I combed my hand through my hair, my stomach churning at how disgusting and pathetic I was.

My voice was barely audible. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He strolled over to my side and gazed out the window, through the shimmer of rain. The shadows of the leaves outside fluttered across his face, and he seemed much older than his fifteen years.

Jared hadn’t had a hard life the way his father or I did. He never wanted for much, and there was always food in the refrigerator and decent clothes on his back. And there were times when I was a good mom. He wasn’t always alone.

Unfortunately, though, Jared learned at a very young age that while he could’ve had it worse, he also could’ve had it a lot better. Tate’s dad was a single father, after all. How come he could be there for his kid, and I couldn’t?

His father abandoned him and abused him, and his mother was so busy making up for her lost youth that she neglected him.

His eyes darkened as he stared out the window and narrowed his brow. All I could feel was the distance between us. I couldn’t remember the last time he let me hug him.

“You should go over there,” I said quietly.

“Where?”

“Tate’s.”

That was what he was seeing when he stared out the window. Her house sat right next to ours, and she was the only thing that ever made him happy.

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he ground out. “Get me out of your hair?”

“What?” I leaned up, putting my feet on the ground and staring at him. “Jared, no—”

“Tate can screw off and go to hell,” he growled, cutting me off. “I hate her.”

I shot out of my chair, but I was too fast. My mind fogged over, and my balance teetered suddenly. I grabbed onto the back of the chair for support.

“Jared, what’s the matter? What happened?” I pressed. “You need your friends.”

But he just glared ahead. “Not her. She’s just like everyone else. Doesn’t give a shit about anyone but herself, stupid fucking cow.”

And the he spun around and headed out of the room.

“Jared!” I yelled, chasing after him, but my knees wobbled, and I felt like I was falling. “If this is your friend Madoc’s influence,” I choked out, trying to swallow the acid creeping up my throat, “I don’t want you hanging around him anymore!”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” he laughed and opened the front door. “Why don’t you fucking wake up for a change, huh? He’s not the bad influence. I am.”

He stepped onto the porch, and I grabbed his arm, pulling him back around.

“Don’t touch me!” he bellowed, his eyes dark and his breathing heavy. He yanked his arm away, and I stood there, my blanket falling off my arm and my work clothes wrinkled.

Fear wracked through me, and I was frozen. I couldn’t speak.

His eyebrows dug in, and he looked like he was going to hit something. Or someone. For a moment, I almost let out a cry. It was like looking at Thomas all over again.

My stomach shook, and I just wanted to fold. I was afraid of him. I was afraid of my kid.

And it was my fault.

The times he’d been pushed off to his grandparents or friends and my never being there, the neglect, the way I never put him first . . . I’d never been his mother, because I never made the choice to. I grew up with him, not for him.

I could barely speak, my throat swelled with so much with pain. “I wish . . . ,” I whispered, letting my eyes fall. “I wish I was a better mom, Jared.”

He was silent for a moment and then spoke up, his voice low and calm. “And I wish you’d just go away.”

I shut my eyes, feeling the tears spill over as I heard his steps travel down the porch and disappear. When I opened my eyes, he was gone, and I couldn’t see him through the rain and darkness.

I let the blanket fall completely, and I turned around, my steps faltering as I walked back into the house.

What the hell have I done? Why had I given Jase so much power over my happiness? What if Jared ran off and left me, because it was nothing less than what I deserved?

A ringing pierced the silence, and I jerked my head to the left and right, trying to follow the sound.

My phone.

Jared.

I ran to my purse where it lay on the table by the stairs and pulled out my phone. But before I pressed Send, I caught sight of the number on the screen and my heart skipped a beat.

What?

He hadn’t called since . . .

He never called. Not since a few weeks after we ended things, but I never answered. Not the first time he called or the tenth time. After a while, he got the message. He let me go.

A spark of want flared in my veins. So long . . .

Slowly pressing Send, I rested my back against the wall and slid down, bringing the phone to my ears as I bent my knees and fell to the floor.

There was silence, but probably because I was supposed to say something, and I hadn’t yet.

I wouldn’t.

I heard a breath on the other end, and chills ran over my skin.

“I still think about you,” he said, his voice quiet and pained. “Every day. So many times every day.” And then he let out a breath. “It was harder than I let on, seeing you today, and I know I shouldn’t be calling, but I needed to hear your voice again. I’ve never stopped missing you.”

Tears filled my eyes, and everything in front of me blurred. “It didn’t stop you from marrying again.”