Page 138 of Always Love You More

“Got it,” I answer, starting for the front door.

Jameson’s waiting in the driveway when I step outside. I run toward the car and into the door he’s already pushed open for me.

“Thanks for coming back,” I say, out of breath.

“Where’s Golden Boy?” he asks, using his nickname for Carson.

“Practice.”

“He couldn’t go after?”

“Guess not.”

“You do way too fucking much around that house. I don’t like it.”

“It’s fine.”

He shakes his head. “All the shifts at the diner. And keeping up the way you do with school. It’s—”

“Can you just drop it, please?”

He looks over at my house. “I should go in there.”

“And do what? You’ll just make things worse.” I wrap my arms around myself, fighting off the chill in the air. “We’re lucky he lets me out with you as much as he does. He didn’t used to …”

“What?” The word is barely restrained. “He didn’t used to what?”

“Nothing …” I twist the ring on my finger, and he notices. He always notices. “I just don’t want to give him any reason to trap me in that house, okay?”

He runs his hand through his hair, saying nothing.

“Jamie?”

“Fuck.” He blows out a breath. “Yeah, okay.”

Jameson dropped me back home a couple hours ago. I wished him luck on his fight tonight and made him promise to text me the minute it was over.

Since then, the night has been uneventful. I’ve used the rare night off to catch up on chores and studying for a unit test I have next week.

Jameson wasn’t wrong when he said I do too much, that I carry way more weight than I should around this house, but bitching about it in the past hasn’t gotten me anywhere but worse off.

The last thing I have to do tonight is put away the load of laundry that’s in the dryer, and then I’m done. I can lock myself in my room with a book and wait for Jameson to sneak through my window.

Carson and my father are reviewing tape when I step into the living room. I quickly move past the TV and mutter, “Goodnight.”

“Night,” my father answers distractedly.

“Those mine?” Carson asks, nodding toward the basket in my hand. “I’m out of T-shirts.”

You could always do your own fucking laundry, I think but bite back the response and answer, “Most of them.”

I asked him one time to wash his own clothes. He looked at me dead serious and said, “Do you see a pair of tits on me?”

Johnny smacked him on the side of the head. My father just laughed.

I trudge up the stairs and stop in front of Carson’s room.

Johnny’s room.