Chapter 49
Sam
“I should go in with you,” Jameson mutters as we idle in front of my house.
“We both should,” Billy adds.
“No.” I shake my head. “That’ll only … I just need to see what I’m dealing with.”
Jameson reaches for me. “Baby …”
“Maybe it won’t even be that bad. I mean, my dad’s not oblivious to the way Carson’s been acting.” I let my eyes drift over to the front door. “He could side with me. He did after the fight at school.” My voice sounds hopeful, almost desperate.
When I turn back to Jameson, he’s watching me wearily. “I’ll call you if anything happens, and you can come and get—”
“I’m not leaving,” he cuts in.
“Jamie …”
“I’ll stay out here,” he relents. “But I’m not leaving this driveway until you give me the okay.”
“All right,” I say softly, realizing arguing with him is futile. “Thank you,” I add before looking over my shoulder at Billy. “Both of you.”
“You know we’ve got you,” he answers. “No matter what.”
“I know,” I breathe out. “This is just … a lot.”
Jameson brushes his thumb against the back of my hand, an unspoken promise. A reminder that he’s got me. That I’m not a burden. That I can count on him.
I give him a tired smile, one that I hope will soften the look on his face. The fear he’s holding for me. Then I start to pull away and reach for the door, but he grabs my wrist.
“Anything,” he says. “And I mean anything, you call.”
Nodding, I step out of the car and head up the driveway, each step closer to the house adding to my mounting anxiety.
When I reach the door, I turn back, finding both Billy and Jameson watching me.
You’re gonna be okay, I chant in my head.
You’re gonna be okay.
I push open the door.
You’re gonna be okay.
“Look who finally decided to come home!” my father shouts, standing from the couch, his face twisted in fury.
I stumble back, glancing behind me at the door I’ve just closed.
I should leave.
This isn’t—
“Stop standing in the fucking doorway and get in here.”
Shaking my head, I take a step back.
“Do not test my patience right now, Samantha.” He snaps his fingers, pointing at the place in front of him. “Now.”
I move forward, taking in the room, searching for Cathleen, but the couch is empty.
My father’s large form is blocking the recliner, but once I’m in front of him, he steps aside, throwing out a hand. “Take a good look.”
I drag my gaze over Carson—his busted lip, his bruised face, the way his body’s awkwardly angled on the chair.
“You did this,” my father spits.
“I didn’t—”
“Bringing an outsider into our house!” he yells. “Into our business!”
I motion to Carson. “He was chasing me! Threatening me.” I turn to my father, my voice pleading. “You know what he’s been like since—”
“Your brother has been through a lot. He’s been in pain. You have no idea what it’s been like for him. And what did you do?” he bites out. “You took his pills and then lied about—”
“I didn’t take his fucking pills.”
“You’ve got that boy”—his eyes darken—“that good-for-nothing criminal, wrapped around your little finger, don’t you? Think you can go around doing whatever you want now and he’ll come clean it up for you.”
“What are you—”
“But that’s done,” he says. “I already have one whore for a daughter; I won’t have another.”
My head rears back. Who the fuck does he think he is?
“You can’t say shit like that,” I snap.
He steps forward. “Why not? It’s true, isn’t it? How else did you get him wrapped around your finger, huh?”
“I called him because I was scared, because I felt unsafe in my own fucking house!”
“Oh, come on,” he scoffs. “Quit with the goddamn dramatics.”
“Carson chased me up the stairs! Chased me, Dad.”
He quickly flicks his eyes to Carson before returning them to me. “That wasn’t something he should have …” He rubs at the back of his neck. “He shouldn’t have done that, but you put him in a position that made him act that way.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“And then you went and ran to that scum—”
“Don’t call him that.”
“That boy’s father already got Johnny killed.”
I flinch, taking a step back.
“And still you’re with him. Still you bring him into our house.”
I glare at him. “Jameson’s nothing like his father.”
He laughs, the sound nearly pushing me over the edge. “Why don’t you take a good fucking look, sweetheart,” he chides, pointing at Carson. “That boy’s exactly like his piece of shit father.”
“He was protecting me,” I counter. “God knows I needed someone to.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You were blacked out. Dead to the world. I needed someone to protect me from your precious golden boy,” I sneer. “And I knew it wasn’t gonna be you.”
“Watch that fucking mouth of yours.”
“Or what?”
He raises an eyebrow. “What? Are you tough now, is that it?”
My response dies on my lips as he steps forward. I grab my phone, but he rips it out of my hand, tossing it aside.
“You can’t just—”
“I can’t what, hmm? I’ve had enough of this attitude. I’m your father—you need to show me some goddamn respect.”
“I don’t need to show you shit,” I tell him before I can think better of it.
His eyes flare, and I shuffle back, starting for the door, but I don’t make it far before his large hand circles my wrist. I let out yelp as he throws me onto the couch. “Sit down.”
Panic courses through me as I take in my position.
I’m trapped.
Alone.
“He’ll come after me,” I force out. “He’s waiting outside.”
“No, he won’t.”
“You don’t know how he—”
My father bends down, handing me my phone. “Because you’re gonna tell him you’re fine, that this is a family matter.”
I start to shake my head.
“He almost killed me,” Carson says, drawing our father’s attention.
The statement sets him back on his mission, and he nods. “You’re done with that boy. I don’t want you seeing him again.”
“No.” I lean forward. “No, you can’t tell me to do that. I’m eighteen; you can’t make me stop seeing him.”
“I can when you live under my roof.”
“Fine, then I’ll leave.”
“And where are you gonna go? To him? No fucking way.”
“Why do you even care?”
“Because you’re my daughter!” he bellows.
There’s no love behind his words. It comes out as a statement. A claim of control. And it only fuels my rage.
He’s given me nothing. Never cared for me. Never put my needs before his own. He’s been a pathetic excuse for a father my whole fucking life.
“Oh, don’t try to act like that’s ever meant anything to you before,” I scoff.
He closes the space between us, his eyes blazing, and my rage is quickly replaced with fear.
“You go to him, and I’ll show up at his house and drag you back by your hair. I’m not scared of that little punk.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, my voice cracking. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“Because”—he motions to Carson—“your actions have consequences, and this time, you really fucked up.”
“I didn’t do—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” he barks. “And if I ever see that boy of yours in my house again, you’re not gonna like what happens. You can fucking trust me on that.”
I’m not even sure what to say. I just stare back at him, wide-eyed.
He points to the phone in my hand. “Now you call him back and tell him you’re fine. None of this crybaby drama shit. I don’t need him storming in here from your fucking theatrics.”
I move to stand when Carson says, “You got nothing to say to me.”
I tilt my head. “What do you—”
“An apology.”
“An apology?”
He looks over at our father, and I trace his gaze, finding him watching me expectantly.
I swallow down my rage, my fucking fury. But I’m stuck, literally and metaphorically backed into a corner.
“Samantha?” my father presses.
“I’m sorry,” I force out.
“Doesn’t sound like it,” Carson shoots back.
I grit my teeth, meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry, Carson,” I tell him, my voice barely sounding like my own.
He nods, and our father backs up, finally giving me room to stand.
“School, work, and community service, that’s it for you. You hear me?”
“Yeah,” I answer, feeling myself shrink as he looms over me. “I hear you.”
“I catch you sneaking out to see him and you’re done.”
I don’t know what me being done means, but I don’t want to find out.
Before I can answer, my phone rings, and my father tips his chin, telling me to answer it. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he mutters.
“Hello,” I breathe, careful to keep my tone neutral, but it doesn’t fool Jameson.
“What’s taking so long?” he asks. “You all right?”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, my eyes meeting my father’s. “We’re just talking.”
“You don’t sound fine. Are you being watched or something? You sound weird.”
“Everything’s good,” I press, but again, he doesn’t buy it.
“I’m coming in.”
My father keeps his gaze pinned on me, a silent threat.
“No, no. Seriously, Jamie, I’m fine.”
“Sam.”
“I’ll call you later, okay?”
Please just hang up.
“Are you bullshitting me? You’ve gotta tell me, baby, if you are.”
“No,” I answer, “I’m not.”
He’s quiet for a minute before he blows out a breath. “You’ll call me if anything changes?”
“Yeah.”
“All right,” he gives in, and before he can push for more, I hang up.
My father steps out of my path, giving me permission to leave. “I’m doing this for your own good,” he says as I move for the stairs. “Things have gone too far. He’s no good for you.”
I don’t know how to tell him that Jameson is the only good thing for me. That he’s sometimes the only reason I get up in the morning. The only good part of my day.
So, I say nothing and walk up the stairs I was dragged down just yesterday.
Into the room I had to lock myself in.
And I break.
Wondering how much longer it’ll be until there are no more pieces of me left to put back together.