Chapter 30
Sam
It’s been just over three months without my brother.
My world is emptier.
My house is missing the person who made it a home.
And even my good days are never as good as they once were.
But the world keeps turning.
It’s weird how that works. How, when your world seems to end, the world around you still carries on all the same.
I’ve been doing better, at least on the outside, but a lot has changed in these last few months.
I went back to school a week after it happened.
It helped to have Jameson and Billy there with me.
The funerals went by in a blur. Cathleen came and stayed with us for a few days before she had to go back home for work.
While she was with us, she dropped the bomb that she’s pregnant.
Luke had to let me go from the garage. Without the money coming in from Levi’s dealings, he couldn’t afford to pay me anymore. I got a job as a waitress, working all the hours I can get. Without the money Johnny brought home, we desperately need the check.
My father fell on a construction job a couple months ago, so at least his disability will be steady for a bit. I knew where Johnny kept his money and found a few thousand dollars hidden in his secret spot. Still, things have been tight.
Carson isn’t working, even though we’re barely getting by.
He just committed to play quarterback at Auburn.
Most of the top schools want him, but he wants a chance to start as a freshman.
Him and my father think that if he plays well his first year and gets the attention that comes with it, he’ll have NIL money rolling in.
So, I’m the only one in the house who works. And yes, it pisses me off, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
Jameson has been working any chance he can get, too. Luke couldn’t pay him anymore either, so he’s been taking odd jobs, mostly construction. He also found some money in a safe, so he’s had that to lean on.
Marcus has been trying to pressure him to get back to the work his father had him doing, but I’ve begged him not to go down that road.
He told me he won’t. I think he’s scared of what could happen if he does, too. But, honestly, I don’t know how long it’ll stick.
His mother has been a mess. She barely leaves her room, and when she does, she’s not much of a help.
He’s the only one providing for them, and I can see the pressure starting to take hold of him.
More than once, he’s come to my window bruised or bloodied.
Sometimes, he doesn’t come at all, and I just find him that way in the morning before school.
He says he’s fighting for the money, but I know it’s more than that.
It’s his way of escaping the noise inside his head.
At first, I tried to stop him, worried that he wouldn’t be the one who walks away on top one of these times, that he’ll be left with more than some cuts and bruises.
But I can’t really judge him for having a destructive habit, a fucked-up coping mechanism that keeps him sane. Not when I’m doing the same thing.
He fights when he can’t shut off the noise. And I numb myself with alcohol until the world goes quiet.
“Sam, you’ve got table seven,” Maria, another server, says, her voice cutting through my thoughts.
I refocus and realize the sugar container I’m filling has started to overflow, little white crystals falling onto the counter.
Quickly, I set down the large bag in my hand and wipe the excess sugar away. Then I move over to my table—a young couple—and take their order.
It’s Sunday, and I’ve been here all day.
Patsy’s is a twenty-four hour diner, but I usually don’t get scheduled for too many late nights.
It’s just turned eight now, and I’m grateful the dinner rush has started to slow.
I’m off at nine, so not too much longer.
My feet are aching, and all I want is to go home and rest. But I know when I get there, I’ll only be met with more chores to do.
A couple more tables come in, and the rest of my shift passes by quickly. Still, I’m relieved when Patsy gives me the go-ahead to clock out.
I grab my things from the back room, pulling out my phone and finding a text from Jameson that he’s running fifteen minutes late.
He usually picks me up most nights I work, not wanting me to have to take the bus this late. If he can’t, Billy often swings by instead. He finally finished fixing up an old motorcycle he was working on and will take any excuse to bring it out for a ride.
I shoot Jameson back a text, telling him I’ll wait out front, then pull on my jacket and swing my bag over my shoulder.
Icy air hits my face the moment I step outside. There’s still remnants of snowfall on the ground from the storm we had earlier this week, but I’ve never minded the cold.
I love it, actually.
Digging through my bag, I pull out a cigarette and light it, watching the smoke mix with the fog of my breath as I exhale. I drop down on the bench that’s in front of the diner and grab my new book from my purse. I run my hand along the shiny cover, a smile tugging at my lips.
It was my sixteenth birthday a few weeks ago, and this was my gift from Jameson, a brand new copy of The Picture of Dorian Grey. My favorite.
I was shocked he had remembered from that first conversation we had the day we met.
When I opened it, he told me, “To replace the copy you lost, because you should always have your favorite.”
I never told him that I didn’t actually lose the book, although I think he might have guessed.
One day, Carson “accidentally” knocked over his cup of coffee, and it spilled all over my prized copy.
When I accused him of doing it on purpose, he acted like I was being ridiculous.
Told me I was crazy, actually. My father was the only other one at the table and, no surprise, he sided with Carson.
That was over a year ago, and I haven’t had another copy until now.
I flip open the book and start reading, getting lost in a story I’ve read dozens of times.
I’ve just finished my cigarette when I hear my name being called over the sound of passing cars. Looking up, I see Jameson through the rolled down passenger window.
Shoving my book back into my bag, I jog over to the car, sliding into the seat.
“Hey,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “How was work?”
“Fine,” I answer, setting my things down by my feet.
He leans forward, slinging an arm behind my neck and pulling me into him. “I missed you,” he breathes against me before bringing his lips to mine.
I deepen the kiss, grabbing his hair and pushing into him.
He laughs, hot air tickling my skin. “Looks like you did, too.”
I begin to trail my hand down, sliding it over his chest, when the sound of a phone ringing breaks through the quiet.
“Shit,” he mutters against my mouth. “I’ve been waiting on a call.”
I move back, allowing him to pull his cell out from his pocket and listen as he curtly answers, “Yeah.” He’s quiet for a minute while he listens then replies, “Got it. I’ll be there.”
“Who was that?” I ask as he hangs up and tosses his phone into the center console.
“Just details for a construction job tomorrow.” He pulls away from the curb and starts down the road. “I need to be there real early, so you’ll have to get a ride to school with Billy.”
My stomach sinks. “You’re cutting again?” It’s been happening more and more lately.
His body tightens, the action subtle enough that if I didn’t know him so well, I would have missed it.
We pull up to a light, the hum of the car’s engine filling the space between us. He glances over at me, and I see his face is just as tense as his body.
I tilt my head as I look back at him nervously. “What?”
“I have to tell you something.”
The car jolts forward as the light turns, and he shifts his attention back to the road.
“Okay, then tell me.”
He hesitates. “I don’t want you to get upset.”
“You’re freaking me out, Jamie. Just tell me.”
“I’m dropping out,” he says in a rush, briefly flicking his eyes over to me.
I had a feeling this was coming, but his words still hit me like a truck.
“When?” I force out.
“Now.”
“What?” My voice is pitched high, the question coming out like an accusation. “You’re not coming back at all?”
He flinches at the tone.
My surprise is quickly replaced with anger. “How long?”
His eyes flit to me. “How long what?”
“How long have you known you were gonna drop out?”
“Sam,” he rasps.
“No,” I push, my voice growing louder. “How long have you known? You weren’t even going to talk to me about this?”
I thought he saw me as someone he could come to. Someone he could talk to about things. Someone he trusted.
He throws up a hand, bringing it down hard on the steering wheel. “What’s there to talk about?” he shouts. “How fucked I am? Is that what you wanna talk about?”
“That’s not—”
“I need to make money,” he cuts in. “And I can’t do that while I’m at school all day. I can’t …” His grip on the wheel tightens. “It’s too fucking much, and I’m just so tired all the time. I can’t …” He trails off, and I sag at how defeated he sounds. “I just can’t do it anymore,” he says quietly.
We slow to a stop outside my house, and I turn to face him.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
Cutting the engine, he drops back in his seat and lets out a long breath. “I tried,” he mutters. “I really fucking tried.” He sounds so lost, so broken.
“I know you did.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. “I didn’t want to spring it on you like this. Really, I didn’t. I thought I could make it all work, balance it all, but I …” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”
“I get it,” I tell him. If it weren’t for my promise to Johnny to graduate, I’d probably be doing the same thing. “It’s gonna suck without you, though,” I murmur.
“You’ll still have Billy.”
I shift in my seat. “Not the same.”
“You know I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think I had to.”
“I know,” I reassure him. “I just wish everything was easier for you … that I could somehow make it easier.”