Page 66 of Always Love You More

“No need,” Levi says. “I already told him.”

Hit number one: Reminding me that my brother works for him. That my family’s income relies on him.

I nod stiffly.

“Good,” he says then starts for the door.

Jameson and I tell Billy goodbye and follow Levi to the car.

“Sorry about …” Jameson slows. “You don’t have to come.”

I grab his hand. “I’m all right.”

“I don’t know what he’s—”

“Jameson,” I stop him. “I can handle it, really.”

He jerks his head into a nod, but he doesn’t look any less unsure.

Levi stops at the old classic black car I’ve come to recognize as his. Jameson opens the passenger door and lowers the front seat, motioning for me to climb into the back. He starts to follow in behind me when I hear Levi say over the roof of the car, “I’m not a goddamn taxi driver chauffeuring you around. Get up here.”

Jameson’s eyes briefly meet mine, an apology in them, before he rights the front seat. He sucks in a breath as he lowers himself into the car, trying to disguise the sound by clearing his throat.

Levi doesn’t miss anything, though, and says, “Give me a number.”

A number?

Jameson shifts in his seat. “Four.”

“The real number, boy.”

“Seven.”

“Do you want something?”

“No,” he answers. “I’m fine.”

His pain, I realize.He’s asking Jameson to rate his pain.

My stomach sinks at how he answered immediately, like he knew exactly what his father was asking.

Because this is common.

Because Jameson being in pain iscommon.

Levi takes him in, slowing at the bruising that colors his face, and shakes his head before starting up the car.

Anger courses through me at how wrong this is—at his father’s lack of sympathy. But what can I do to stop it? What can anyone do, really?

We pull out onto the main road, the car silent. I wait for the questions to start, but they don’t come. In fact, I’ve been waiting for Levi to ask me about the fight since we got to the shop this morning.

The silence pressurizes around us as we continue to drive, and I realize this is all part of his tactic. To put us on edge, to make us wonder why we’re here and what’s coming next.

Jameson finds my eyes in the rearview mirror, and I hold his stare.

The car pulls left off the main road, and we’re soon pulling into a driveway. I look up at the house, surprised by how well it’s taken care of. The lawn isn’t cluttered with old junk, and the grass looks freshly cut. Its white paint seems new, barely even chipping.

The seat in front of me drops forward, and I realize I’ve been staring. I slide toward the door and climb out of the seat, pulling my bag out behind me.