Chapter 40
Sam
“Sam!” Carson yells from his place on the recliner.
Standing in front of the stove, I roll my eyes. This is the third time he’s called me over since I woke up this morning.
I quickly turn off the burner underneath the eggs I’m cooking and step into the living room, taking in his slumped form, his braced knee stretched out in front of him.
He ended up tearing his ACL and dislocating his knee. So, like Cathleen suspected … it was bad. Possibly the career-ending kind of bad. Now his dream to play quarterback in college is fully dependent on how his recovery goes.
The first few weeks after the surgery were rough, his and my father’s anger spiraling out of control. Now they both seem to have slipped into denial, their anger morphing into depression.
My father’s drinking has reached an all-time high. He’s been back at work, a new job after he lost the last one, but I’m not sure how long he’ll manage to keep it. I’m honestly surprised they’ve kept him on this long.
I stop in front of Carson, ignoring our father sleeping on the couch.
“Can you get me more water?” he asks, holding out his glass to me.
He’s twisting the cap off his prescription of Oxy when I come back into the room, a full glass of water in hand. “Thought you were supposed to be done with that,” I say, handing him the glass.
“Why don’t you mind your own business, huh?” He glares up at me. “Do you know how much fucking pain I’m in?”
“Sorry,” I mutter as he snatches the glass from me, water sloshing over the top.
He turns back to the TV, and I head for the kitchen.
If I thought he was a nightmare to live with before, it’s nothing compared to how he is now.
Since school got out a month ago, I’ve spent as much time away from the house as I can.
But between Jace and Carson, someone always has to be home.
If I’m not working, I’m usually trapped here.
The walls of this house are starting to feel more and more like a prison than a home.
But, thankfully, I have today off. It’s my first break in weeks, and Cathleen promised to cover for me so I can get some time away.
She got in late from work, so I’m handling the morning, but once she gets up, I’m out of here.
We’re all going down to the lake. Me, Jameson, Billy, and the rest of our group. I can’t fucking wait.
Jace hits his hands against the top of his high chair, smashing pieces of cut-up banana into it.
“It’s coming,” I tell him, moving back to the stove.
I get through breakfast, clean the kitchen, and give him a bath by the time Cathleen’s getting up for the day. I let her have some time to get herself together before texting Jameson that I’m ready.
His response comes back a minute later, telling me he’s on his way.
I quickly change and pack a bag before excitedly bounding down the stairs. Keeping my gaze lowered, I move through the living room, trying to avoid my father and Carson’s attention, relieved when I make it to the front door without incident.
Hot summer air wraps around me, and I drop to sit on the steps while I wait for Jameson. My eyes drift closed as I let my head fall back, the sun warming my face.
The low rumble of an engine tells me Jameson’s here before his car even slows in front of my house. I blink my eyes open, sliding my sunglasses over them.
Billy hops out of the car as I start toward them, moving to the back.
“Hey, baby,” Jameson greets me after I drop into the passenger seat, his voice just loud enough to hear over the music blaring from the speakers.
I smile over at him. “Hey.”
His hand comes down to rest on my bare thigh as he peels away from the curb.
By the time we get to the lake, sweat is trailing down my back, my hair is wild from the wind, and the tension in my body is slowly starting to slip away.
I step out of the car, the sound of laughter carrying from down by the water as Billy climbs out of the back. Leaning over, he grabs a few cases of beer, balancing them precariously until I reach out to help.
“I’ve got it,” Jameson says, cutting in front of me. “Can you get the towels from the trunk? I threw a blanket in there, too.”
I nod, rounding the car to grab them then follow the two of them down to where our friends have set up.
As we get closer, their laughter and the music flowing from the speaker they brought grows louder.
“There they are,” Mason shouts, jumping up from his spot and jogging over to Billy, taking a case of beer. “We were wondering if you were ever gonna get here.”
I glance around, noticing that we’re the last ones to show up.
Billy breaks off from us, him and Mason moving over to where Dylan and Rowan are standing. They all greet each other in that way guys do—grabbing hands and smacking each other on the back. Even though Billy’s not in the band anymore, they’re all still close.
There are a few other kids here who we hang around with, but at things like this, me and Jameson tend to keep mostly to ourselves.
We drop off the beers we brought into the big cooler, and Jameson grabs us a couple before we set up our blanket among the others.
I look over toward the water as a girl shrieks, watching as Billy splashes her. Laughing, I crack open my beer.
“Cards?” I ask Jameson.
He nods, and I pull out a deck.
Two games of gin later, Billy saunters over, dropping down next to us. “Deal me in,” he says, shaking out his wet hair and leaning back.
I pass Jameson my cigarette then shuffle the cards. “How’s the water?” I ask.
“Feels like a bathtub.” He sorts his cards. “You gonna go in?”
“Yeah,” I answer, taking my cigarette back from Jameson. “I’m baking.”
“Well, you can go in real soon, right after I beat you.”
“Like how you beat me the last time we played.” I pause, tilting my head. “Oh, wait, that’s right; I beat you both three times in a row.”
“That was luck.”
I snort. “Then I guess you’re pretty fucking unlucky ’cause I beat you all the time.”
He picks up a card, turning to Jameson. “Help me out here.”
Jameson shrugs. “She’s not lying.”
“Whatever.” Billy grins. “This is gonna be my time, you’ll see.”
What’s supposed to be one game turns into three because when I win the first, Billy wants a rematch. Then, when he wins the second, he wants a tiebreaker.
Setting down my cards, I call out gin, and Billy throws back his head. “Come on. Seriously?”
“Guess I’m still lucky,” I taunt.
“Whatever,” he grumbles, but I know he’s only teasing. He stands, starting for the cooler. “I’m gonna go grab another beer.”
Glancing over at Jameson, I raise a brow. “What? No whining from you?”
“I like it when you win,” he answers simply. “You get this look.”
“What look? What do you—”
“When you win”—he leans forward—“right before you set down your cards, your face gets all”—he shakes his head—“I don’t know … excited.”
I stare back at him. “Do you even like playing?”
“Sure, it’s all right.”
“Jamie!” I throw out a hand. “We play all the time … or we used to, at least, before things went to shit.”
“I know.”
“So, you’re saying that you’ve been playing all this time just ’cause you like the look on my face when I win?”
“I mean, that’s not the only reason,” he answers. “But yeah, mostly.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes total sense.”
I tilt my head.
“You’re happy when you play,” he says. “And I like to see you happy. So, I play, too. Simple.”
“You’re …”
“Obsessed with you?” He nods. “Yeah, baby, I think we’ve already established that.”
Billy comes up beside us. “I thought you were dying to get in the water,” he says.
“I … um …” I pull my eyes away from Jameson. “I am.”
“Well then, let’s go,” he shouts before shotgunning his beer.
Jameson stands, offering me a hand, and I take it, allowing him to pull me up beside him. I watch as he strips off his shirt, giving me a full view of his latest tattoo. It goes across the top of his back—one side, an angel, and the other, a devil, both of them reaching out toward each other.
He turns toward me, his eyes slowing on my black bikini top and dropping down to the jean shorts I’m shimmying off.
“Baby,” he groans under his breath, stepping into me. “You’re killing me in that thing.”
“Billy,” a girl yells from the water. “You coming in or what?”
“You guys done staring like you wanna rip each other’s clothes off yet?” Billy laughs. “I was gonna wait for you, but … if you need a minute …”
“Fuck off,” Jameson mutters, throwing an arm around me. “We’re coming.”