Chapter 37
Sam
I press my pillow over my head, trying to drown out the sound of Jace’s crying.
Cathleen moved in a few months ago after her boyfriend split. She came home one day to all his stuff gone and hasn’t heard from him since. She had no money, no job, and a four-month-old son. So, the only option she was left with was to move back home.
Now, the space that was once mine, my escape when things at home got rough, has become overrun. All sense of privacy stripped away.
Jace’s crying turns into a high-pitched wail, and with his crib being right beside me, the pillow I have pressed over my head is laughably ineffective.
“Cath,” I groan.
“Can you?” she pleads, her voice strained. “I didn’t get home till three last night.”
I push myself up, not mentioning that I barely slept either. That I haven’t since she moved in. It’s not just Jace who still wakes up during the night sometimes. It’s that Jameson rarely sleeps beside me anymore.
I trust Cathleen enough that I told her how, before she moved in, I’d been sneaking out. How, for months, I was either in Jameson’s bed or he was in mine.
But now, things have become complicated. Cathleen works nights as a dancer, and she wants me here with Jace while she’s gone.
I get it, so I don’t argue.
But with her coming home in the middle of the night or even early morning, I can’t lock the bedroom door. Which means I can’t risk Jameson being inside. So, for the last few months, I’ve spent almost every night alone. And I’ve spent almost every night desperate to fall asleep.
I hover over Jace’s crib, shushing him. He reaches his little arms up, grabbing for me. “Let’s let your mama sleep, huh?” I pull him into my chest, and he nuzzles his head against me.
“Thank you,” Cathleen says, rolling onto her side and pulling the blanket around her. “I’ll make it up to you.”
I take her in, how small she looks, how tired. She’s lost too much weight in the last few months. Something she dismissed when I brought it up.
Weaving my way through the mess of my room, I dodge Cathleen’s discarded heels, Jace’s toys, and an overflowing hamper.
I go through all his morning steps, changing and feeding him, then setting him up in front of the TV so I can get some homework done before my shift at the diner.
My father is asleep on the couch and, like always, he barely stirs. Even when he’s not passed out, he still sleeps on the couch. I can’t remember a time he’s ever slept in his actual bedroom. The room has been completely untouched since our mother left.
It doesn’t go unnoticed that me and Cathleen are cramped in a room with Jace, while we have a perfectly good one sitting empty. But neither of us are brave enough to broach that topic.
Eventually, the house starts to wake up, which is the time I usually try to make myself scarce.
Cathleen takes Jace, and I head upstairs to start getting ready for my shift. “You think you can drive me to work?” I ask when she walks into our room.
She sets Jace down on the bed. “No Jameson?”
“He’s working,” I tell her.
She purses her lips, and I busy myself with my makeup.
She wasn’t happy when she found out what Jameson does, especially when she learned who his father was and his connection to Johnny.
But she’s come around over time, especially after I told her how much Jameson was there for me after everything happened.
And now, in the last few months, she’s seen it for herself.
“Yeah,” she answers. “I can drive you.”
I turn from the mirror, setting down my eyeliner. “Cath?” I start tentatively.
“What?”
“You know how you said you’d make it up to me.”
“You mean, when my brain was barely functioning?”
I snort. “Yeah.”
“Mmhmm,” she hums. “I remember.”
“Since you’re not working tonight. I was hoping you could cover for me. You might not even need to, but—”
“I’ve got you,” she cuts in.
“And in the morning, too, so I don’t have to rush home …”
Jace babbles next to her, and she scoops him up into her arms. “Yeah, all right.”
I move around the room, shoving things into my purse. “I’ve gotta get to work,” I tell her.
She stands, sliding Jace onto her hip. “You wanna go in the car,” she coos. “You wanna go bye-bye.”
He claps his hands, and I smile over at him.
“I’ll go get him buckled in,” Cathleen says.
“Thanks,” I answer, searching for my lighter. “Meet you down there.”
The day goes by in a blur, the Saturday rush never slowing.
By seven o’clock, I’m desperate to get off my feet and see Jameson.
I find my purse in the back room and pull my phone from it, my shoulders dropping when I see a text from him saying he’s running late, and then another that he’s sending Billy to come get me.
It’s not that I don’t want to see Billy; it’s just that I’m exhausted. Between the lack of sleep, homework, school, and long hours at the diner, I feel like I’m fucking drowning.
All I want to do is get to Jameson’s house, shower off the smell of fry oil, crawl into his bed, and watch a movie until I fall asleep.
I step out into the night and move to my usual bench in front of the diner. Nights like this make me wish I didn’t have to rely on someone to drive me around. But not enough to actually make me want to get behind the wheel.
I pull my now battered copy of The Picture of Dorian Grey from my bag and read until I hear the familiar rumble of Billy’s bike.
Grabbing my stuff, I walk over to him, take the black helmet he’s holding out for me, then swing my leg over the seat and settle in behind him. I tighten my arms around his waist as he speeds away from the curb, the wind whipping past us.
It’s not long until we pull up to Jameson’s house. Billy cuts the engine before I slide off the back and hand him my helmet.
“Want me to come in and wait with you till he gets here?”
I shake my head. “I’m fine. Thanks for the ride.”
“You all right?” he asks.
“Just tired.”
He nods, and I know he gets it. “Get some rest, yeah?”
“You, too,” I answer before turning and starting up the lawn.
I let myself inside, and as I close the door behind me, I hear Billy take off.
The house is as dark and lifeless as it always is. Ever since Levi died, it’s like this place is haunted by his memory.
Jameson’s mother still barely leaves her room. I don’t think she knows who she is without Levi. Who she is without being tied to a man.
Moving past her room, I peer inside. The space is dim, only illuminated by the glow of a TV. She’s propped up against the headboard, a red silk robe falling off her shoulder.
“Jameson?” she calls out.
I step into the doorway. “It’s me.”
She smooths down her hair, straightening. “Oh, hi, honey.”
A soap opera plays in the background, the sound filling the space between us.
“Where is he?” she asks.
“Working.”
She pulls the fallen robe up her shoulder.
“Did you need something?”
“I … ah …” She shakes her head. “No, no, I don’t need anything.”
I nod, turning to leave, but she calls out my name.
“Will you let Jameson know I need to talk to him when he gets home?” There’s a sort of desperation in her tone.
“Sure,” I answer, the word clipped.
I know Jameson gives her pills, that he hates himself every time he does. He keeps trying to cut her off, but she keeps reeling him back in.
I drop my stuff in his room before showering, the hot water washing away the day. By the time I step out of the bathroom, I can hear heavy footsteps moving around the kitchen.
After throwing on one of Jameson’s T-shirts, I find him hunched over the sink, scrubbing dishes. His jeans are low on his waist, his flannel hanging over one of the kitchen chairs, leaving him only in a white undershirt.
I walk up behind him, snaking my arms around his waist, and press my forehead against his back. “Hey,” I breathe.
He shuts off the water, turning to face me. “Hey.”
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Sorry I couldn’t pick you up.”
He doesn’t offer an explanation, and I’m too tired to ask for one.
I look up at him as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Did you eat?” he asks.
I shake my head.
He drops his hands to my sides, sliding them down and toying with the hem of my shirt. “Go get in bed. I’ll bring you something.”
“You don’t have to—”
“You’re tired,” he says, gently stroking my hip. “You’ve been on your feet all day.” He tips his chin toward the hall. “Go.”
I step up on my toes and give him a quick kiss. “Oh,” I mutter. “Your mother was looking for you. She said she needed to talk.”
His body tenses against mine. “I’ll handle it.”
“Jamie …”
He turns toward the fridge. “Not now, okay? Please.”
I swallow. “Okay.”
“Why don’t you go cue up a movie? I’ll be right in.”
“Sure,” I say to his back before turning to go.
Low voices filter down the hall as Jameson speaks to his mother, their conversation dragging on. I can’t tell what they’re saying, but by the time he walks into the room, he looks worn out, defeated.
He’s got two plates balanced in his hands, and two cans of Coke tucked under his arms.
I move up to my knees from my place on the bed and grab the plates, freeing his hands. There’s a turkey sandwich and chips on each plate, mine cut in half with an added few pieces of chocolate.
“Thanks,” I murmur as he slides in beside me.
“Course,” he answers, and I position the DVD player between us, hitting play.
He relaxes next to me as we eat, his eyes fixed on the movie.
Once we’re finished, I stack the plates on the table next to us and curl into him, resting my head on his chest. He traces his fingers down my arm, and I eye his newly tattooed knuckles—the word “live” on this hand and “fast” on the other.
It seems like every few weeks, he’s getting a new piece, his body quickly becoming covered in them. Big Jim does them for free, and Jameson just keeps going back for more.
I’ve only added one since the loyalty tattoo, a piece for my brother. I got “Love you Bug,” in his handwriting down my arm, taken from the card he left me. Whenever I see the words, I think of him. How lucky I was to have him in my life.
Jameson shifts beside me. “You done watching?” he asks, motioning to the movie. “Ready to go to bed?”
“Yeah,” I answer, and he pushes the DVD player aside, folding his body around mine.
“Cathleen said she’d cover for me in the morning,” I tell him quietly. “So we can sleep in.”
He pulls me into him and lets out a long breath. “One day, I’ll have you next to me every night, and there’ll be no more of this sneaking around.” His warmth envelopes me, my back flush against his chest.
“I'd give anything for that,” I whisper.