CHAPTER 17
EXACTLY LIKE HER FATHER

SABRINA WAS AVOIDING her daughter at all costs. But if there was one thing Sloane got from her mother, it was her stubbornness. She could outlast this fight, she wouldn't be worn down to anything. Not when she knew she was in the right. There was no need for her to apologize for Sabrina's harsh reality check. That bitterness, though – the opinionated vigor that coursed through her veins like hot lava ... Unfortunately, came from Sabrina as well.

You see, quarreling with your mother was like bringing a knife to a gunfight. No matter how much Sloane prepared, she'd never know what her mother was going to do next to make her crack.

Sloane tried to distract herself by texting Peter here and there, but he was hardly responsive. It was a Monday, so he was working at the lab for most of the day. She debated on texting Spider-Man, wanting to apologize for last week's drunken phone call. But every time she typed something out, she deleted the words within seconds. She was still much too embarrassed to confront him, especially with that dream haunting her memories at a constant pace.

The Word doc for her article was currently up on her laptop. Sloane sat back against the pillows on her bed, dropping her phone onto her chest and looking at the laptop screen. The blinking cursor was taunting her silently. From her window, she noticed that the weather outside reminded her of home. The crisp air, the dead leaves, the half-melted snow – it was all so reminiscent of Vermont. Ugh, Vermont. She looked forward to being back home. (Hopefully, by Christmas.) But that was a pretty ironic thought as she stayed in her mother's guest bedroom. The penthouse would never be home, and neither would Queens. This city had lost her love a long time ago.

Sloane blew a raspberry from her lips. Perhaps it was time to call Bobby, express her writer's block and get his perspective. But the last thing she wanted was her boss knowing that she was failing at the one thing she was actually good at. It was just this place – this family – it was sucking everything out of her, even her talent. If she was going to submit this piece for a Seldon award, then she needed it to be the best she'd ever written. Talk about pressure.

What she needed was a walk, to get out of the penthouse. Be alone with her thoughts and the snow-covered trees. Maybe even get a spiked coffee.

Sloane refused to put on anything other than the sweats she was wearing right now. But she did feel the need to place a beanie on her head and zip herself into her warm parka. After slipping on her boots, she swung her big purse over her shoulder and headed for the elevator in the foyer.

She was almost to the exit when a voice rang out: "Sloane?"

She turned, meeting Frank's stare as he sat on the couch. A few closed folders sat in his lap, his opened briefcase attached to his side, and in his hands was a freshly-brewed coffee. Like Sloane, her step-father enjoyed a cup in the afternoon to keep him going. He must be working from home today, and on the couch instead of his office. Her presence had distracted him, and his nostrils flared with annoyance. Just from the look on his face, she could tell he was not in a good mood.

"Hi, Frank," she said softly, careful not to upset. "Working from home today?"

"I needed to have no distractions as I looked through these profit margins for Harper Watch." He patted the stack on his lap. "But alas, your shoes squeaked."

Sloane looked down at her boots. "Oh, sorry." She adjusted the bag on her shoulder. "Where's my mom?"

"Out."

Her brow creased at his sharpness. "Okay," she replied, pointing to the elevator. "Well, I'm just going to –"

"That can wait, actually," Frank said, setting the folders back in his briefcase. He placed his coffee on a coaster before looking back at her. "Do you have a moment?"

"I thought you wanted no distractions –"

He gestured in her direction. "Come have a seat."

She was not sitting next to him, but she guessed it wouldn't hurt to humble him with a conversation. Sloane walked straight over, boots squeaking the whole way, and stopped just a foot away from Frank. She looked down at him, brow shooting up with confusion.

"We haven't talked in a while, huh?" He pointed between them. "One on one."

"Not since I approached you about Everett and the vandalism."

Frank feigned a laugh. "Oh, yes. The things we waste our time on, right?" He glanced at her, hoping for a reaction, but her expression remained blank. "Listen, I'm glad you brought up your mother a minute ago."

Sloane crossed her arms over her chest, quickly getting tired of this conversation. "Oh, yeah?"

"You should know ..." He sighed, and then pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're making your mother ill, Sloane. It hasn't stopped since you got here, and I'm tired of seeing my wife so upset. I'm going to have to ask you to leave if these conditions don't improve."

Her face twisted. "What? How in the hell am I making her ill, Frank?"

"It's ... your work. And you're always picking fights with her. Why is this so difficult for you to comprehend?"

"She picks the fights –"

"Sloane," he said, his tone almost bone-chilling, "you cannot day after day churn out the grisly details of dead children to a woman who is desperately trying to keep my son safe from a crazy serial killer on the loose."

Sloane adjusted her footing and leaned back slightly. "Oh, come on, Frank. You know I haven't said a lick about my work after she requested to never hear about it. This is bullshit."

"She can hear you on the phone with your boss! Do you really think she couldn't know? She isn't that ignorant."

Sloane lowered her tone, hoping that would calm her stepfather's frustrations. "Alright, I'm sorry. I haven't done anything like that directly to my mother. And if I have, I didn't mean it. I'm just trying to keep the peace here."

"Oh, please, Sloane. You really do think me a fool." He said and added a fake chuckle at the end. "Sabrina has always told me how ... jealous you can be about anyone else's wellbeing."

Her head snapped back, stunned at his response. "You don't know a damn thing about me. You're not allowed to talk to me like that, like a father. You'll never be one to me, especially when you refuse to communicate with me and turn my mother into a trophy wife."

He feigned laughter again, and Sloane felt steam coming out of her ears. "Sabrina told me you act like this when you're worked up. 'Exactly like her father,' she said. I can see it now." He jabbed a finger in her direction. "You inherited so much of your father's ugliness and none of her merit. Make sure you don't end up six feet under like him too."

"Sure, Frank." Sloane nodded quickly in his direction, and then began walking backward. If she continued this conversation, she was going to completely blow up. And the last thing she needed was Frank telling Sabrina about the talk they had. "Nice talk. I'm gonna go now."

"Sloane. Sloane." His tone was stern as he got to his feet, but she wasn't intimidated by him. Not in the slightest. "Brina has had a hard life. I mean, you were such a fussy child, and your dad passed away when you were both so young ... Not to mention what your grandparents did to her! You gotta cut her some slack. You haven't tried to 'keep the peace' with her since you moved away from her."

Sloane sunk her teeth into her lip, straining her voice. Her hands balled into fists as she continued to walk farther away.

"Do you even know what your grandmother used to do to her? Well, she told me. Her own mother used to come into her room in the middle of the night and poke her. Hard. Like she was jabbing her. She said that she was worried Sabrina would die in her sleep."

Sloane felt a memory cloud her senses. She grabbed the nearest wall as she remembered a moment in the past: Her head was bobbing from side to side. She was too intoxicated – too anything – to move, and all she wanted to do was sleep. She was seventeen, and she had a quiz tomorrow in English. But sleep wasn't coming to her. Even through her blurry eyes, she could see her mother sitting beside her, stabbing her finger into the veins of Sloane's inner arm. Sloane was numb, so very numb, but somehow she could still feel the ache of her mother's poke, and then a pinch later. "Stay with me, honey," she said. "I can't have you gone by tomorrow morning. Let me take care of you."

Sabrina's voice echoed in her ears, bringing her out of the memory. Sloane blinked rapidly.

"You know what I think? Your grandmother just liked to hurt people. I just thought that if you knew – if you really knew – these things, it might make you kinder to your mother." Frank raised his hands in surrender then. "It doesn't matter. You're not going to listen to me and I'm not your father. But you are gonna end up as bitter as him, and maybe even as hurtful as your grandmother."

How could someone be so damn blind? Was it that hard to see that all Sloane's bitterness had actually come from her mother's teachings? She had gotten her passion, her steadfastness – all the good things in her personality from her dad. Even Sabrina said she was so much like him, more than her. Sloane's father was the farthest from ugly on the inside, and neither was she. Sloane had many flaws, but she was not a bad person.

"I'll try my damnedest not to make my mother ill anymore, okay? Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going for a walk." She finally reached the elevator and punched the button that went down. "See you later."

Frank rolled his eyes before turning back to the mess of folders on the couch. "Sure, Sloane."

The elevator dinged and opened its doors a second later. Sloane stepped inside, and then held the door open while sticking her head out. "Oh, and Frank?"

Her tone shift got his attention. He glanced at her with a satisfied expression, expecting her to cower at his aggression.

She sent him a bright grin. "Fuck off with your opinions about me and my dad, dick bag."

━━━━━━

Now, Sloane had every intention of going to the City Brew and getting a coffee, maybe pouring a bit of vodka into it. But upon shaking her flask and realizing she was completely out, her plan had been foiled. She finished the bottle a few nights ago as well. Any smart alcoholic would take this as a sign, a message to finally put down the bottle now that she was out. I mean, that was why Bobby sent her here, right? To learn how to cope without sucking down whatever burning liquid was in her flask? But Bobby hadn't experience writer's block like this before, and there was no way she was going to get in the zone without at least a little vodka in her system.

This was how she ended up at the liquor store.

Sloane got on her tiptoes and pulled a big bottle of Smirnoff off the shelf, smiling at herself proudly. She paid with her credit card, even though she promised herself she'd never use it for alcohol. Desperate times called for desperate measures. She walked out with the bottle in a paper bag and popped the cap, already heading down the street. This was going to clear her head. It had to.

Similar to her first week in Queens, Sloane found the skate park she took Everett to just a block away. She crossed the road, nearly getting hit by an Uber in the process, and looked around the desolate park. For a moment, she wondered if she'd find Peter here. But then she came to her senses that Peter wasn't the type to ditch work, and her heart sank a little.

She missed him. And his calming presence. And maybe even the cheap cologne he liked to wear.

Sloane trekked across the cement, ignoring the dried blood that littered the ground from kids who hardly knew what they were doing. She sat down on the same bench where she met Peter all those weeks ago. She could hardly keep track of time anymore. Sighing heavily, she took a swig from the bottle and scanned the park. The scattered snow piles made everything look a little bit more dead.

Her thoughts drifted to Frank, and she needed to stop herself before she got angry all over again. She had wanted to believe he was a good man, but Frank had shown her time and time again that he was just as ignorant as her own mother. No wonder why they were made for each other.

Would he tell Sabrina of their argument? Sloane groaned and took another swig. Their fight might just send her over the edge, especially if Frank told her Slone's last biting words. If he said anything, Sloane just about fucked herself out of a free place to stay. Hopefully, she had enough in her savings to cover a hotel room or even a youth hostel. Or maybe she could stay at Peter's –

Laughter echoed across the barren skate park. Sloane looked in the direction of the noise, but wasn't remotely surprised to find Everett and his group of friends entering the park on their boards. School must've been out already. His two guy friends skated ahead, while Naomi stuck by his side and allowed Everett to sling an arm across her shoulders. The group piled on the patch of grass near the cement, watching one of the boys demonstrate a trick he'd just learned. Naomi chuckled when the boy fell, and Sloane noticed she was sucking on a large wad inside her mouth, making one side of her cheek puff out. It looked like the size of a Jawbreaker.

Everett's eyes locked with hers across the park. Sloane took a large gulp of the vodka, trying not to gag as it burned its way down her esophagus. She thought that maybe it was time for her to make her way back to the Rosewell, seeing as her step-brother's group was looking at her like a fish out of water. Which, technically, wasn't out of the ordinary. But when she glanced up to get her purse, she noticed Everett standing above her.

"Oh," she said, bewildered, "you're as silent as a ghost."

Everett simply held out his hand towards the bottle. "Willing to share?"

Sloane looked off, seeing his friends watching him with perplexity. One of the boys snagged a round ball out of its wrapper and popped it into his mouth. His face puckered at the sour taste. Another Jawbreaker.

"That's kinda against the law."

Everett snorted. "As if you didn't drink throughout most of high school."

"It wasn't most of high school. It was ... the middle of sophomore year onwards. And I had my reasons." She glanced at the group of friends again, who were now conversing with each other. "Fine. I'll share with you, but not your friends."

"Why? It's not like we're blood-related or something."

Sloane arched a brow. "Do you want some or not?"

Everett huffed before taking the empty spot on her right. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was a good idea to be doing this in the daylight, but she'd done worse without getting caught. It felt strange – him sitting beside her like everything was okay. Sloane still had some weird animosity towards him because she could never catch him in the act, if he was actually involved in this vandalism bullshit or simply leading her on a wild goose chase. But something about this interaction made her forget about all of that, and it was the first time she was looking at him like a little brother.

Sloane handed him the bottle and he immediately took a swig. He took it like a champ, but his face did wince a bit. She thought he looked similar to how she used to drink as a teen.

Everett licked his lips and handed the paper bag-wrapped bottle back to her. "Do you even like your mom?"

Sloane blinked, seemingly caught off guard. "She's your mom too now." Her back straightened, leaning against the rickety bench. "Why would you ask that?"

He shrugged. "You guys are always, like, fighting. I guess."

"What? Do you not fight with your dad?"

"He's your dad now too," Everett quipped, replicating her voice.

She rolled her eyes and sipped from the bottle. "Frank is not my dad."

Everett looked off, repeating her words over in his head. After a moment, he replied, "I don't fight with him like how you fight with your mom."

"Consider yourself lucky then."

He turned to her with a muddled expression. "Is it because you guys are just too similar?"

"No," she said quickly, adding a scoff at the end. "I'm much more like my dad."

"I don't think that's the truth." Everett laughed. Sloane's head snapped in his direction. "I never knew your dad, obviously. You and your mom are so similar though. You're both extremely opinionated and intense, but your mom is more about the finer things that you don't care much about."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You notice a lot, don't you?"

He shrugged in response, taking the bottle from her hands and getting in one last swig. Sloane pulled it from his grasp just as quickly. "You're still wrong," she said. "I'm nothing like her."

"Okay," he replied, getting to his feet. His eyes went back to his friends, who were waiting for him to return, and then he viewed back at Sloane. With a smirk, he added, "Maybe she just cares too much then."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: ooooooo everett and sloane's convo was definitely a fun part to write!! after sloane disliking him for so long, she took the time to talk to him. they're finding some common ground, but will it last ????? 👀

also the scene between frank and sloane was inspired by a scene in episode 6 of sharp objects! hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! 💘