Page 211 of Always Love You More

“You know we’ve got you,” he answers. “No matter what.”

“I know,” I breathe out. “This is just … a lot.”

Jameson brushes his thumb against the back of my hand, an unspoken promise. A reminder that he’s got me. That I’m not a burden. That I can count on him.

I give him a tired smile, one that I hope will soften the look on his face. The fear he’s holding for me. Then I start to pull away and reach for the door, but he grabs my wrist.

“Anything,” he says. “And I mean anything, you call.”

Nodding, I step out of the car and head up the driveway, each step closer to the house adding to my mounting anxiety.

When I reach the door, I turn back, finding both Billy and Jameson watching me.

You’re gonna be okay, I chant in my head.

You’re gonna be okay.

I push open the door.

You’re gonna be okay.

“Look who finally decided to come home!” my father shouts, standing from the couch, his face twisted in fury.

I stumble back, glancing behind me at the door I’ve just closed.

I should leave.

This isn’t—

“Stop standing in the fucking doorway and get in here.”

Shaking my head, I take a step back.

“Do not test my patience right now, Samantha.” He snaps his fingers, pointing at the place in front of him. “Now.”

I move forward, taking in the room, searching for Cathleen, but the couch is empty.

My father’s large form is blocking the recliner, but once I’m in front of him, he steps aside, throwing out a hand. “Take a good look.”

I drag my gaze over Carson—his busted lip, his bruised face, the way his body’s awkwardly angled on the chair.

“You did this,” my father spits.

“I didn’t—”

“Bringing an outsider into our house!” he yells. “Into our business!”

I motion to Carson. “He was chasing me! Threatening me.” I turn to my father, my voice pleading. “You know what he’s been like since—”

“Your brother has been through a lot. He’s been in pain. You have no idea what it’s been like for him. And what did you do?” he bites out. “You took his pills and then lied about—”

“I didn’t take his fucking pills.”

“You’ve got that boy”—his eyes darken—“that good-for-nothing criminal, wrapped around your little finger, don’t you? Think you can go around doing whatever you want now and he’ll come clean it up for you.”

“What are you—”

“But that’s done,” he says. “I already have one whore for a daughter; I won’t have another.”