Page 1 of Always Love You More

Part 1: The Summer We Met

Chapter 1

Jameson - 16 Years Old

I’mjoltedawakewhenI feel the cool barrel of a gun pressed against my temple.

I don’t move.

I barely even breathe.

A familiar voice grates against my skin. “Get out of it.”

I know I have to be quick—that’s part of the game—so I take in everything I can from the position I’m in.

He’s crouched over the mattress. Obviously, one of his hands is on the gun, but where’s the other one?

My gaze is fixed on the ceiling. I blink a few times, adjusting to the bright overhead light as I think. I can’t turn to look at him without pressing the gun further into my head. I could roll to the left and off the other side of the mattress, but that leaves me exposed, so he could easily get on top of me. And he’ll see that as running away.

His words echo through my mind—If you can’t walk away on top, don’t bother walking away at all.

I feel him shift. He’s running out of patience.

I reach out for his other hand, finding it on the floor, where I hoped it would be. He’s using it to keep himself upright as he leans over me.

He wobbles as I knock him off balance, and the gun lowers for just long enough that I can get up and push him to the floor. I drop my heel down over his hand, and his fingers loosen around the gun from the force of it. I grab the gun and, using my legs to pin his arms, I straddle his chest and point it at him.

A smile spreads across his face. “Good.”

Inside, I sag in relief, but I keep my posture rigid, my face unreadable.

He looks at me expectantly. “Get up.”

I stand, allowing him to follow.

“And give me back my gun,” he says, holding out his hand.

I drop it into his open palm, waiting as he tucks it into the back of his jeans.

“Jameson.”

“Yes, sir,” I answer, the response immediate.

“What did I tell you about overthinking things?”

“It gets you killed.”

He points to the mattress. “If I wasn’t your old man, you would have been dead before you even made a move.” He pauses. “Trust your gut. I know the first thing you thought about is where my other hand was. Getting me off balance.”

I nod.

He keeps his stare trained on me, and I push down the unease that always comes when he gives me these looks. He’s waiting for me to break, and he can always tell the second I do.

I’ve gotten better at faking it. And now, with years of practice, I can completely lock the fear away.

Finally, he turns to leave. “Don’t hesitate again,” he says, shutting the door behind him.

I wait until I hear his footsteps fade before letting go of the breath I’ve been holding since he woke me up. Pacing in front of my bed, I try to calm down, but I’m too amped up, asking for a fight.