Page 53 of Surviving You, Scotch and Sammy 1

“No! Jesus, can you stop? We’d have been gone barely a day before I called you. We just couldn’t openly make plans, or her folks would have stopped us.”

“So you’d still leave, then you’d expect us to follow? Just pack up our shit and follow you like we really are ‘Sam and the others?’ What if I had a life I wanted here? What if I had a girl here I wanted? What if? Asshole!”

Angelo is right, and he’s arguing the exact points I already argued with Sam. I knew his family and the guys wouldn’t accept his disappearance that easily. I worried endlessly about this, but I still let him talk me into the dream of a happily ever after. This is one of the very things I told myself not to worry about the night of prom.

“You don’t understand,” Sam argues. “We can’t stay here. Her folks won’t let us be together. I don’t have a choice, Ang.”

“I guess we don’t get a choice then either, huh? It doesn’t matter what Luc or Marc or I want, because you knew we’d follow you like puppies.”

“No! Not like puppies. I just don’t know what else to do. Sammy’s my wife, she’s been mine for years. I won’t just stand by, sleeping in a different bed, in a different house, on different sides of the fucking tracks, while her asshole parents dictate our lives. Especially not now! They want to kill my kid, Ang. Did you hear that part too? I’m a man with too much to lose.”

Angelo looks so angry, I almost expect steam to escape his ears and flames to break through his scalp, but after another minute of teeth grinding and fist flexing, Angelo takes a deep breath and steps back. His chest is still huge, filled with oxygen and adrenaline, and his hair hangs dangerously loose, but he forces a smile past teeth that remind me of the big bad wolf, then he steps forward again and slugs Sam on the chin.

I cry out in shock as Sam’s head snaps around quickly, and though he turns back to face his attacker, Angelo is no longer in attack mode. His hands are down and his face is broad with a smile. “You’re a fuckin’ asshole, Turner. Next time, you invite me along. That’s my niece or nephew in there.”

“You fucking hit me!”

“Yeah, and I’ll do it again next time you make stupid ass plans where you think you can dump us like last week’s garbage.”

***

Sam and I hang around The Shed for the rest of the day and a couple hours into the evening. Sam holds bags of ice to his face on and off, and Angelo comes and goes, bringing us food and water. His intentions were pure, but my stomach revolts at the mere smell of the fried chicken he brought. I’ve been married for less than a week, and I’m already vomiting into Sam’s hands. All that glamor and shine he accused me of having is wiped away instantly the first time his hands come up reflexively and he catches my spew.

The guys have stools and tables set up at The Shed, but there are also a couple lumpy couches, and with Sam sitting on the end while he cradles my clammy head in his lap, we talk and plan and I nap on and off all day.

I don’t care that my folks are probably looking for me right now. I don’t care that my phone is at home and I can’t contact anyone. I don’t even care that I have nothing but jeans and cash – because I have Sam. And I have an angry tiny seedling baby wreaking havoc from inside my body and forcing me to spew almost every hour on the hour.

Angelo doesn’t hover over us, mostly he hangs around on the makeshift stage softly playing music and writing in a notebook, but I get the distinct feeling he’s watching us to make sure we don’t escape into the shadows and out of his life.

Darkness falls outside and the cicadas start chirping, and though I feel like I want to curl up and die, I smile when Luc and Marc noisily wander in.

“Missed you at school today, Soda.” Luc kneels down in front of me with sympathetic eyes, then bravely leans forward and drops a kiss on my clammy cheek. “Congratulations, mama. I heard I’m getting a baby.”

I groan softly, and his pretty eyes twinkle with happiness. “It’s okay. I won’t even make it weird when he comes out looking like me. I gotcha back, baby mama.”

“Luc?”

Luc’s mischievous eyes come up to Sam’s. “Mm?”

“Fuck off.”

Luc laughs, but he stands from his crouch and runs his fingers over the loose strands of my hair. “Feel better, Sammy. I’ll sing you a song until you do.”

I lick my parched lips, and nod against Sam’s thigh. “Okay.”

Luc winks, then he heads toward the stage and starts talking with Angelo in hushed tones. Marc replaces Luc’s position, and with a cranky frown, he looks me over from top to toe. “I heard you were leaving us, huh?”

“Marc--” Sam starts, but Marc shakes his head softly. “It’s okay. I get it. Be safe, and me and Luc will catch up after we graduate. Tell your kid not to grow too fast. Bring him back here to visit. Don’t become strangers, yeah?” Marc looks toward Sam again. “We’ve been brothers for a long ass time, dude. Don’t just disappear on me.”

“We’ll be around. We’re not dying.”

“I’m counting on it. Don’t be a dick.”

With Marc’s short and sharp speech, he also stands and moves toward the stage, and I continue to doze on Sam’s thigh as sweat continues to trickle over my forehead and he plays with my hair.

– Sammy –

Threats

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