Page 189 of Always Love You More

“You what?” he questions in a voice I rarely hear him use, but the few times he has …

I inch up the stairs, hiding myself from view.

“Do you have any idea what this means?” he shouts. “You’ve really fucking done it now, you know that?”

Who’s he talking to?

“Everything we’ve worked for, pissed away. Gone! You think they’re gonna let you keep your scholarship now, huh? Let you play? You were already on thin fucking ice.”

Carson, I realize. He must be talking to Carson.

“Driving drunk and hopped up on that shit.” He shakes his head. “And to get caught, too. How stupid can you be?”

I freeze. That’s not good. That’s really fucking not good.

“Oh, you think I’m gonna bail you out?” He laughs. “You good for nothing little shit. You got yourself into this mess, now you fucking clean it up.”

I jump as he slams the phone back onto the receiver. Then I watch as he pulls it back and slams it down again and again until it’s falling apart.

“Goddammit!” he bellows. “Fuck!”

He paces the living room, moving in front of the coffee table and flipping it. Beer bottles shatter and wood cracks as he kicks the table. Then, taking a broken leg, he goes for the TV.

I hear Jace begin to cry and inch up the stairs, trying to go unnoticed. Once I reach the top, I quickly move down the hall, slipping into my room. I lock the door and slide our dresser in front of it before going to Jace.

After managing to soothe him back to sleep, I text Cathleen, letting her know what happened.

Finally, it all hits me.

Carson going pro was the only thing he and my father had. The only thing that seemed to keep them from fully slipping into the worst versions of themselves.

His injury was one thing, but there was still hope.

Now …

The familiar creep of anxiety begins to consume me.

Now, they’ve got nothing.

They’ve both been worse these last few months. It’s not just the substances they drown themselves in ’cause, let’s face it, it’s not like I’m one to judge. They’ve been meaner, demanding more, inching closer to a line neither of them have fully crossed before.

What happened tonight, coupled with the fact that Johnny’s not here anymore, it’s getting harder for me to deny that I’m not scared to live in this house. I mean, I’ve got a dresser pushed in front of my door right now, for fuck’s sake.

I know I could tell Jameson. Tell him about the few times I’ve been shoved a little too hard out of the way or had my arm grabbed a bit too tightly to get my attention. But I’m stuck here and afraid that if I tell Jameson, he’ll only make it worse.

I’ve already lied to him once about a small bruise on my shoulder that I got when Carson shoved me into a wall. There’sno way I’d be able to hold Jameson back if he knew Carson hurt me. He’d go ballistic, and I just … can’t have that happen.

I don’t want Jameson constantly worrying.

I don’t want things to get even more tense at home.

I don’t want my father keeping me locked up here if he thinks I’m bringing trouble.

I don’t want any of it.

And it’s not like I can’t handle myself. I’ve been doing it all my life.

But … I always had Johnny.