Chapter 50
Jameson
“Jameson!” my mother hollers from the kitchen. “Have you seen my keys? I thought they were—”
“Here,” I say, holding them out for her as she breezes into the living room. “You left ’em on the coffee table.”
Her shoulders drop as she takes them from me. “Thanks,” she murmurs, brushing her hand across my arm. “What would I do without you?”
When I don’t respond, her face falls before she quickly forces a smile.
She’s been trying lately—I’ll give her that—but things are still strained between us. It’s almost harder for me when she’s doing well than it is when she’s spiraling. At least then I know what to expect. When she’s like this, I’m just waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me.
Each time I try to grip onto hope, I hate myself for being so na?ve.
“You gonna be home for dinner?” she asks.
I shrug. “Not sure yet.”
“Are you, um …?” She swallows, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear nervously. “Are you doin’ okay?”
I’m not sure how to even respond to that, so I don’t. Instead, I say, “You’re gonna be late for work.”
She watches me for a moment, her mouth opening as if to say something before she thinks better of it and nods, turning for the door. It slams shut behind her, the sound rattling through the house.
My mind starts to spin about how I handled that, if I was too harsh, too cold. If I should have just thrown her a fucking line.
She’s trying, I remind myself.
But then I remember how many times she’s tried before.
How many chances do you give someone before you become the idiot who keeps handing them out?
I push the thoughts of my mother away, bringing my focus back to Sam and the shit we just went through.
It took everything in me to drop her off at that house this morning, to leave her with her father and Carson.
On the phone, I knew she wasn’t telling me the full story, and I’ve been waiting ever since for her to call me back.
I just got home about fifteen minutes ago, but with each minute that passes, I’m only becoming more worried.
I shouldn’t have left.
Pacing throughout the living room, I grip my phone, waiting for it to ring.
“Fuck it,” I mutter to myself after another five minutes passes then dial her number.
I let out a breath when she picks up on the second ring, but the tension I just let go of quickly comes back when I hear her voice break. “Hey,” she croaks.
“Are you crying?”
She clears her throat. “No.”
“Baby,” I press, “why are you crying? What happened? Do I need to—”
“Stop,” she cuts me off. “You’ve gotta stop.”
I still. “Stop? What do you mean, stop?”
“We need to be careful,” she says.
I start pacing again. “You’re not making any sense.”
“He’s mad,” she whispers. “Really fucking mad.”
“Your old man?”
“Yeah,” she answers so quietly I barely hear her.
“He made you cry?” I grit out, my anger barely restrained.
“He’ll cool down,” she reasons, but the words come out shaky. “But, for now, we need to be careful, like I said.”
“What do you mean, careful?”
“He … uh …” She hesitates, and it pushes past my limit, past the restraint I was trying to hold on to.
“What?” I spit. “He what?”
“He doesn’t want me to see you anymore,” she says in a rush. “But—”
I stop in place, going rigid. “That’s not happening.”
“I know,” she says. “Obviously.”
The fear that’s gripping me eases a bit.
“You can’t come by, and I’ll have to give excuses when I leave.
It shouldn’t be hard to tell him that I’m doing community service or working.
It’s not like he’ll check, and he’ll forget about this soon,” she says like she’s trying to convince herself.
“People in town talk, but Carson’s not really friends with any of the people we hang out with, and my dad barely talks to anybody, so we should be fine,” she rambles on. “And you’ll have to—”
“Baby,” I cut in. “Breathe. All right? Just breathe.”
She sucks in a breath, but it doesn’t do much to calm her. I hear a lighter spark as she says, “I just feel like my life is a fucking cage, y-you know,” she stutters. “Like I’m always being watched, and I’ll never get out. Never be free of this bullshit.”
“You will,” I tell her, my voice firm. “This isn’t gonna be forever.”
I won’t let it be.
“I don’t know how it’s ever gonna change.”
“You’re eighteen—you can leave.”
She lets out a sad laugh like the idea is ridiculous, a delusion. “You know it’s not that easy.”
“Why not? I told you that you can come stay with me.”
“I don’t want them coming after me,” she pushes out. “You didn’t hear him today, Jamie. He’s … I can’t …”
I should have been in that fucking room with her.
I shouldn’t have let her convince me to drive away.
“I wouldn’t let them get to you,” I say, the words coming out as a threat.
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” she responds.
“They can’t do shit to me.”
“Yeah,” she says, “but you can do shit to them.”
“Baby, I—”
“We just need to lay low for a bit—that’s all,” she cuts in. “It’s just like Carson’s DUI. My dad lost it, and he’s fine now. Acts like he walks on water again.”
I run a hand through my hair. “I don’t know.”
“The one benefit of him not actually giving a shit about me is that he doesn’t care,” she says simply, as if that’s not fucking heartbreaking. “Not really. He just has to feel like he’s in control.”
“So, what? We’re just supposed to wait out his tantrum?”
She exhales. “Pretty much.”
“I don’t like this idea,” I mutter. “I don’t like you in that house.”
“It’s the best option,” she reasons.
“Are you—”
“I don’t want to make things worse,” she interrupts.
As much as I hate it, what she’s saying makes sense. At least for now, given the options. Or the fucking lack of options.
But still, I don’t like it. I don’t want her there where I can’t protect her.
“Jamie?” she whispers.
“If this is what we do,” I respond, “you’ve gotta make me a promise.”
“Okay,” she offers hesitantly.
“From now on, if someone hurts you, makes you feel uncomfortable, scared, you tell me.”
“Jamie, I—”
“I know you’ve kept some of it from me. That you say you’ve got a handle on it.” I let out a breath. “But, baby, I’m gonna go out of my fucking mind wondering if you’re okay if I think you won’t tell me when something’s wrong.”
She’s quiet.
“Can you do that?”
I need her to say yes.
I need her to promise.
“Yeah,” she finally says. “Yeah, I can do that.” Clearing her throat, she adds, “You’ve gotta make me a promise, too, then.”
“What is it?” I ask, not liking the idea of promising anything around this.
“Unless you really need to”—she pauses—“unless things are really bad, I need you to stay away from my house.”
“Sam …”
“I mean it. And I need you to make sure I don’t fuck this all up, that I don’t get myself into more trouble.”
“What do you mean?”
“My drinking,” she explains. “If I’m not … If I can’t think straight … I need you to tell me no if I want to go back to your house or if I want you to come to mine. I just can’t risk …”
“I’ve got it,” I tell her. “I won’t come in, and I won’t let you stay the night at my house.”
“Thank you,” she breathes.
“Unless I have to,” I clarify. “I’m not risking you getting hurt.”
“Okay,” she murmurs, although she doesn’t sound okay.
I drop down on the couch as silence settles between us, minutes passing before she finally speaks.
“Do you think it’ll ever not be like this?”
“Like what?”
She sighs. “So fucking hard all the time. It just feels like it’s one thing after another. Like we can’t ever catch a break.”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “Sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it.”
“It scares me,” she confesses. “That this life will destroy me, eat at me until there’s nothing left.”
“That’s not gonna happen.”
A lighter sparks again. “How do you know?”
“’Cause you’ve got me. You’ve got Billy. And there’s no way either of us would let you lose yourself like that.”
“You never know what’ll happen, though.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “’Cause for there to be nothing left of you, there’d have to be nothing left of me.”
“Jamie …”
“And trust me, baby; I’d give you fucking everything.”
She sucks in a breath.
“And you’d give me everything, too, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“So that’s how I know,” I tell her. “Why I’m not scared. Because life can’t leave us with nothing when we’re both willing to give each other everything.”