Page 190 of Always Love You More

And now …

I begin to pace, thinking for the hundredth time about leaving, all the possible scenarios playing out in my head. And just like always, I come to one conclusion …

I’m fucked.

First of all, I’m broke. Almost every dollar I make gets spent on taking care of this house.

I know Jameson would let me move in with him, but I’m too scared of how my father would react, especially now. With everything that’s already going on … I just can’t.

There are no real options. No realistic way I’m leaving this house.

My steps falter. I need to get out of this room. To do something other than sit with my fucked-up thoughts.

Peering out the window, I let go of a breath when I see my father’s car is gone.

Quietly, I drag the dresser back and slip out of the room. I tiptoe down the stairs, even though nobody but Jace is home, and pause when I see the destroyed living room.

I’m careful to avoid the broken glass on the floor as I move to get a broom. Then I spend the next hour cleaning, trying to pick up the pieces of my shattered life and put them back together again.

When I finish, I step back, taking in the space, and imagine what it would be like to live anywhere but here.

Chapter 45

Jameson

Ipullmyhoodup as a gust of cold air hits my face, the crunch of fresh snow sounding under my boots. Sliding my sleeves down, I try to cover as much of my hands as I can, wishing I’d been able to find my gloves.

A light dusting of snow continues to fall as I shovel the driveway, making me think I’ll only be back at it later tonight.

We’ve gotten off easy this year so far. It’s only the first snowfall, and it’s already past Thanksgiving.

My mother has been doing better since we had that big blow out a few months ago. I’m still on edge, though, still not letting myself get my hopes up that it’ll stick, but it’s been good.

She’s kept her job, even picking up some more shifts, and although she’s still hooked on the pills, I think she’s been clean from everything else.

Either that or she’s getting extremely good at hiding it.

Sam, on the other hand, hasn’t been as great. She’s trying to fake it, make it seem like she’s all right, but I see right through it. I know her too well.

Ever since Carson’s arrest, she’s been on edge, more so than usual. She’s quicker to anger, quicker to slip into that need for an escape.

I try to get her to talk to me, and she gives me pieces, but I know she’s holding back.

From what she’s told me about Carson and her old man, I can’t imagine either of them are taking all this well. Carson’s scholarship officially got pulled, meaning his chances at a pro career—at any career—are over. All the hope they had to get out of this life was tied to that reality. A reality that no longer exists.

I can see how that’d fuck you up. Of course I can. But based on how Sam’s been acting, I’m only becoming more worried that they’re taking it out on her. I’ve asked her about it enough times that we’ve gotten in a fight about it twice. She swears she’s fine, but she’s evasive when she answers, like she’s trying to dodge the truth so she doesn’t have to outright lie. She says she can handle herself, but that’s what fucking worries me. People don’t say that shit unless there’s something going on that they need to handle.

If anyone knows that, it’s me.

But there’s really nothing I can do to help unless she lets me. Unless I find evidence that something is actually going on.

Maybe I’m only being paranoid. It’s just … being around her … it feels like she’s about to snap.

I’m pulled from my thoughts when I realize I’ve made it to the end of the driveway. Sweat is dripping down my back, and my hands have gone a bit numb.

Leaning forward, I rest my weight on the shovel, catching my breath.

I let my eyes drift from our house to the one next door before I start making my way over there. The driveway is covered in athick layer of snow, my boots sinking so deep that my jeans are turning wet.