Page 124 of Always Love You More

My hand on the gun twitches, but I keep it lowered until I know what I’m dealing with.

I look around the room, searching for Luke, and find him leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, a bruise blooming above his right eye.

“What the fuck is going on?” I spit.

“Jameson,” my mother forces out. “Oh God, Jameson, you’ve gotta help me.”

Luke moves toward me, broken glass crunching under his boots.

I swing my attention back to him. “I need you to explain this real fucking quick.”

My mother rocks her chair, trying to turn in my direction.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “I’ve only been gone since last night.”

“Let’s go into the living room to talk,” Luke says, lowering his eyes to the gun in my hand. If he’s surprised to see it, he doesn’t show it.

He says my name, but I can barely hear him over my mother’s ranting. Her words are blurring together, and I only catch pieces of what she’s saying.

“… Levi would kill you if he saw what you’re …”

“… he never liked you, anyway, you fucking …”

“… Jameson, I swear to God, if you don’t …”

My eyes are locked on her hands, and I take a step forward. Everything inside me is screaming to untie her. She shouldn’t be …

“Let me talk to you where it’s quiet,” Luke pushes gently.

My gaze stays fixed on my mother, his words slipping past me.

“Watch her, will you?” he tells Billy before placing a hand on my shoulder. “Jameson?”

I shrug off his touch. “Yeah, okay,” I answer, my voice taut.

“You can’t just leave me in here!” my mother screams.

Luke takes a tentative step back, dropping his eyes to the gun at my side. “Why don’t you put that down, huh?”

“I’m your mother, Jameson; don’t you fucking forget that!” she continues, her words pressurizing around me. “I don’t have to listen to you,” she says, her tone turning hysterical. “You have to listen to me!”

My hand flexes against the gun, the weight of it comforting.

My mother continues to rant, her words a jumbled mess of threats and pleas.

“Jameson,” Luke says, his tone stern in a way I rarely ever hear it. “Give me the gun. You’re not …” He shakes his head. “Just give me the gun.”

I blink, the fog around me clearing. “I’m fine,” I tell him. “Let’s go.”

Without waiting for a response, I turn and head for the living room, Luke following behind me.

He watches as I place the gun in a drawer before shoving it closed.

“All right,” I say. “What happened?”

He hesitates for a moment, as if trying to gauge my state of mind.

Fucked. My state of mind is fucked.