Chapter 6
Sam
The man looks just like Jameson, only older. His dark hair is slicked back, showcasing his cold eyes and an expression that makes me wish I could make myself smaller.
It’s obvious who the man is.
Levi Baxston. Jameson’s father.
Jameson rounds the table, putting himself between me and his father. He sounds completely disinterested when he shrugs and says, “Marcus told me to watch her. She’s the new kid’s sister.”
Levi folds his tattooed arms across his chest as he leans against the doorframe. His gaze lingers on me before he brings it back to Jameson and teases, “Bet you were happy to be given that job.”
Jameson doesn’t respond.
His father assesses him, the seconds stretching until it feels like the tension is about to snap. Finally, he says, “I need you to help me load something into the car.”
“Sure,” Jameson answers, seemingly unaffected, and follows his father without sparing me even a glance.
I release a long breath as soon as they leave the room, letting my shoulders fall. I’m grateful they’re gone. Well, that Levi is, anyway.
Leaning back in my chair, I look over at Jameson's empty seat, realizing just how much I liked talking to him. It was easy. Something I almost never find conversation to be.
Grabbing my book, I pick up where I left off, trying to distract myself. I get through another chapter before my eyes drift over to the closed door. It’s taking Jameson a while to come back. Definitely longer than you would need to load something into a car.
I wonder what they’re really doing.
Reaching across the table, I snag a couple of joints from the bag Jameson rolled. There’s enough in there that I’m sure he won’t notice. After stashing them inside the pocket of my bag, I turn back to my book.
I’ve just finished another cigarette when the door pushes open. “Time for you to go.”
I jump at the voice, having expected Jameson. Turning, I see an unfamiliar man around Levi’s age, with a long scar down the side of his face.
“I’m Marcus,” he says, just as my brother comes up behind him.
“Sam,” I answer quietly.
He takes a step forward and extends his hand. “Nice to meet you, sweetheart.”
I find my brother over Marcus’s shoulder. He’s watching us carefully, a hard look on his face. He inclines his head slightly, and I stand, taking Marcus’s hand.
He towers over me, tall and overly skinny. His clammy hand closes over mine, and I’m hit with the smell of weed mixed with engine oil.
“Nice to meet you, too,” I tell him.
He hums under his breath, dropping my hand. As he walks out of the room, he pats Johnny on the chest and says, “See you later, yeah?”
Johnny nods. “Yeah.”
Marcus hovers just outside the door, clearly waiting for me to leave, so I quickly shove my things into my bag. Keys rattle as I step into the hall, and he locks the door behind me.
Where’s Jameson?
“This way,” my brother says, leading me down the hall.
I follow him outside and into the car. Once we’re settled, I look him over. “Everything go okay?”
He starts the engine. “Yup.”
“That’s it?” I ask, irritated. “Not gonna give me anything else?”
He shrugs. “Nothing else to tell.”
“So, you’re working here now then?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Officially or unofficially?”
“Both,” he answers quickly, like he doesn’t want me to think about what that means.
Sighing, I slump back in my seat, annoyed by how secretive he’s being.
“I don’t wanna hear it,” Johnny says, his tone final.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“We need the money.” He glances over at me. “You think this is what I want to do?”
“I’ll get a job,” I interject.
“Your job is school.”
I throw out a hand. “It shouldn’t all be on you.”
“But it is, and you’re going to let me handle it, okay?”
“I don’t—”
“Bug,” he interrupts, and the childhood nickname softens me. “I’ve got this, really. I don’t want you to worry about it.”
“I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“It won’t,” he answers firmly.
I really want to believe him.
“So, Jameson treat you okay?” he asks, changing the subject.
I want to keep asking him about the job, about what he’ll be doing, but I know he’ll only brush me off. So, I give him the out he’s looking for.
“He was fine,” I answer.
“Then why do you sound pissed?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not.”
Well, maybe I am. And not just about my brother starting this job, but maybe a little bit about Jameson, too.
Johnny scoffs. “Yeah, all right.” When I don’t say anything, his voice hardens. “Seriously, do I need to have a talk with him?”
“No.” I fidget. “He just …”
Johnny goes still. “He just what?”
“He didn’t hurt me, okay?” I drop my hands. “I’m fine. You don’t have to go all overprotective.” I shake my head. “It’s stupid.”
“Tell me.”
I turn to look out the window, embarrassed that this even bothers me at all.
“Sam?” he prompts.
“I don’t know …” I hesitate. “I thought maybe he liked me … or liked talking to me. He was nice, actually. I mean, after the stuff I’ve heard about him, I didn’t think he would be.
But then his dad came in, and he changed.
He acted like I was barely there, and then he just left.
I thought he would come back, but he never did. ”
Johnny visibly relaxes. His words come out tentative, like he’s not quite sure how to deal with the side of me that has emotions. “Jameson’s dad—”
“I know.”
“No, let me finish,” he says. “You need to be careful around him. I saw how he treated Jameson, and if what I saw is how he treats him in front of a stranger, I don’t want to know what he does behind closed doors.”
I tense.
“The guy uses mind games. Always has to be the one in power.” He looks over at me. “Don’t think how Jameson acted in front of him has anything to do with you.”
I nod, but it must not be convincing.
“What?” my brother asks.
I pick at my fingernail. “It was just nice to hang out with someone. I don’t really have any …” I clear my throat, not liking how vulnerable I sound. I’ve never had an easy time making friends.
“I know,” Johnny says as we pull into the driveway. “Maybe I can bring you along with me sometimes. Would that …? Would that help?”
Surveying the house, I notice our father’s car then the light on in the living room and go rigid. Distractedly, I answer, “Yeah, thanks.”
Johnny watches me. “You’re okay.” It’s a statement rather than a question.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I answer, anyway, forcing a smile onto my face.
He already does so much for me, carries so many burdens that aren’t his own. The least I can do is give him this lie.
Johnny pushes open the front door, and I follow in behind him.
Our father keeps his eyes on the TV when he asks, “Where’ve you been?”
Johnny steps farther into the living room. “I got a—”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about.” Our father turns, cutting Johnny off. He points to the game on the TV. “You’re spending way too long in the pocket.”
Carson shifts next to him. “I wouldn’t have to if—”
“Excuses don’t win games,” our father barks, pausing the tape they’re reviewing of one of Carson’s games.
It’s off-season, but football never stops in our house. Our father played all through high school. He was good, but never good enough to get recruited.
Johnny played up until his sophomore year. It was a big deal when he quit. I think he finally hit a breaking point with our father’s obsession around the game, around winning. I don’t know exactly what pushed him over the edge, but one day, he just quit. Our father didn’t speak to him for weeks.
After that, Carson became the golden boy. Not only did he keep playing, but he’s really good. Our father is convinced he’ll go all the way, that Carson is gonna be the one who gets us out of this neighborhood.
He turns from Carson to Johnny. “What’d you say?”
“I got a new job.”
Our father sits up straighter. “Where?”
“Baxston & Sons.”
“Money must be good.”
Johnny’s jaw ticks. “It is.”
Our father’s gaze cuts to me. “Stop hiding behind him.”
I step around my brother and mumble, “I’m not.”
“And where have you been?”
“I—”
“What happened to your face?” Carson asks before I can respond.
“I picked her up from school,” Johnny answers for me. “The nurse called. She tripped on the stairs and cut her face. Made her miss the bus.”
I keep still, not wanting to give away the fact that Johnny just lied to cover for me.
The last time I got in a fight at school, our father had been the one to pick me up. He was about to go run drills with Carson and was pissed I interrupted him. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t just leave me there. I got a whole lecture on the way to the field about reining in my temper.
Where does he think I learned it from?
He watches me and Johnny like he knows we’re lying, but I don’t think he cares enough to give it the energy. “You missed dinner,” he says to me, unpausing the tape.
I take that as my cue to leave, starting for the kitchen.
“Make something quick,” he calls after me. “It’s late. I’m hungry.”
I let his words roll off me because if I don’t, they’ll only make me angry.
Opening the fridge, I search for something fast I can make, but the shelves are nearly empty. Well, except the door that’s fully stocked with beer.
I move on to the cabinets, pulling out some tuna and bread. I also find a half-eaten package of cheese in the fridge, so I decide on tuna melts. There are a few potatoes left that aren’t too bad, so I start to heat some oil, cut off the sprouted parts, then chop the rest.
The hot oil begins to pop below me and beads of sweat run down my back. I push open the window above the sink, wishing we had AC.
I just get the last of the fried potatoes out when I hear my name being called.
Shutting off the burner, I move into the living room, where our father holds his beer out, not bothering to stop what he’s saying to Carson. I take it from him and bring back a cold one.
“You almost done?” he asks.
“Five more minutes.”
I hurry back into the kitchen and finish mixing the tuna salad. I throw the sandwiches under the broiler and then plate everything up, bringing two of them into the living room.
I hand one to our father and one to Carson before collecting the empty beer bottles from the coffee table.
“Thanks,” our father offers, just as Carson grunts in agreement.
I nod and turn back to the kitchen.
The beer bottles clank against each other as I drop them into the bin. I grab one from the fridge for myself and finally sink into a seat at the table with my dinner.
I’m about to take a bite when the house phone rings.
Just like always, there’s a moment when I think it might be her. I don’t know when I’m going to get over the delusion that my mother will just randomly call one day.
It’s been over ten years since she left.
“Will you pick up the goddamn phone already!” our father hollers, his voice springing me into action.
I push my chair back and grab the phone, twisting the cord around my hand. “Hello.”
“Hey,” my sister says, and a part of me deflates.
Of course it’s not her, I tell myself. Don’t be stupid.
“Sam?”
“Hmm?” I answer. “Sorry, what’s up?”
“Just calling to check in,” she says.
Cathleen’s more of a mother than a sister to me.
She’s the oldest of all of us and stepped up, practically raising us, after our mother left.
She moved out last year to go live with her boyfriend.
Now she’s miles away, and I hardly ever see her.
I know it was hard for her to leave, but she deserves it after all the shit she had to put up with.
“How’s school been?” she asks.
“Good,” I tell her, not mentioning the fight today. I already got a lecture from Johnny, so I don’t need another one from her.
“And things at home?”
“You know,” I respond vaguely.
“Anything I need to know about?”
“No, everything’s fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “How about you?”
“The same,” she says, though her voice sounds off.
“Things with Adam okay?” Her boyfriend’s a bit of a prick, and they’re always having issues.
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “He’s actually about to get home, so I should probably go.”
“Me, too,” I add. “I was about to eat dinner.”
“All right,” she says. “Don’t be a stranger, yeah?”
I hum my agreement.
“Love you,” she breathes.
“Love you, too.”
I hang up and move for the kitchen table, but just as I sit, Johnny walks in, his hair wet from a shower.
“I made you a plate,” I tell him, starting to stand again.
“Thanks, Bug.” He smiles. “But I’ve gotta go.”
“Where?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
And so it starts.
“I’ll wrap a sandwich for you. You can bring it with you.”
“Sit,” he says. “I’ve got it.”
I lower back in my chair while he moves around the kitchen. He catches me watching him and tips up his chin. “Eat.”
I sink my teeth into the sandwich, and he turns away, satisfied, then tosses one into a brown paper bag, adding some fried potatoes in with it. Once he’s done, he comes over to the table and throws down a few bills. “For groceries.”
I eye the money, knowing where it likely came from, but we’re really not in a position to be picky, so I grab it and tuck it into my bag. “Thanks.”
He kisses the top of my head. “See you later.”
I want to ask him where he’s going, what he’s doing, but I keep the questions tucked away.
He walks to the back door.
“Johnny,” I call out as he opens it.
“Yeah.”
“Please be safe.”
He nods then turns, shutting the door behind him.
I don’t sleep that night until I hear him get home.