Chapter 47
Jameson
I pull up to the park just outside of town and watch as Sam strips off a bright yellow vest before bounding over to the car, a smile breaking across her face when she sees me.
She got eighty hours of community service and a six-week course of anger management classes after the whole “lunch tray incident.” Luckily, she wasn’t expelled.
Her grades and the fact that she’s only months away from graduating must have made them lenient.
Still, adding on the classes and this community service was the last thing she needed in her already hectic schedule.
Over the last few months, since it happened, I’ve tried to do all I can to support her—driving her around, bringing her take-out, anything I can to make it a bit easier.
I lean over, pushing open her door.
“God, I’m sweating like a whore in church,” she groans, wrapping her hair up and lifting it off her neck.
A laugh springs from my lips as I grab the Coke I got her. “Extra ice,” I say, holding it out.
Her head falls back. “I fucking love you.”
“You’re easy to please.”
She grabs the cup, humming in satisfaction as she drinks it.
“What time does the show start again?” she asks as I pull onto the street. “I desperately need a shower.”
“They’re on at seven.”
The band Billy used to play in is opening for a local group tonight down at Red’s. It’s all the same guys from high school, so we’re going to show support.
I asked Billy if he was okay going, not sure if it would upset him to see what he had to leave behind, but he just waved me off in his usual fashion.
Sam leans back in her seat, lighting a cigarette. “I can’t believe they’re playing at a real venue.”
“I know,” I agree. “It’s gonna be weird.”
“I haven’t heard them play in so long.”
“Billy says they’re really good. Like ‘they could be famous kind of good.’”
Sam exhales, turning to me. “Could you imagine?”
I shake my head. “It’d be wild. Someone famous from around here?”
We turn onto my street.
“Cathleen still covering for you tonight?” I ask. “There’s a party after.”
“Yeah,” Sam answers. “I’m good.”
“How’re things at home with—”
“Fine,” she cuts in.
“Baby …”
“Can we just not talk about heavy shit tonight?”
I kill the engine and face her.
“I was at the diner since six this morning,” she continues. “And then at the park, picking up trash all afternoon. I don’t want to spend my night thinking about my fucked-up home life. I just wanna forget, you know? Just for a little bit.”
I nod, though I must look wary because she leans forward and grabs my hand.
“Not forget like that,” she clarifies. “I just need a night to let go. To be with you and not think.”
“I get it,” I tell her, leaning in and brushing my lips over hers.
She deepens the kiss for only a second, like she can’t help herself, before pushing me back. “I’m all sweaty,” she breathes, turning to open her door.
I follow her into the house, and she slows when I stop in the kitchen.
“What’re you doing?”
Opening the fridge, I pull out some cold cuts. “You never eat when you’re busy.”
She stares back at me.
I tip my chin toward the hall. “Go shower. I’ll have this ready when you’re done.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Baby”—I step forward, silencing her—“we talked about this.”
She tips her head back as she looks up at me.
“What’s my job?”
She bites her lip.
“Hmm?”
“To take care of me,” she whispers.
“And why do I take care of you?”
“Because I’m yours.”
“And?”
She smiles. “Because you love me.”
“That’s right,” I tell her, stepping back. “Now, go.”
“You’re late,” Billy shouts over the noise of the crowd.
I look toward the empty stage. “Looks like we’re fine.”
“We were all hanging out backstage before, remember?”
“I thought that was after?”
“It was both.”
“Shit, sorry,” I mutter, glancing down at Sam. “Something came up.”
Billy snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure it did.”
Sam laughs from beside me.
I shake my head. “You guys are like a pair of twelve-year-old boys.”
“Looks like a good crowd,” Sam says, taking in the space. “We could barely find you.”
Billy nods. “Yeah, the guys are freaking out.”
“And you?” I ask.
“Told you, I’m fine.” He runs his hand through his hair. “I’m happy for them.”
“Yeah,” I say, keeping myself from pushing. “This is legit.”
“I just hope they—”
Billy’s words are cut off when the lights dim and Rowan walks onto the stage, followed by the rest of the band. They go right into the first song. It has this real heavy rock sound, and it’s good. Really fucking good.
I lean into Billy. “Who sings this?”
“They do.”
“No, I mean, who’s song is it?”
“It’s theirs.”
Well, damn.
The crowd is into it, moving to the beat, catching onto the chorus.
They go right into the next one, and it’s just as good.
By the time their set is over, they’ve got the crowd eating out of the palm of their fucking hands.
Billy wasn’t lying. Maybe they really are gonna make it out of here.
I turn to look at him, expecting to see, I don’t know … jealousy? But he’s just watching them with a big smile on his face, yelling with the crowd as Rowan leans into the mic and says, “Thank you. We’re Lights Out.”
The lights raise as they all walk off stage, the crowd restlessly waiting for the main act.
“You wanna stay and watch or head back?” Billy asks.
“Up to you,” I tell him.
“I wanna see the guys,” he says. “That was fucking awesome!”
I grab Sam’s hand and follow him backstage, the room larger than I expected. The guys are buzzing around the space, their energy contagious.
Rowan notices us first, moving away from the group scattered around him. “Did you hear them?”
“Fuck yeah I did!” Billy beams. “They loved it.”
“What’d you guys think?” Rowan asks, turning to me and Sam.
“It was amazing.” Sam smiles. “Really.”
I nod. “Didn’t know you were that good.”
Someone calls his name, and he looks over his shoulder. “You guys staying?”
“Course,” Billy answers.
Rowan slaps his back, leading him over to where the others are standing, Sam and I trailing behind them.
Loud music sounds from the stage as the main act goes on, and by the time they’ve wrapped, the hangout backstage has turned into a party.
Sam is balanced on my lap, a cigarette perched between her fingers, happily buzzed. Billy is off talking to some girl, a redhead who said she loves drummers. And I’m sitting back, watching it all unfold around me.
“Jameson,” Dylan calls out, stopping in front of me.
I peer around Sam. “What’s up?”
“You mind meeting someone?”
I press my lips against Sam’s ear. “Let me go take care of this real quick, okay?”
She hums, sliding off of me, and I stand, trailing behind him.
“This is Graham,” Dylan says, motioning to some preppy-looking kid who’s waiting for us. “The one I told you about.”
I size him up, taking in his collared shirt and fucking loafers. “The producer’s kid?”
He nods. “Wanted an introduction.”
“All right,” I answer, and Dylan takes it as his cue to leave.
I nod toward the hallway, and Graham follows me into a quiet corner. “What’re you looking for?” I ask.
“Just some weed.”
“No pills or anything?”
He shakes his head.
“I don’t have anything on me right now, but we can set something up.”
“Yeah, man, that’s cool,” he answers. “No problem.”
I give him a price, happy when he accepts it with no question since it’s three times what I usually charge. I always up my price for the rich kids—none of them seem to know any better. Or maybe they just don’t care.
When he stays rooted in front of me, I cross my arms over my chest. “There a reason you’re still standing here?”
He takes a step back, a crease forming between his brows. “Uh, no,” he mutters. “No, I’m good.”
“I’ll be in touch then,” I tell him before going back to the party.
Sam’s eyes lock with mine as I stride into the room, and she stands once I’m in front of her.
“I know that look,” I murmur.
She steps up on her toes, her arms coming around my neck. “I’m ready to go home.”
“Are you now?”
She nods, pressing against me, trailing her hand up my chest.
“Greedy,” I whisper against her skin.
“For you,” she says, “always.”
And that does it.
I pull back, gazing down at her. “Let’s get out of here then.”