Chapter 44
Sam
I twist my key into the front door as Jameson watches from his car in the driveway. Shutting it behind me, I hear the rumble of his engine when he pulls away.
We reluctantly dragged ourselves from bed, having to get back to reality. He has to go meet Marcus, and I have to take over watching Jace while Cathleen goes to work.
Deep laughter fills the space, and I tense when I step into the living room, the sound quieting as Carson and his friends’ attention shifts to me.
“Oh, good,” Carson says loudly, pitching his voice over the noise of the TV. “You’re here.”
“Where’s Cath—”
“Can you make us something to eat? I’m fucking starving.”
I drop my purse. “I just walked through the door.”
“Yeah, man,” the stocky brunette to his left cuts in. I think his name’s Brian. “She just got home. Needs to relax a minute.” He pats the open seat next to him on the couch.
“Knock that shit off,” Carson says, glaring at him.
“Just bein’ nice.”
Carson scoffs. “No, you aren’t.” Shifting his focus back to me, he asks, “So, food?”
The stairs creak, and I turn as Cathleen walks down them, her work bag and Jace balanced in her arms.
She’s all done up, her hair big and teased, a full face of makeup. But her body’s completely hidden, swallowed up in an oversized pair of sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt.
A whistle sounds from the living room, and I realize it’s coming from Miles.
I fucking hate that kid, which is why it was so satisfying when Jameson put him in his place that day at school.
“Lookin’ good, Cath.”
She ignores him, handing me Jace.
He leans forward. “Gonna have to swing by Sugar’s sometime to see what’s—”
“Jesus, dude, shut up,” Carson growls. “You know what? Let’s get out of here.”
“What about the food?” Brian whines.
“We’ll swing by a drive-thru.”
They all push up from the couch, arguing about where they’re gonna go eat.
Relieved they’re leaving, I move through the room, taking Jace into the kitchen and setting him up in his high chair, hiding out until I hear the front door slam shut.
“You all right?” Cathleen asks, going over to Jace and dropping a kiss on the top of his head when he calls out to her.
“Fine,” I answer.
“You’ve just gotta ignore them,” she says. “They’re idiots.”
“Sometimes, I don’t wanna just ignore them.”
She snorts. “Yeah, I know. I was the one who got the calls home from school, remember?”
“They all deserved it.”
“Not saying they didn’t.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“You’ve gotta be smart, that’s all.”
I turn to her. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
She sighs. “Fuck, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just used to it.”
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t make it any better. Any less shitty.”
Looking over at me, she blows out a breath.
“Probably actually makes it worse,” I add.
“I just worry about you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
She fidgets. “I know.”
“Then what?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just being your older sister. Can’t help but worry. It’s like it’s my job or something.”
“I don’t think it’s that,” I tell her. “’Cause I worry about you, too. Worried about …” I don’t say his name, but she knows who I’m talking about. “It’s nice,” I say, clearing my throat. “It’s nice that you worry, Cath.”
She drops her eyes and swallows hard. I know it fucks her up that she couldn’t protect him.
“I’ve gotta get to work,” she mutters, stepping forward.
I nod before she pulls me into a hug.
“Love you,” she whispers.
“Love you, too,” I whisper back.
A few hours later, I’ve just gotten Jace down to sleep when the house phone rings, its shrill sound reverberating through the quiet house.
I slip down the stairs as my father stands from his place on the couch to answer it.
“Hello,” he mumbles.
I look from him to the coffee table, noting the scattered beer bottles. He got home from work just after Cathleen left, so he hasn’t been at it too long.
“You what?” he questions in a voice I rarely hear him use, but the few times he has …
I inch up the stairs, hiding myself from view.
“Do you have any idea what this means?” he shouts. “You’ve really fucking done it now, you know that?”
Who’s he talking to?
“Everything we’ve worked for, pissed away. Gone! You think they’re gonna let you keep your scholarship now, huh? Let you play? You were already on thin fucking ice.”
Carson, I realize. He must be talking to Carson.
“Driving drunk and hopped up on that shit.” He shakes his head. “And to get caught, too. How stupid can you be?”
I freeze. That’s not good. That’s really fucking not good.
“Oh, you think I’m gonna bail you out?” He laughs. “You good for nothing little shit. You got yourself into this mess, now you fucking clean it up.”
I jump as he slams the phone back onto the receiver. Then I watch as he pulls it back and slams it down again and again until it’s falling apart.
“Goddammit!” he bellows. “Fuck!”
He paces the living room, moving in front of the coffee table and flipping it. Beer bottles shatter and wood cracks as he kicks the table. Then, taking a broken leg, he goes for the TV.
I hear Jace begin to cry and inch up the stairs, trying to go unnoticed. Once I reach the top, I quickly move down the hall, slipping into my room. I lock the door and slide our dresser in front of it before going to Jace.
After managing to soothe him back to sleep, I text Cathleen, letting her know what happened.
Finally, it all hits me.
Carson going pro was the only thing he and my father had. The only thing that seemed to keep them from fully slipping into the worst versions of themselves.
His injury was one thing, but there was still hope.
Now …
The familiar creep of anxiety begins to consume me.
Now, they’ve got nothing.
They’ve both been worse these last few months. It’s not just the substances they drown themselves in ’cause, let’s face it, it’s not like I’m one to judge. They’ve been meaner, demanding more, inching closer to a line neither of them have fully crossed before.
What happened tonight, coupled with the fact that Johnny’s not here anymore, it’s getting harder for me to deny that I’m not scared to live in this house. I mean, I’ve got a dresser pushed in front of my door right now, for fuck’s sake.
I know I could tell Jameson. Tell him about the few times I’ve been shoved a little too hard out of the way or had my arm grabbed a bit too tightly to get my attention. But I’m stuck here and afraid that if I tell Jameson, he’ll only make it worse.
I’ve already lied to him once about a small bruise on my shoulder that I got when Carson shoved me into a wall. There’s no way I’d be able to hold Jameson back if he knew Carson hurt me. He’d go ballistic, and I just … can’t have that happen.
I don’t want Jameson constantly worrying.
I don’t want things to get even more tense at home.
I don’t want my father keeping me locked up here if he thinks I’m bringing trouble.
I don’t want any of it.
And it’s not like I can’t handle myself. I’ve been doing it all my life.
But … I always had Johnny.
And now …
I begin to pace, thinking for the hundredth time about leaving, all the possible scenarios playing out in my head. And just like always, I come to one conclusion …
I’m fucked.
First of all, I’m broke. Almost every dollar I make gets spent on taking care of this house.
I know Jameson would let me move in with him, but I’m too scared of how my father would react, especially now. With everything that’s already going on … I just can’t.
There are no real options. No realistic way I’m leaving this house.
My steps falter. I need to get out of this room. To do something other than sit with my fucked-up thoughts.
Peering out the window, I let go of a breath when I see my father’s car is gone.
Quietly, I drag the dresser back and slip out of the room. I tiptoe down the stairs, even though nobody but Jace is home, and pause when I see the destroyed living room.
I’m careful to avoid the broken glass on the floor as I move to get a broom. Then I spend the next hour cleaning, trying to pick up the pieces of my shattered life and put them back together again.
When I finish, I step back, taking in the space, and imagine what it would be like to live anywhere but here.