxie turned on him. ”Shut up.”

”Hey,” her mom snapped. ”You don’t disrespect people in my house.”

Roxie looked around the kitchen before she could stop herself. The peeling cabinet. The stained counter. The table with one wobbly leg. The bill by the microwave. Steve sitting there like he had earned a place.

”Your house?” Roxie said.

The second it came out, she knew it was bad.

Her mom’s face changed.

Roxie wished she could take it back, but it was already too late.

Her mom shoved the chair beside her. It scraped against the floor so loud Roxie flinched.

”Then leave,” her mom said.

Roxie stared at her.

Steve sat up a little. ”Babe.”

Her mom ignored him. ”You want to act like this place is beneath you? Leave.”

Roxie’s chest tightened.

For one second, she wanted her mom to take it back. Just once. She wanted her mother to look at her and realize what she had said.

Her mom only stood there breathing hard, eyes too bright under the kitchen light.

”Where are you going?” her mom demanded.

Roxie grabbed her jacket from the hook near the door. ”You told me to leave.”

”I didn’t say go run into the street like a child.”

Roxie opened the front door. ”Pick one.”

”Roxxane.”

She stepped onto the porch and shut the door behind her.

The cold hit her face, and for a second, she just stood there with one hand on the knob. Her throat hurt. Her eyes burned. She refused to cry where someone from the block might see her and make it a thing.

Then a sound came from the road.

Roxie looked up.

A figure stood near the curb under the weak streetlight, hands in his jacket pockets.

Zac.