Page 178 of Always Love You More

“Things could have gone—”

“There was a gunshot, Jameson.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I heard a fuckinggunshot. What did you want me to do, huh?”

“Iwantedyou to wait in the car. Like I told you to. Like you said you would. Where you were fucking safe. That’s what I wanted you to do.”

“You think I was gonna just sit back and hope you were fine? When I heard …” My voice breaks, and he tenses. “I thought you might have been shot. That you could have been …”

“I’m fine,” he says, his tone softer. “I was fine.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know that. All I was thinking was—”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I shouldn’t have gotten upset with you. I know you were scared. It’s just that you can’t put yourself in those situations.”

I throw out a hand. “Youcan’t put yourself in those situations.”

“It’s different,” he says. “You know it’s different.”

“What even happened?” I ask. “Why was a gun going off?”

“It had nothing to do with me. Like I said, I was fine.”

“Maybe this time”—I fidget with my hands, twisting the ring Johnny gave me—“but what about next time? You just pissed off the guy who points a gun at your head every time you go to work.”

“He’s not gonna try anything.”

“How do you know that? How do you know anything? You can’t play Russian roulette with your fucking life, Jameson.”

“Oh, like you’re one talk,” he shoots back defensively.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The drinking. The partying. Hell, even your fucking chain smoking. Don’t start lecturing me about making safe choices when you get black-out drunk at random parties.”

“Come on? Really? That’s not the same thing, and you know it.”

“How many times have I picked you up because you were too out of it to get home, hmm? How many parties have we been to where you barely knew where you were by the end of the night? You think that shit isn’t dangerous? That it doesn’t scare me when I see you that way? Hurt me to watch you do that to yourself?”

I curl in on myself, not knowing what to say, because it’s true. Everything he’s saying is true, and I hate myself for it.

“I—”

“But I get it,” he says. “I get why you do it, and I’m there for you when you need me. I don’t judge who you are.”

My shoulders drop as his words hit me.

“I don’t judge who you are either.” I say, the fight gone from my voice.

“Yes, you do,” he whispers. “Do you know how much it already kills me that this is what I do? That each day I do it, I feel like I’m slipping closer to becoming my father?” He lets out a breath. “Like tonight, how I acted, that’s the exact kind of shit my old man would have done.”

“I wasn’t judging you tonight,” I say gently. “I wasscaredfor you. There’s a big difference.”

He pulls onto his street. “Yeah, well, I was scared for you, too.” Cutting the engine, he turns to face me. “When I saw that fucker with his hands on you, a gun pulled … I …” He blinks his eyes closed. “You were in that situation because of me. You had a gun pointed at youbecause of me.”

“Jamie.” I lean forward, and he opens his eyes at the softness of my voice. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” he answers. “I brought you there. You were scared because of me. And now I’m what …?” He shakes his head. “I’m fucking yelling at you for it? Taking it out on you?”

“You’re upset,” I tell him.