Page 118 of Always Love You More
He hands me the duffle bag, and I bring it over to the empty bed.
Billy moves over to Sam and lowers himself in front of her. I watch as he wordlessly pulls her into a hug. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he says, his voice strained with emotion.
She sags against him, breaking down in his hold. I turn my back to them and unzip the duffle, sorting through its contents before I find what I’m looking for.
I tuck my gun into the bag and stash it underneath the empty bed. Then I walk over to Sam and Billy. The lit cigarette in her hand is forgotten, burned almost to the butt now, ash drifting down onto her white comforter. I pull it from between her fingers and stub it out in the ashtray with mine.
“Here, baby,” I say.
She separates from Billy, lowering her gaze to my outstretched hand. “What’s that?” she asks, her eyes locked on the little blue pill in my palm.
“A Xanax,” I tell her. “Thought it would help you calm down. Maybe you could get some sleep.”
She sits up fully, leaning forward to take it from me. She doesn’t ask any questions, just brings it to her mouth and swallows it dry.
“Should work pretty fast,” I say, and she nods, reaching for another cigarette.
Footsteps sound from the stairs again, and Carson stops in front of the doorway. He moves his gaze over the three of us until it settles on Sam. He looks uncomfortable, nervous even. “You okay?”
She nods back at him. “You?”
He jerks his chin, mirroring the motion she gave him, but again, it doesn’t look convincing.
“What about Dad? Is he …?”
Carson tenses. “He … uh … he left.”
Sam hums a nonresponse as she brings her cigarette up to take a drag. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, she asks, “Has anyone called Cathleen?’
He shakes his head. “I didn’t know how to …”
I look between them. “I can do it,” I offer, glancing down at Sam. “Just give me your sister’s number, and I can call for you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Carson cuts in, before she can respond. “And I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to be here anymore.”
“I’m not leaving,” I say matter-of-factly.
He’s quiet for a second then surprises me when he looks to Sam and asks, “You want them in here? You want them to stay?”
I turn toward her, pushing down the pain in my chest at how fragile she looks, how devastated.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I want them to stay.”
“Okay.” He nods tentatively. “But if Dad comes back, he might—”
“He left,” Sam interrupts sharply. “He didn’t even …” Her voice breaks. “He just left.”
“Yeah,” Carson says slowly. “Fuck that.”
She nods. “Fuck that.”
They watch each other for a moment, as if they’ve just come to some sort of unexpected understanding.
“I’ll be downstairs,” he finally says, turning to leave.
“Carson?” Sam calls out.
He stops and looks over at her.
