Chapter 23 #2
“You think this is what I want to do?” he interrupts.
“You think this is the life I want?” He runs a hand across his mouth like he didn’t mean for those words to slip out, like maybe he can shove them back inside.
His eyes flash to Jameson in the rearview mirror.
“I didn’t …” He shakes his head. “Don’t … ”
“I know, man,” Jameson mutters.
The car falls silent.
“I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” I finally whisper. “Either of you.”
“Nothing’s gonna happen, baby,” Jameson says, just before Johnny adds, “We’re careful.”
The car is quiet as we turn onto our street. Johnny slows in front of our house, and a heaviness fills the space as he parks.
I sit, wringing my hands in my lap.
“Bug,” Johnny says gently. “We’re gonna be fine, okay?”
“Mmhmm,” I force out. “Yeah, okay.”
“But we really need to go.”
Jameson gets out and opens my door. “Come on; I’ll walk you in.”
I turn to Johnny. “Please, be careful.”
“I always am.”
I take Jameson’s hands and let him lead me up to the front door.
“Text me as soon as you get home,” I tell him.
“I will,” he promises, leaning down to kiss me.
He tips his chin toward the door, and I turn, unlocking it, then watch from the window as he jogs toward Johnny’s car and they pull away.
“What’re you looking at?” My father’s voice comes from behind me.
I spin around. “Nothing.”
He grunts, and I start for the kitchen but pause when he surprises me by asking, “How was school?”
“It was good.” I shrug. “I really—”
“Found it,” Carson says, jogging down the stairs.
My father’s attention shifts to him, and just like that, our conversation is completely forgotten.
“Well, put it on,” he orders, motioning to the TV.
Carson crowds my space, muttering, “Move, you’re in my way.”
I take a step back and head for the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it from the sink, groaning when I see the pile of dirty dishes.
The sound of a football game comes from the living room as I grab the ingredients for dinner.
After frying up some chicken and making a quick side of mac and cheese, I take two plates to the living room. I get a grumbled thanks from Carson and our father before I go back into the kitchen.
I make myself a plate and settle in at the table, opening up my history textbook.
My phone is sitting right beside me, and I can’t stop myself from continually glancing over at it, as if that’ll magically make a text come through from Jameson.
I know it’s probably too early for them to be done, but I can’t help myself.
How long does it take to rob a pawn shop, anyway?
I push the anxiety away and tell myself that they’ll be fine, trying to focus on what I’m reading instead.
I finish all of my homework and then scrub the kitchen until it’s spotless, trying to give my mind anything that’ll distract it.
I glance over at the clock.
8:45.
I push down the fear that something went wrong and grab my bag before going upstairs.
After dropping my stuff off in my room, I head for the bathroom and strip out of my clothes from the day, setting my phone on the sink so I can hear it if it goes off.
I take a longer shower than I normally would, hoping to kill more time. When I get out, I check the time again.
9:07.
I scrape my nails against my palm.
It doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself. I’m sure they’re fine.
But maybe I should text just to make sure. What if something happened? What if they need my help?
Reaching for my phone, I pull up my text thread with Jameson, begin to type, and then delete it. What if I distract him and mess things up, or what if his phone isn’t on silent and it gives them away?
I drop my phone back onto the counter.
They’re fine. I’m sure they’re fine.
I get ready for bed then tidy my room even though it doesn’t need to be tidied. When I realize I’ve started pacing, I crack open the window and light a cigarette. It’s raining heavily, the sound of raindrops hitting the roof creating a steady rhythm in the background.
Grabbing Great Expectations from the pile of books on my desk, I open it and start reading. The words I’ve read countless times start to bleed together, and I look over at the clock.
10:04.
I light another cigarette.
It doesn’t mean anything, I remind myself. They’re fine.
I open the book and start reading again.
I’m starting to lose it when a ring echoes through my quiet room.
I scramble for my phone. “Jamie?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” he says. “I’m home.”
“Johnny?” I ask.
“He’s fine. Should be home soon.”
“Fuck.” I blow out a breath. “You scared me. Was it supposed to take that long? It seems like that took too long?”
“Whoa, baby, I’m fine. We’re both fine,” he assures me. “We just ran into a problem, but—”
“A problem?” I interrupt.
“Their security rotation was different than it was supposed to be, so we had to wait a bit longer.”
“Oh,” I murmur. “Okay.”
“I would have texted you, but I couldn’t have my phone with me where I was and—”
“It’s okay, really,” I tell him. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”
“You sure?” he asks nervously. “You don’t seem—”
A muffled sound comes from the other line.
“Shit,” he mumbles. “Hold on, sorry.”
I wait a few seconds as he clearly pulls the phone away from his ear, so I only catch the tail end of his response. “—right there.” He clears his throat, his voice closer this time. “You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” I answer quietly.
“Talk to me.”
“What do you want me to tell you?” I exhale, stubbing my cigarette out. “There’s nothing I can say. It is what it is.”
He’s quiet for so long that the only way I know the call didn’t disconnect is the sound of him breathing.
“Jamie?”
“This is what I was talking about. You shouldn’t have to … I don’t know. You just shouldn’t have to …”
“But I will,” I tell him. “I’m not going anywhere, but I’m also not gonna to lie to you and pretend this is easy.”
“No,” he says. “You never have to pretend with me.”
“Neither do you.”
“I don’t—”
“Yes, you do,” I cut in. “You tell me you’re fine when you’re clearly not.”
“I just …” He pauses. “I’ve never …”
“I know,” I answer. “But you can’t keep it all in, and if this is gonna work, you can’t keep me out.”
There’s a long stretch of silence before he finally says, “Then you can’t either.”
“I can’t what?”
“Keep me in the dark.”
“I—”
“I know there are things you struggle with,” he says softly. “If I give you my baggage, you have to give me yours, too, balance out the weight.”
His words hit me. Balance out the weight.
“Okay,” I breathe. “I will.”
Another distant sound comes from his side of the line, and he curses under his breath. “I really have to go. You sure you’re all right?”
“I wasn’t,” I respond, “but I’m better now.” I press the phone to my ear, as if that’ll somehow make me closer to him. “Are you?”
“No,” he says and I think that might be the first time he’s ever answered that question honestly. “But I’m better now, too. Talking to you makes me better.”
“I’m always here.”
“I know, baby, thanks,” he says. “All right, talk to you later.”
“Talk to you later,” I answer before the line goes dead.
I set my phone down beside me but stay perched on my desk with the window cracked until bright headlights break through the darkness and pull into my driveway. A car door slams shut before I see my brother trudge up to the house.
After shutting the window, I slide off the desk and move into the hallway, peering over the ledge of the staircase.
My father left around an hour ago, and after a quick check, I confirm the door to my brothers’ room is closed with loud music playing on the other side.
I take the stairs two at a time and only slow down once I’ve reached the living room.
Johnny has his back to me as he shuts the front door. He’s dressed in all black, the clothes somehow looking even darker with the rain that’s soaked them through. He has a black duffle bag dangling at his side, the straps gripped tightly in his hand.
He turns away from the door, his head bent. After stepping into the room, he looks up, pushing away the wet hair that’s fallen into his eyes.
I rush toward him, wrapping my arms around his middle.
“Easy,” he mutters. “I’m drenched.”
“You’re all right,” I say into his chest.
He smooths his hand down my back. “Told you I’d be fine, didn’t I?”
I step back. “Jameson told me you were … but I don’t know … I just … I was worried.”
His face softens.
“Did you eat already? I ask. “I can make you something.”
“Nah, you should get to bed.”
“Johnny.”
“What?”
“Did you eat?”
He shakes his head.
I motion toward the stairs. “Go get changed. I’ll make you something.”
He dips his chin. “Thanks, Bug.”
I lower my gaze to the bag in his hand, and I know he senses me looking at it.
Without saying anything, he turns and starts up the stairs. “I’ll be quick,” he throws over his shoulder.
I head for the kitchen and try not to think about all the answers to the questions I’m too afraid to ask.
Everything’s fine, I remind myself. They’re fine.