Chapter 13
Jameson
Everywhere hurts.
Each breath I take stings, and my legs are screaming at me to just let myself collapse.
People are shouting my name, but their voices sound muffled. I shake my head to try to clear the fog.
My mouth still tastes like coppery blood mixed with sweat, and before Ryan can grab my hand, I turn to spit.
He pulls my arm up above my head, and I fight back a wince. The crowd grows even louder from the show of victory.
I struggle to keep my head high. All I want to do is go find a quiet corner. To sit down. To be alone.
Ryan leans into me. “That was one hell of a show, kid. I didn’t think you were gonna get up this time.”
I lean away from him, and he takes the hint, dropping my hand.
“You have my money?”
He gives me a quick nod and jerks his head to follow him.
I look around for Marcus or my old man but don’t see them, which is weird because they usually hover around me during fights.
When I went down, I saw my father’s face and heard him yelling, but when I glanced back at where he’d been standing, he wasn’t there.
I push the thought away and follow Ryan. He’s quick to pull the money together, and once he hands it over, I shove the bills into my front pocket.
“Gotta go,” he tells me. “Next fight starts in five.”
I try to make a lap around the room, but it’s too crowded to get far and I don’t know how much longer I can hold myself up.
After making it outside, I find an overturned crate and slowly lower myself onto it.
Just a minute. I’ll just sit for a minute.
I let my eyes close and focus on breathing. It hurts so bad I think that asshole might’ve cracked a rib.
“Jameson?”
My eyes snap open at the familiar voice.
Sam drops to her knees in front of me. “Oh my God, Jameson. Are you okay?”
I start to stand, but she puts her hand on my knee, and I freeze.
“Don’t try to get up.”
“Why are you …?” I shake my head. “How are you …?” I look down at her hand that’s still on my knee. “You shouldn’t be here.”
She rakes her eyes over me, lingering on the places I feel the most pain. “You—”
Her brother calling her name cuts her off.
I didn’t even notice he was here. But it makes sense. How else would she have gotten here?
His gaze is hard, attention focused on something behind me. I know what he’s looking at before I even hear my father’s voice.
“Go to your brother,” I force out.
Her face is pleading, almost desperate, but she stands and takes a few steps back.
A minute later, my father is in front of me, Marcus just behind him. I turn, expecting to see Big Jim walking up, too—he was here at the start of the fight—but the space behind me is empty.
My father doesn’t acknowledge Sam or Johnny before closing the distance between us. I pull my head back to look up at him and wish I didn’t when I see what’s staring back at me.
I need to get off this crate.
I need to put space between us.
“What was that?” he asks. His voice is quiet, too quiet.
I stay silent.
“I swear to fucking God, Jameson.” He shakes his head, the rage barely contained. “What was that?”
“I don’t know.”
I regret the answer right as the words leave my lips. My mind isn’t working right. It’s hard to focus on anything but the pain.
“You don’t know?” He draws out the question, mocking me.
I clear my throat, the motion making it feel like my insides are on fire. “No, I do know.”
He laughs, and the sound makes me want to curl in on myself. I need to get away from him.
“Which is it?”
“He just got me off balance.” I look down at the ground. “I didn’t see it.”
Fingers grip my face, forcing me to look up. “You look at me when I’m talking to you,” my father sneers. Then he lets go roughly, pushing me back. The crate stumbles, and I throw out a hand to keep from falling.
“Get up.” His voice cracks.
I push myself up, and pain slices down my side. I cough, clutching my rib.
Fuck, that hurts.
My father’s lip curls. “Pathetic.”
The word hits me the way he knew it would.
I look past him just long enough to meet Sam’s and Johnny’s stares. Just long enough to beg them with my eyes to leave.
They both stand firm, Sam giving me a slight shake of her head.
My father’s hand is on my face again, his fingers digging into my skin. “What did I tell you boy, hmm?” When my eyes meet his, he mutters, “You need to learn to listen.”
I keep my focus on him, not letting myself move an inch.
“You were an embarrassment in there.”
I don’t move.
“How do you think it makes me look when I tell people I train you?” He takes a step closer. “How it makes me look when my son is lying on the ground, letting someone beat on him?”
I keep still.
“How many times have we gone over how to get out of a hold like the one he had you in?” When I don’t say anything, he snaps, “That was a fucking question!”
“A lot,” I answer. “We’ve gone over it a lot.”
“Then why’d you just lay there, huh? You were down for over a minute, Jameson. A whole fucking minute!” He leans closer, his body crowding mine. “Did you give up?”
“No,” I respond immediately.
“No?” he questions. “What was it then? Are you just that much of a shit fighter?”
I shake my head.
He motions to the dried blood on my chest I didn’t even notice was there. “It looks like you are.”
“I’m not.”
He clicks his tongue. “Prove it.”
“What?”
“Fight me.” He pushes at my chest.
“I don’t—”
“I said, fight me!”
“I think he’s—”
“Shut up,” my father bites out, cutting Marcus off.
“You just gonna stand there? I thought you said you could fight.”
“I won.”
He scoffs. “That win was nothing to be proud of.”
“Can we just go home?” I ask, hating how quiet my voice comes out. How broken.
“After you show me you can fight.”
“I—”
He pushes at my chest again. “Show me how you fight.”
“Please—”
“Show me how you fight,” he says again, his tone turning manic.
That pressure I hate starts to build inside me, begging to get out. It needs to escape.
I need to escape.
“Show me how you fight,” he repeats.
The words won’t stop coming.
They’re circling around me.
Closing in on me.
I can’t fucking breathe.
“Show me how you fight.”
“Show me how you fight.”
“Show me how you fight.”
My fist flies out, and he catches it before it can connect with his face.
A laugh pours from his lips. “There he is.”
I twist my hand from his hold, and just when I think it might be over, I have to drop down to avoid his fist that’s now coming at my face. My whole body burns, my legs shaking as I push myself back up to standing.
He circles around me, and as I turn to follow his movement, my eyes slip past Sam.
I don’t want her to—
My knees connect with the hard ground, and I throw out my hands to catch myself. My stomach heaves from the impact of the hit.
I want to fucking kill him.
I hear Sam yell for him to stop.
I really wish she wasn’t here.
I glance up and see Johnny inch forward, just as my father asks, “You done already? That all it takes?”
I suck in a breath, letting the burn that comes with it center me. Slowly, I get up off the ground.
My father smiles, and all I can think about is wiping that fucking look off his face.
I accept the pain.
Let it consume me.
Until I can barely feel it anymore.
Until it becomes a pulse in the background.
The force that drives me forward.
I know I’m moving, but it’s like my mind has emptied out. My fist connects with my father’s jaw, and I only faintly feel the pain that runs through my knuckles.
He comes back at me, but his hit never lands. Someone pulls him back, pinning his arms behind his back.
I lunge for him but am stopped when someone grabs me from behind. I try to break out of their hold, wanting to get to my father, to sink my fist into his face again.
“Stop,” the voice behind me shouts. “Jameson, calm down.”
I don’t listen.
I don’t want to stop.
I don’t want to calm down.
I want to fucking kill him.
All the pain.
All the humiliation.
All the shit he makes me do.
All the ways he’s ruined my mother.
It would all be so much better if he was just gone.
I flail, trying to get free, and watch as my father does the same. The fight isn’t finished. Nobody won.
“Stop it,” the voice yells.
“Let me—”
My words are cut off when I see Sam push herself between me and my father.
The person behind me goes still. “I told you to wait over there.”
Johnny, I realize. The voice behind me is Johnny’s.
She lets her attention drift over me briefly before spinning and facing my father.
He’s still moving, attempting to get out of Marcus’s hold. His eyes are blazing with determination. With rage.
“Get her out of here,” I force out. “Please.”
“She won’t leave unless you do,” Johnny mutters.
“Okay.” I nod. “Okay.”
He lets go of me, and I try to take a step forward but stumble.
“Jesus,” he hisses, throwing out a hand to steady me.
Sam turns, the fire in her eyes blinking into worry.
“Lean on me,” Johnny instructs.
I do as he says, and Sam comes over to my other side.
Johnny looks over at Marcus, who’s still fighting to restrain my father. “I’m taking him home with me,” Johnny tells them. He starts to drag me along, not waiting for a response.
“No, you aren’t,” my father yells after us, pulling forward. “You get back here, Jameson.”
I fight to keep my head up. “I need to—”
“No, you don’t,” Johnny says firmly.
He turns back toward them. “Things got heated,” he says to my father. “You both just need to cool down, all right?”
“Don’t you tell me—”
“Levi,” Marcus cuts in. “Look at him.”
My father’s gaze shifts to me, and it’s like he’s just now realized what I look like. From the way his face shifts, I must look pretty fucking bad.
Marcus releases him, and my father pushes out his chest, raising his chin. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up,” he says as if it was his idea. “Get some rest.”
I nod, or at least I try to.
“You can stay the night at Johnny’s,” he offers, like I should be thankful. “But I want you back at the garage in the morning.” He watches me, waiting for a response.
My head is spinning. I just want to lay down. I’m so fucking tired.
“Jameson?”
“Yeah, thank you,” I push out, and Johnny goes rigid beside me. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”
Satisfied, my father turns and stalks off.
Marcus watches me for a minute before my father calls his name and he quickly follows after him.
Johnny and Sam silently lead me to the car. She opens the door to the back seat, and Johnny asks me if I need help getting in. I probably do, but I shake my head.
I don’t even know what to say, how to thank them. I hover in the open door and look between them. “Thank—”
“Don’t,” Johnny says, his tone telling me there’s more to their story than I know. “That never should have … Just get in the car. There’s no need for a thank you.”
I drop my chin in a silent thank you, anyway, then attempt to fold my body into the back seat. It takes twice as long as it should, but I’m finally in.
Johnny goes to the driver’s seat, and I expect Sam to open the passenger door, but she slides in next to me. I don’t look over at her, keeping my eyes forward, my body locked up.
We pull out of the lot, and I feel her slide closer to me. Gently, she lowers her hand over mine. Her thumb begins to slide back and forth, so lightly I can just barely feel it. I let my head fall back, my muscles unclench.
She leans into me, coming so close that our bodies almost touch. “You’re going to be okay,” she whispers.