Chapter 32
Sam
I push the front door open, even more drenched than I was when I got into Jameson’s car. I wrap his flannel around myself tightly as a shiver rakes through my body.
My father, unsurprisingly, is on the couch, his foot propped up in a boot from when he fucked up his ankle on a construction job. The only positive has been the steady disability check. Otherwise, it’s only given me more to do around the house.
He got off his crutches last week, so it’s been a little easier, but he still can’t drive.
“There you are,” he says as I walk into the room. “I need you to run to the store for me.”
I look down at myself. “It’s pouring out.”
He glances over at me. “Ever heard of an umbrella?”
If he wasn’t already enough of an asshole, the pain has only made him worse.
“What about Carson?”
“He’s at practice.”
“Can’t he go on the way home? What do you even need?”
“Watch that tone of yours,” he sneers. “If I tell you I need you to go to the store for me, then you go. Doesn’t matter what I need you to get.”
“Let me see if Jameson can drive me,” I say, just wanting to get away from him.
“Samantha,” he grinds out, and I snap my head up from where I was digging through my purse to look at him. “You can’t rely on people to drive you around forever.”
Ever since Johnny … I haven’t been able to get behind the wheel. For some reason, I’m fine being in a car, even on the back of Billy’s bike, as long as it’s not me who’s driving.
I should have my license by now, but I can’t do it. I’ll get it at some point, just not now.
“I know,” I say quietly before dialing Jameson’s number.
He picks up on the first ring. “You all right?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“You don’t sound good,” he says. “You sound pissed.”
I ignore his comment, aware that my father is watching me. “Can you come back? I need to run to the store.”
“Why didn’t you ask when we were out?”
“I didn’t know we needed anything.”
“Mmhmm,” he hums. “You need something from the store?”
I sigh. “Jamie.”
“He was gonna make you walk, wasn’t he?” My silence is confirmation enough because he mutters, “Piece of shit.”
I glance over at my father, even though I know he can’t hear the other line.
“I’ll be there in five.”
“Thanks,” I respond, ending the call.
I run upstairs, quickly change out of my wet clothes, then search for an umbrella but come up empty.
Fuck.
Guess I’m getting soaked again.
My father shifts his eyes from the TV to me once I’m back in the room.
“What do you need?” I ask.
He rattles off a short list: beer, chips, milk, cigarettes.
“Got it,” I answer, starting for the front door.
Jameson’s waiting in the driveway when I step outside. I run toward the car and into the door he’s already pushed open for me.
“Thanks for coming back,” I say, out of breath.
“Where’s Golden Boy?” he asks, using his nickname for Carson.
“Practice.”
“He couldn’t go after?”
“Guess not.”
“You do way too fucking much around that house. I don’t like it.”
“It’s fine.”
He shakes his head. “All the shifts at the diner. And keeping up the way you do with school. It’s—”
“Can you just drop it, please?”
He looks over at my house. “I should go in there.”
“And do what? You’ll just make things worse.” I wrap my arms around myself, fighting off the chill in the air. “We’re lucky he lets me out with you as much as he does. He didn’t used to …”
“What?” The word is barely restrained. “He didn’t used to what?”
“Nothing …” I twist the ring on my finger, and he notices. He always notices. “I just don’t want to give him any reason to trap me in that house, okay?”
He runs his hand through his hair, saying nothing.
“Jamie?”
“Fuck.” He blows out a breath. “Yeah, okay.”
Jameson dropped me back home a couple hours ago. I wished him luck on his fight tonight and made him promise to text me the minute it was over.
Since then, the night has been uneventful. I’ve used the rare night off to catch up on chores and studying for a unit test I have next week.
Jameson wasn’t wrong when he said I do too much, that I carry way more weight than I should around this house, but bitching about it in the past hasn’t gotten me anywhere but worse off.
The last thing I have to do tonight is put away the load of laundry that’s in the dryer, and then I’m done. I can lock myself in my room with a book and wait for Jameson to sneak through my window.
Carson and my father are reviewing tape when I step into the living room. I quickly move past the TV and mutter, “Goodnight.”
“Night,” my father answers distractedly.
“Those mine?” Carson asks, nodding toward the basket in my hand. “I’m out of T-shirts.”
You could always do your own fucking laundry, I think but bite back the response and answer, “Most of them.”
I asked him one time to wash his own clothes. He looked at me dead serious and said, “Do you see a pair of tits on me?”
Johnny smacked him on the side of the head. My father just laughed.
I trudge up the stairs and stop in front of Carson’s room.
Johnny’s room.
I give myself a few seconds before pushing open the door, and my eyes automatically drift over to Johnny’s side. It looks the same as it always has—all his things still in their place, as if waiting for him.
We never talked about what we’d do with his things. I guess it just seemed natural to leave them be.
After a few weeks passed, I expected Carson to start taking over the room, but he’s left Johnny’s side completely untouched.
It’s still hard for me to come in here. Each time I push through the door, it’s like I expect I’ll magically find him waiting inside. There are those few seconds of misplaced hope before I realize the room is empty.
Because, of course it is.
I let out a breath and step through the door, walking over to set the basket of clothes down on Carson’s bed. I’m halfway there when my foot catches on something and I stumble forward, dropping my hands down in front of me to catch my fall.
The carpeted floor cushions my hands and knees, but the folded basket of clothes is now dumped all over the ground.
Great.
I start collecting everything, refolding them and putting them back in the basket, but when I grab for a pair of socks that rolled under Johnny’s bed, my hand brushes over something hard.
I pull it out, and my heart drops when I see a small box wrapped in shiny silver paper. There’s an envelope taped to the top with “Bug” scrawled across it in Johnny’s handwriting.
I fall back on my heels, the box gripped tightly in my hand.
It takes me a second before my mind clears and I realize he must have gotten me this for my birthday.
I scramble up to my feet and quickly throw any remaining clothes on the floor into the laundry basket. I set it on Carson’s bed then rush into my room, locking the door behind me.
I gently set the box down on my desk, my eyes fixed on it like if I look away, it’ll disappear.
Should I open it?
I start to pace.
What am I thinking? Of course I’m going to open it.
I move to grab it, but stop short. Maybe I should wait for Jameson. I don’t know if I can do this alone.
My brother’s handwriting stares back at me.
No, I decide. I can’t wait. It could be hours until Jameson gets here. There’s no way I can knowingly have something from my brother and wait hours to open it.
I snatch the box from its place on the desk and drop down onto my bed. Carefully, I peel the envelope from the box. I drag my finger over the front of it, over the name only Johnny ever called me. My throat tightens, tears threatening to fall. I can’t do this.
I set the envelope down and eye the box in front of me, grabbing that first.
I tear the paper open before I can overthink it. Inside is a deep green velvet box. Snapping it open, my breath catches.
Cushioned inside is the most me ring I’ve ever seen—a silver vintage style band with an onyx stone.
It’s perfect.
I pull it from the box and slide it onto my finger, holding my hand back to look at it. I’ve always worn a bunch of rings, usually cheap ones I find at the thrift store, but I’ve never had one as nice as this.
I remove the card, and as I start to open the envelope, a tear drops down, hitting the paper.
The card is simple, a black background with “Happy Birthday” written in silver. It matches the ring.
Hesitantly, I open the card and read the last words I’ll ever get from my brother.
Happy 16th Birthday
I don’t know when you got so old. But you’ll still always be my baby sister.
Love you Bug
- Johnny
I can almost hear his voice, like he’s still here saying the words to me.
God, I miss him so fucking much.
I choke out a sob, the card falling from my hands.
This is too much. I should have waited for Jameson.
Glancing down at the card, I see spots where my tears have fallen. I keep reading the last line over and over again.
Love you Bug
Love you Bug
Love you Bug
Suddenly, the room feels too small, too stuffy.
I push up from the bed and open the window, sticking my head out and taking in unsteady gulps of air. Then I reach for my cigarettes, grabbing one and tucking it between my lips with trembling fingers. My hands are shaking so badly I can’t get the damn lighter to spark.
Fuck.
I throw the lighter onto the desk, jamming the unlit cigarette back into the pack.
I’ve gotta get out of here.
I reach for my phone and dial Jameson’s number. It rings several times before I remember he’s probably still at his fight. I disconnect the call and start to dial Billy’s number, but stop myself. I don’t want to bother him while he’s at work.
All you are to everyone is a burden.
Johnny wouldn’t be dead if he didn’t have to take care of you.
I scream in my head, begging the thoughts to stop, but they won’t stop coming.
Jameson will only be able to take so much.
You’re too broken. You know you are.
Alone.
You’re going to be all alone.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to silence the noise. When did the thoughts get so fucking loud?