Can’t watch Jamie rot like this no more. Been days since Alex gave him the boot, and he’s a damn wreck—holed up at Sam’s, barely grunting a word, letting this shit chew him up. Been holding my tongue, watching him fade, but I’m done.
He’s my best friend—ain’t letting him sink into nothing. Riley’s out there, smirking like she’s queen, and Morgan’s got his claws in the town—Alex too. Someone’s gotta swing back, and if Jamie won’t, I’ll damn well make him.
Riley strutting free while Jamie’s a ghost—it’s got my blood boiling.
Every day he’s slipping more, turning into some hollowed-out stranger. Known him since we were kids, seen him claw through hell before, but this? He’s quit, and that scares me shitless.
March to Sam’s after my coffee shop shift. Sun’s dipping low, shadows stretching long, cold air stinging my face.
Hands still warm from steaming espresso all day, coffee stink stuck to my shirt. Walk gives me time to run through what I’ll say, but I know it’ll spill out messy once I’m there.
Sam’s place is a beat little shack—rusty truck out front, paint peeling ‘round the windows.
Porch groans under me as I stomp up, bang the door hard—don’t care if it’s loud. Wood’s rough on my knuckles. Sam cracks it open, squinting, hair a mess like he just rolled outta bed. “He’s in back,” he grunts, stepping aside.
No “hey,” no nothing—just Sam. Nod, shove past—house reeks of oil and old wood.
Floorboards creak loud with every step. Place is a mess but works—tools all over the counters, car mags stacked sloppy, half-eaten sandwich rotting on the kitchen table.
Ain’t a home for Jamie—just another spot he don’t fit.
He’s in the spare room, slumped on the bed, staring at the wall like it’s got answers. Backpack’s dumped by the door, clothes spilling out, blanket a tangled heap. Blinds shut tight, dim yellow light making it feel like a cave.
Empty water bottle’s tipped over by his feet. Looks up as I barge in—eyes dead, face pale, stubble roughing up his jaw. “Hey, Case,” he mumbles, voice so low I barely catch it. He’s a shell—busted, quiet, nothing like my Jamie.
“Hey yourself,” I say, kicking the door shut. Drop my bag, cross my arms, loom over him. “You look like shit. How long you gonna sit here wallowing?”
Shoulders sag more—didn’t think they could. Old Jamie would’ve snapped back, thrown some smartass line.
This one just takes it.
Shrugs, picks at the blanket. “What else I got? College axed me. Alex don’t want me. It’s done.”
Fists clench, jaw locks tight. That quitter tone makes me wanna shake him ‘til he’s him again.
“Done? That’s it? You’re just gonna let ‘em win?” Step closer, voice cutting sharp. Shadow falls over him—he don’t even flinch. “Come on, Jamie—this ain’t you. You didn’t do this, and you damn well know it. Someone screwed you, and you’re letting ‘em dance on your grave!”
Looks up slow, eyes beat.
Dark rings say he ain’t slept worth a damn. “Who? Riley? You keep harping on her, but there’s no proof. It’s over, Casey. Ain’t got nothing left.”
Lean down, right in his face—smell stale coffee on his breath, guy’s barely eating.
“You really gonna let ‘em walk?” I bark, loud enough he jerks. Voice bounces off the bare walls. “Riley’s out there, playing nice with Alex, and Morgan’s choking the town—choking him. Think they’re stopping? They framed you—booted you, turned Alex on you—and you’re just sitting here, taking it?”
Flicker of something—anger, maybe—flashes, then fades.
Least it’s a pulse.
Pulls back, shakes his head—hair limp, greasy, flops over his eyes. “What’m I supposed to do? Nobody’s buying my story—not cops, not college, not Alex. No proof, no nothing. Just my word against all that crap.”
“Then find some!” I snap, straightening up, voice ringing.
“You ain’t some helpless punk, Jamie. You’re sharp—you got me—we can crack this. Riley ain’t flawless. She’s got holes, and we’ll bust ‘em wide. You don’t quit ‘cause it’s tough.”
Stares at me, mouth tight, like he wants to fight back but can’t.
Bed creaks as he shifts. I don’t let up—keep hammering. “Seen her—stalking you, cozying up to Alex, all fake as hell. She’s in this, I’d swear it. And Morgan’s piling on—health checks at the store, legal bullshit on Alex. Ain’t random.
They’re hitting you both, and you’re letting ‘em.”
“Alex don’t give a damn,” he mutters, eyes dropping to his hands—knuckles white, locked tight. “Kicked me out—told me to go. Thinks I’m guilty.”
Ease up a bit, but not much. “Yeah, he’s being an ass.
Scared, messed up—Morgan’s drowning him in crap. Don’t mean you fold. You fight—for you, for him, for whatever’s worth a damn. Don’t let Riley and Morgan win ‘cause Alex can’t see straight.”
Wind kicks up outside, rattling the flimsy window.
Room dims as clouds roll in.
Rubs his face hard, stubble scraping his palms. “Fight how? Don’t even know where to start. Stuck here—Sam’s, no school, no home. What’s the point?”
Grab his shoulder, shake him—shirt’s thin, he’s tense under it.
“Point is you’re innocent, and they ain’t. Start with Riley—she’s the weak spot. Got your notebook, I’d bet my ass on it. She’s sloppy—too close, too nosy. We dig, find something—proof she’s lying, proof she screwed you. I’m in this, and I ain’t dropping it.”
Looks at me, eyes searching—like he’s clawing for belief.
See a spark of the old Jamie, fighting to break through. “You really think it’s her?” he asks, low.
“Yeah,” I say, hard as steel. “Been saying it—she’s hooked on Alex, and you’re the obstacle. Ain’t smart enough to hide it all.
We’ll catch her.”
He goes quiet, just breathing, staring at the floor—carpet’s got an old coffee stain, beat to hell. Wait, heart pounding, praying he’ll snap outta this. He’s gotta—I can’t do it solo, and he’s worth more than this dump.