Chapter 41 #2
“What?”
“Fight you,” he clarifies. “Why would I fight you? It’d be a waste of my fucking time.”
The man’s movements slow, confusion etched into his face. “But we—”
Jameson throws out a hand. “I’ve already proved my point.” He looks back at the man like he’s bored.
“What do you—”
“You think I haven’t earned shit.” Jameson steps forward. “You can’t get a hit in, and I haven’t even swung at you once.” He tips his chin toward the door. “You’re supposed to be the muscle, and that’s what you’ve got? It’s fucking pathetic.”
The man shrinks back, staring at Jameson.
“And what’s worse,” he continues, “is that you’re stupid. That you clearly don’t know when to shut your fucking mouth. Isn’t that right?”
Again, the man stares back at him, silent.
“Adrian,” he prompts, stepping forward, and the man’s eyes flash at Jameson addressing him by name. “Isn’t that right?”
Slowly, Adrian nods.
“I could have let it go,” Jameson says, “but then you went and called my girl a bitch.” He tsks. “Like I said, stupid.”
Before Adrian can register what’s happening, Jameson throws out his fist, connecting with his jaw. The man staggers back, spitting out blood.
Jameson grabs his gun, tucks it into the back of his jeans, then picks up a duffle bag he must have dropped when he came out here and walks back over to Adrian. “We still have a problem?”
“No.” Adrian shakes his head, his eyes wide. “No problem.”
“That all you gotta say?” Jameson asks, flicking his gaze over to me.
“Sorry,” Adrian says in a rush. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
I dip my head.
Jameson pats Adrian’s chest in a way that’s completely fucking degrading. “Good,” he mutters then nods toward the other gun. “Now get your shit and go back inside before I change my mind about leaving.”
Adrian scrambles over to the gun, grabbing it before pushing back through the door. It swings shut behind him, closing with a loud click.
Jameson watches the space for a minute then turns to me. “Let’s go.”
There’s anger still radiating off of him as I wearily follow him to the car.
Just after I drop into my seat, the engine roars to life and we speed out of the parking lot.
“Jamie.”
His hands flex against the wheel.
“Talk to me.”
He glances over at me before bringing his eyes back to the road. “I told you to wait in the car.”
“Really?” I respond. “That’s what you’ve got to say?”
“Things could have gone—”
“There was a gunshot, Jameson.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I heard a fucking gunshot. What did you want me to do, huh?”
“I wanted you to wait in the car. Like I told you to. Like you said you would. Where you were fucking safe. That’s what I wanted you to do.”
“You think I was gonna just sit back and hope you were fine? When I heard …” My voice breaks, and he tenses. “I thought you might have been shot. That you could have been …”
“I’m fine,” he says, his tone softer. “I was fine.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t know that. All I was thinking was—”
“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I shouldn’t have gotten upset with you. I know you were scared. It’s just that you can’t put yourself in those situations.”
I throw out a hand. “You can’t put yourself in those situations.”
“It’s different,” he says. “You know it’s different.”
“What even happened?” I ask. “Why was a gun going off?”
“It had nothing to do with me. Like I said, I was fine.”
“Maybe this time”—I fidget with my hands, twisting the ring Johnny gave me—“but what about next time? You just pissed off the guy who points a gun at your head every time you go to work.”
“He’s not gonna try anything.”
“How do you know that? How do you know anything? You can’t play Russian roulette with your fucking life, Jameson.”
“Oh, like you’re one talk,” he shoots back defensively.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The drinking. The partying. Hell, even your fucking chain smoking. Don’t start lecturing me about making safe choices when you get black-out drunk at random parties.”
“Come on? Really? That’s not the same thing, and you know it.”
“How many times have I picked you up because you were too out of it to get home, hmm? How many parties have we been to where you barely knew where you were by the end of the night? You think that shit isn’t dangerous?
That it doesn’t scare me when I see you that way?
Hurt me to watch you do that to yourself? ”
I curl in on myself, not knowing what to say, because it’s true. Everything he’s saying is true, and I hate myself for it.
“I—”
“But I get it,” he says. “I get why you do it, and I’m there for you when you need me. I don’t judge who you are.”
My shoulders drop as his words hit me.
“I don’t judge who you are either.” I say, the fight gone from my voice.
“Yes, you do,” he whispers. “Do you know how much it already kills me that this is what I do? That each day I do it, I feel like I’m slipping closer to becoming my father?” He lets out a breath. “Like tonight, how I acted, that’s the exact kind of shit my old man would have done.”
“I wasn’t judging you tonight,” I say gently. “I was scared for you. There’s a big difference.”
He pulls onto his street. “Yeah, well, I was scared for you, too.” Cutting the engine, he turns to face me. “When I saw that fucker with his hands on you, a gun pulled … I …” He blinks his eyes closed. “You were in that situation because of me. You had a gun pointed at you because of me.”
“Jamie.” I lean forward, and he opens his eyes at the softness of my voice. “Don’t do this to yourself.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” he answers. “I brought you there. You were scared because of me. And now I’m what …?” He shakes his head. “I’m fucking yelling at you for it? Taking it out on you?”
“You’re upset,” I tell him.
He laughs, and it sounds so broken that I reach for him.
“Yeah, I’m upset. Look at my fucking life. Look at what I’m doing to you.”
“You’re not doing anything to me,” I say quietly.
“Don’t lie to me, baby. I know what it does to you … how scared you get that one day I won’t come home.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have put that back on you.”
“No,” I tell him. “Everything you said …” I clear my throat. “Everything about my drinking, it’s true. And I know what seeing me like that does to you.”
“But we both still do it.”
I nod.
“And neither of us are gonna stop.”
“Probably not.”
“So what then?” he asks. “We just keep on hurting each other?”
“It only hurts because of how much I love you,” I answer. “I’m only scared of losing you because if you were gone, you’d take me with you.”
He nods like he understands, like that’s exactly how he feels. “But that doesn’t make it any better.”
“Yeah,” I say. “But you hurt me less than you love me,” I tell him. “And when you hurt me, you never mean to. Do you?”
He shakes his head. “Never.”
“And I never mean to hurt you.” I pause, biting my lip. “So, yeah, I think we’ll keep hurting each other, even though neither of us mean to.” I look back at him. “But we’ll keep loving each other more.”
He stares over at me, his expression strained, his eyes vulnerable.
“We’ll keep loving each other more than the fear,” I murmur. “More than the thoughts that tell us we aren’t worth it. That we don’t deserve it. More than all of it.”
“More than all of it,” he repeats under his breath, the words sounding like hope. Like a chance.
“Do you think you can do that?” I ask. “That we can do that?”
He dips his chin with no hesitation. “Yeah, baby, I can do that.” His eyes find mine. “You?”
Nodding, I whisper, “Yeah.”
“All right,” he says, leaning in until his lips are just inches from mine. He watches me carefully, reverently. “Then I’ll always love you more.”
“Always more,” I echo before his lips brush over mine.