Page 43 of Always Love You More

I don’t know what to expect, though Billy told me he’s really good. He seems like he would be. But I’m not sure if I’ll be able to watch him take a hit.

Still, I want to be there.

A knock sounds at my door. “You ready?” Johnny asks.

I step back, glancing at myself in the mirror and running my fingers through my hair, shaking it out.

“Sam,” my brother calls.

“Coming!”

We walk through the empty living room. My father left for the bar a couple of hours ago and Carson wasn’t here when we got home.

Once we’re in the car, Johnny turns to me. “You sure you want to go?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

He stares out the windshield. After a minute, he says, “I don’t know.”

“You can’t baby me, Johnny. You have to let me do things. I’m not some helpless little girl.”

“I got you the job,” he says. “That’s doing something.”

“I know, and I’m grateful, really.” I set my bag down by my feet. “I just … I like Jameson. I want to be there for him.”

He softens. “All right, fine.” Throwing the car in drive, he shakes his head. “God knows that kid could use someone in his corner.” He pauses. “But you stay where I can see you, understood?”

“You’ve said that like five times already,” I say just to give him shit. “I already promised, didn’t I?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t get smart.”

I lean forward and switch on the radio before sinking back into my seat. We ride the rest of the way with the windows down and music blasting.

My eyes widen when we pull up to what looks like an abandoned warehouse. “Have you been here before?” I ask.

Johnny parks next to a line of cars. “Couple times.”

“But you didn’t …”

“No, I didn’t fight,” he clarifies. “Just bet.”

“Bet?”

He waves his hand. “Why do you think these people are all here?”

I look at the long row of cars and shrug.

“It’s not just for the show.”

He steps out of the car, and I push my door open to follow him.

The parking lot, if you can even call it that, has weeds growing through the cracked asphalt. There are broken beer bottles and abandoned cigarette butts. The place is a dump.

Loud voices and cheers filter from inside as we make our way closer to the entrance.

As we move inside, I realize a fight is already going on—people are gathered in a wide circle, outlining a makeshift ring. My heart races as I step onto my tiptoes to try to see if one of the guys is Jameson.

Johnny leans down so I can hear him over the noise. “His fight isn’t until later.”