Page 174 of Always Love You More

Billy pulls his attention from the girl. “You go ahead. I’ll find a ride.”

I take the girl in. She’s a pretty brunette, her eyes wide like a doll’s. She blinks them up at Billy, her gaze fixed on him.

“All right, man,” Jameson says, his tone resigned. “Catch you later then.”

Billy tips up his chin in a silent goodbye before turning back to the girl.

Jameson wraps his hand in mine and leads me back to his car.

“I fucking hate that,” he mutters, sliding into his seat. “The way he uses them. Lets them use him.”

“He ever talk about it?”

“Billy talk about how he’s feeling? Yeah, no.” He starts up the car. “Everyone thinks I’m the one who’s closed off, but he’s just as bad.”

“Maybe you should try—”

My words are cut off when Jameson’s phone rings.

“Hold on, baby. Sorry,” he says, grabbing it.

I sit back as he answers.

“Yeah?” he snaps, clearly growing irritated by what’s being said on the other line. “Now? I thought we said tomorrow morning.” He sighs. “No, yeah. No, it’s fine. I’ll be there.”

Hanging up, he tosses his phone into the center console. “I’ve gotta go pick up.” He looks over at me. “It’ll be quick. That okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “It was supposed to be tomorrow. You know I don’t like to take you there.”

“I’ll just wait in the car like always. It’s all right.”

He nods, the movement tense.

Fifteen minutes later, we’re pulling into the back parking lot of a familiar worn-down warehouse. I’ve been here with Jameson a few times. Each of them, he’s refused to let me come in with him.

He cuts the engine and, just like all the other times, pulls out his gun and holds it out to me, muttering, “Just in case.”

The first time he handed me the gun, he asked if I knew how to use it. When I said yes, he gave me a questioning look and asked, “Johnny?”

I nodded, explaining how my brother had taught me the basics with the reasoning that he always wanted me to be able to defend myself if I needed to. He’d said the same words actually, “Just in case.”

Now the gun sits heavily in my lap as I watch Jameson walk up to the warehouse door. It swings open, and the same huge guy who always guards it fills the doorway, pointing another gun at Jameson.

He looks maybe ten years older than us, and his massive frame, along with his ever-present gun, make him plenty intimidating. Jameson warned me the first time to expect this, but I still suck in a breath, holding it until the man lowers the weapon.

Minutes pass, and I keep my eyes trained on the door, waiting for it to open and for Jameson to walk back out. With each minute that ticks by, the gun grows heavier in my lap, reminding me that Jameson gave me his only real means of protection.

Another car pulls into the parking lot, and I sink back into my seat, watching as a man exits and stalks up to the door. He gets the same tense greeting Jameson did before he slips past the guy and into the warehouse.

My knee starts to bob, my energy restless as I continue to wait. Fishing through my purse, I grab a cigarette, cranking down the window before lighting it.

I inhale, closing my eyes, trying to calm myself.

He’s fine. I’m sure he’s fine.

My body tightens thinking about the time I thought that same thing and thingsweren’t fine. I bring the cigarette back to my lips and realize my hands are shaking. I snap my eyes back to the door, willing it to open. It’s never taken this long before.