by J. L. White
“Hey,” he says, gruffly, apparently realizing I’m taking Sam whether he approves or not. “I came here to see my daughter.”
Too fucking bad, I think. “We’re meeting some people,” I say, opening the front door and hustling her out in front of me.
“She ain’t dressed for it,” he says snidely, but I don’t respond.
I don’t say, “It was nice to meet you.”
I don’t say, “You can talk to her later.”
I don’t bother trying to mask the situation with any bullshit pleasantries because I realize it’s pretty obvious I’m escorting her away from him. I can’t stomach even pretending it was nice to meet him or that it’s okay for him to contact her later. It’s not. He needs to be out of her life forever, as far as I’m concerned.
He’s starting to get off the couch, and I’d fucking love to have a go at him, but my priority is Sam. I shut the door hard and follow her, catching up with long, smooth strides.
She’s hurrying down the sidewalk, shoulders hunched. I put my hand on her lower back. We’re almost to the truck when I hear the front door open behind us.
“Jack,” she says, and my heart breaks at the terror in her voice.
“It’s okay,” I say.
“Hey!” her dad hollers. I open the passenger door for Sam while giving a quick glance over my shoulder. He’s hovering in the open door, scowling but not coming after us. That’s a good sign, but I keep my eyes hard on him anyway as she scrambles in and I shut the door.
I go around to the driver’s side, and before I get in I hear his parting words: “Fuck you, hot shot!”
Nice.
Clenching my jaw, I start the truck and peel away. Now that we’re out of the worst of it, my heart’s banging so hard against my ribs it’s painful. I’m gripping the steering wheel and wishing I had something to pound. Fucking asshole.
I glance over at Sam. One look at her, and I start to soften, my anger slipping away in hot rivulets as concern for her takes over. “Hey.” She’s clutching her arms in front of her chest and staring out the windshield with a far-away, frightened look.
“God, you’re shaking.”
She doesn’t respond at all. I examine my rearview mirror to make sure Sam’s dad isn’t following us, then turn onto a side street and pull over. “Come here, honey,” I say, sliding over. She instantly comes to me, crawling right onto my lap and clinging to me.
In the next instant she’s sobbing, tearing my heart right out of my chest. She clutches herself to me like she’s drowning. Panicked cries shudder through her body.
“You’re safe, honey,” I say, cradling her. “He’s gone. You’re safe. It’s okay.”
But nothing seems to soothe her. Cars rush by, shaking the truck as we’re momentarily caught in their airstreams, and Sam just keeps crying. All I can do is hold her. There’s nothing I can do to make her pain go away. It’s the most helpless feeling I’ve ever experienced.
After what seems like forever, she starts to settle. Her muscles aren’t clenched as tight, but her arms are still hard around me and her head is tucked firmly against my chest. Her crying has settled into sniffling and the occasional, shuddering breath.
Suddenly she lifts her head and says, “What if he’s still in my house?” She’s breathing hard, starting to panic again.
“Shh, shh. Let’s have someone go by and see.”
“Not the girls,” she says quickly, as if she’s terrified he’d do something to them.
“I’ll send Shane, okay? All he has to do is drive by.”
She doesn’t agree, but she doesn’t protest either, huddling back against my chest. Keeping one arm around her, I make a quick phone call to Isabella, but I ask to talk to Shane. Once he’s on the phone, I divulge as little as I can while still explaining the situation.
“Tell him not to take Bella,” Sam says urgently.
“Sam would rather Isabella not go over there,” I say.
“Is he dangerous?” Shane asks, surprised.
I glance at Sam, watching me. “I’d steer clear of him to be safe. Just let us know if he’s left or not.”
We sit there in silence, waiting, cars still whizzing by. Part of me thinks we need to get back on the road, but the rest of me knows I need to wait. Sam’s still clinging to me. She’s not going to even begin to unclench until she knows that asshole is out of her house.
And if he’s not? I start running through the options. I’m pretty sure he’ll leave, but if he’s decided to wait around, we may have to take other steps. I think about what that additional drama would do to Sam, and just pray he cut and run like he usually does.
At one point she says, “I’m scared to go home.”
“You can come home with me, honey.” Obviously.
It feels like forever before Shane calls back. “He’s gone,” he tells me. “His bike wasn’t out front, but I checked the house to make sure he wasn’t in there. Everything looks in order. We locked it up.” I hope Sam didn’t hear the ‘we’ part, because she’ll figure out Isabella went anyway, like I knew she would. Thank god Bella has a key so they could lock the bolt. Not that I think it’s likely he’ll come back. Chances are, Sam won’t see her father again in years.
But that’s not really my biggest concern.
My biggest concern is what she does with herself in the meantime. Because I had no idea she had a wound that ran this deep.
By the time I get her back to my house, she’s settled into a grim sort of silence. I get her to eat a little bit, but she won’t talk. She just crawls up next to me on the couch and stares into space as I hold her.
It’s a little frightening.
Eventually we get ready for bed, but it feels like we’re just going through the motions. She doesn’t look like she can sleep. Neither could I. It’s only when the lights are out, and we’re under the covers, and she’s huddled against my chest, that she starts to talk low and quiet.
“When I was little,” she says, “he had this cigar box on his nightstand.”
Then she stops. For a moment, the silence we’ve felt all evening falls against us again, draping over our skin.
When she goes on, her voice is so soft I have to strain to hear her.
“I liked to look inside it even though I knew I wasn’t supposed to. I don’t know why. There wasn’t anything in it but pennies and his silver lighter and some old receipts.”
She pauses again. I’m still, waiting for her.
“One day he caught me looking at it. I think I was... I don’t know... five maybe. I remember him storming up to me. So big. I was terrified. I’ve always wondered what happened after that. I don’t remember.”
I pull my arms around her tighter. She takes a deep breath and goes on.
“Do you know what I hate most about that night my senior year? After he got out of prison?”
“What?” I ask softly.
“It should be that he was beating the shit out of my mother. I think that time he was trying to kill her. But that’s not the worst part.”
She stops. She stops for so long I don’t think she’s going to tell me. I squeeze her tighter and rub her arm.
“It was that I didn’t do anything to stop it,” she says, her voice breaking.
“Ah, Sammy.”
“I just sat there,” she says, crying again now, “watching him do that to her.”
“You were just a kid,” I say.
“I was seventeen.”
“Like I said.”
She shakes her head against my chest, still crying.
“You were a kid,” I say firmly, “and even if you weren’t the fault lies with him, not you.”
“But I think...”
She stops again, unable to say whatever it is she thinks.
“What, sweetheart?”
“I wouldn’t stand up to him now either, and I’m not a kid anymore. But—” she chokes down a sob “—I feel like that little girl I used to be every time I’m around him. I... I can’t ever seem to stand up
to him. I’m just like my mother...”
“You’re not.”
“I hate how I am around him. I’m so weak. And he makes me feel so... dirty and horrible and worthless.”
God, that bastard.
“And I’m so scared of him. I never know what he’s going to do. I’m scared to say anything to make him mad because I don’t know what he’ll do to me. And I—”
She chokes out a sob again, then says with more venom than I’ve ever heard in her voice, “I hate him. I fucking hate him.”
Then her whole body sort of collapses against me like it’s the last thing she has to say and she cries quietly against me. I take a deep breath. “Well,” I say gently, “I’m not such a fan myself.”
After a while, she starts to settle down and takes a deep breath. “Ugh,” she says, putting her hand to her forehead and slightly rolling onto her back. “I’m so sick of being blindsided by him. I never know when the fuck he’s going to show up.”
We lay there quietly for a while, then I say, “Have you thought about getting a restraining order?” Maybe some counseling, too, but now’s probably not the time to suggest it.
She sighs. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it before, but what the fuck is that really going to do? You know how useless those things are? Besides, I’m afraid all that will do is piss him off more and then what will he do?”
“But...” I sigh. “Maybe that’s exactly why you need to do it.”
She looks at me, bringing her brows together. “What?”
“Well,” I think about how I want to say this. “Honey,” I say gently, “you’ve had a hard time drawing your boundaries around this guy. I think that’s the thing that’s bothering you the most. I mean, I get that he’s an asshole and he’s scary. And I’m sorry about that. I really am. You deserve so much better than that. But I think the thing you need to do is discover that you’re not as helpless against him as you think you are.” She’s looking at me wide-eyed. I rub my hand softly on her shoulder. “Your dad’s always going to be who he is,” I say gently. “That’s not going to change. But I think you can change how you’re coping with it. You can find ways to stand up to him.”
“I don’t know, Jack. I don’t know if I can.”
“You can,” I say. “Of course, you can.”
She sighs and looks up at the ceiling. “So...” she says thoughtfully. “If I file a restraining order and he still shows up, what do I do then?”
She’s considering things, and I’m glad for that. I think she needs to come up with this answer on her own though.
“Okay,” I say. “You’ve filed an order and he shows up at your house. What would you do?”
She’s quiet for a moment, her eyes distant. “I wouldn’t have to let him in,” she says quietly, “because he already knows I don’t want to see him. I don’t want him there.”
I nod.
“So... I could...” She takes a shaky breath. “I guess I could just close the door or not open it and call the police and let them deal with it.”
I nod again, but she’s starting to get that frightened look again, and tears are pooling in her eyes. “But what if that’s not what he does? What if he sees I got a restraining order and breaks into my house in the middle of the night or something? What if he finds me at work and does something there? What if he gets a gun and goes all postal and we’re like those headlines, ‘Man kills family, then shoots himself.’?”
“Sam, honey, stop,” I say firmly. She lets me pull her in against my chest. “You’re going to drive yourself crazy with what ifs like that.” It’s amazing, how out-of-control our fears can sometimes get. She lets out a shaky breath. “Come on, honey,” I say, squeezing her tighter. “Deep breaths.”
She takes a few and eventually settles down again.
After a while I think she’s fallen asleep, she’s so still and her breathing’s so quiet, but then she says softly, “Thank you for being here for me.”
“Of course.”
“I’m sorry, Jack.”
“Sorry for what, honey?”
She’s quiet. I pull her gently away so I can look at her face. I’m shocked by the pain I see there. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about. Geez, Sam.”
“But...” she says.
I think she wants to look away, I sense it more than I see it, but I’m holding her eyes. “But what?”
But she stubbornly closes her eyes and tucks back into my chest, and doesn’t say any more.
Chapter 24
Sam
I’ve made Jack a promise.
I told him I would think seriously about getting a restraining order, and that I would definitely get some counseling. I don’t really want to talk to a counselor, I’d rather just talk to Jack. I’ve told him more in the last twenty-four hours than I’ve ever told anyone, and it helps. But he wants to make sure I don’t lock this stuff away again, and I guess he might be right.
Today, he’s come home with me. I still haven’t decided if I’m sleeping here tonight, or grabbing some clothes and sleeping at Jack’s again. He’s made it clear I’m always welcome, but he’s worried my reasons for staying over there are the wrong ones. He doesn’t want me to be afraid of my own house.
It looks strange to me now too, as we come through the front door and into the living room. The place seems changed.
Or maybe it’s me who feels that way.
Jack’s arm is around me, but in his other hand is a bag of groceries. Our plan is to have dinner and watch a movie. Easy, right? So he says. “Time to claim your house back,” Jack said.
But as I follow him into the kitchen, everything still feels dark and eerie and I wonder if my dad has forever ruined even more parts of me. Not just this house, either. Jack, too.
I watch him pulling out the groceries and I can’t help but feel this is more trouble than he should have to go through for me. Why would he want to date a girl who’s a pain in the ass, has to file a restraining order against her own father, and needs to promise her boyfriend she’ll go to counseling?
Then I see the glass. Someone’s put the whiskey bottle away, Shane probably, but the empty glass is next to the sink.
I look at it, and feel a jolt of fear, and instantly I’m pissed by that jolt of fear, and my vision blurs.
“Hey,” Jack says gently, seeing me crying once again. And once again, he has to stop his entire world to come over here and comfort me. But when he puts his arms up to hold me, I step back.
“No,” I say.
He drops his arms and looks at me.
“No,” I say again. “It’s not fair to you.”
“What’s not fair to me?”
I exhale sharply, furiously wiping my tears away. “Oh, come on,” I say. “I’m fucked up, Jack. I can’t do this. You don’t want this.”
“Hey,” he says, firmly. “Don’t tell me what I want.”
I blink at him, taken back by his tone.
“There’s only one thing in the world I want, Sam, and that’s you.”
“But...” I say, softening but throwing my hand up in exasperation. “Why? Why do you want me? I’m a messed up pain in the ass.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I need fucking therapy.”
He laughs.
“Why are you laughing? It’s not funny.”
“Isn’t it?”
I cross my arms. “No.”
He’s grinning again.
“For god’s sake, what?” I say.
“I’ll tell you what,” he says, a fire in his eye. “I see that little spark coming out in you, and I’m glad because that spark is what you’ve needed. You think you’re weak, Sam, but you’re not. You’re one of the strongest people I know. Yeah, you’ve got a wound you need to close, but if you want to know the truth, I think it’s pretty fucking amazing you don’t have a hell of a lot more.”
Something in me softens. Something in me is suddenly desperate to believe what he’s saying. Maybe he knows this, because
he comes to me and puts his hands on my face and all I can do is put my hands to his sides and hang on.
“Somehow you managed to come out of all that,” he says, “with the most amazing heart and the kind of genuine confidence most people would kill for. You’ve been living life on your own terms, and look at the life you’ve built for yourself. You have a great job, your own home, wonderful friends who love you. You. Are not. Your father.”
Tears spring to my eyes again.
“And you’re not your mother either. You’re you. And you’re an amazing person. And I love you more than I knew it was possible to love anybody. And let me tell you something else, Samantha Lawson...”
This stuns me more than anything. He said my name so soft, so gentle, in a way that communicated not just his love for me but his understanding, and his pure acceptance of who I really am. It’s the first time in my memory someone has called me by my full name without something inside me cringing. I even... want to hear him say it again. Exactly the way he just said it.
“I am going to love you for the rest of my life,” he says, “and there’s not one thing you can do about it.”
With tears still in my eyes, I go up on tiptoe to kiss him. Then kiss him again. I throw my arms around his neck and hug him and sink into the sensation of him hugging me back. “I love you,” I tell him.
He pulls back and looks at me, smiling.
“I love you,” I say again. Then I hold his face and kiss him and say it again. “I love you, Jack Thomas Anderson. I love you so much.”
And that’s the exact moment I start drawing boundaries. I draw a boundary right around Jack and I, and decide I won’t let my father touch us. I’m not going to worry about my mother with her string of divorces. I don’t care about their mistakes any more. Their mistakes aren’t mine, and while Jack might think it’s amazing I don’t have more wounds, I am only amazed by one thing.
That a girl like me found an incredibly good guy like him.
And I am not letting go.
Chapter 25
Sam
I claim my house back by finally ripping out the old carpet and putting in the new. Then I have all my friends over and we drink and laugh and eat way too much food. Then Jack and I have sex on the new carpet and make love in my own bed with my awesome fucking pillows and I sleep in his arms all night long.
