Page 111 of Always Love You More

I nod, trying to believe him. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll save you a plate for when you get home.”

He wraps his arm around me, dropping a kiss on my head. “Thanks, Bug.”

Chapter 27

Jameson

Iwakeuptoscreaming.

It only takes me a few seconds to realize the sound is coming from my mother.

Jolting up, I push myself out of bed and quickly pull the gun from my nightstand. When I step into the hall, the sound only grows louder, making my heart race and my body move faster.

There’s another low voice just below the sound of her wailing, and I realize why when I round the corner into the kitchen.

There are two cops standing in front of my mother, who’s hunched over, sobbing.

Immediately, I know.

Pushing the gun into the back of my pants, I cover it with my shirt and step into the room. I go right for my mother, and the moment I’m beside her, she crumples in my arms.

I run my hand down her back, trying to calm her, but she won’t stop crying. She’s shaking so hard that I can barely keep her upright.

The cops look from her to me. “Is this your mother?”

I nod, looking between them, bracing myself for what they’re about to tell me.

“I’m so sorry, son,” the larger man says. “Your father has been killed.”

So many emotions flood through me that it’s like I don’t feel any of them at all.

“Oh God,” my mother wails. “Levi …” She trails off as she continues to sob.

I push away the thoughts swirling around in my head, just needing to deal with what’s in front of me.

I nod toward the kitchen table. “Can you …?”

The cop pulls out a chair, and I gently set my mother into it. She slumps over the table, dropping her head into her hands.

I hold onto her shoulders to steady her and turn back to the cop. “What happened?”

His expression turns hard. “Your father was attempting to steal a car on Marshall Road. When officers arrived, he was armed. He was asked to drop his weapon but resisted, firing and injuring an officer. Shots were returned, and your father was killed on the scene.”

He says it so prescriptively, like my father’s life and death can be reduced to a few sentences.

“Was he alone?” I ask, already knowing the answer. If Johnny was able to flee, I don’t want to give him away.

I tense when the officer says, “No.”

Fuck.

They either have Johnny or he’s …

The officer looks down at the file that’s opened in his hands. “It looks like a Jonathan Barlowe, age twenty, fled the scene…” Hope ignites inside me, but then he continues, “Officers attempted to apprehend the suspect, but he lost control of the car, crashing into a tree.” The man looks up at me. “He died on impact.”

All I can think about is Sam.

I need to get to Sam.