And I never wanted to be where she wasn’t.

“Jared, I’m a bad mother.” She swallowed hard, obviously trying to hold back more tears.

I looked off to the side, unable to meet her eyes. “I made it through, Mom.”

“You did… somewhat. I’m proud of you. You’re strong, and you’re not a follower. I know I’ll send you into the world a survivor.” Her light voice turned firm and serious. “I wouldn’t want any other son. But, Jared, you’re not happy.”

The air around me got tight, pushing me from all sides, and I didn’t know where to turn to get out. “Who’s happy? Are you?” I barked.

“Jared, I was seventeen when I got pregnant with you.” She folded her arms and hugged herself, more like hiding from something than warming herself. “I’m only thirty-six now. People I graduated with—some of them—are just starting their families. I was so young. I had no support. I didn’t get a chance to live before I had my world turned upside down—,”

“Yeah, I get it, alright,” I cut her off. “I’ll be out of your hair by June.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She moved closer, her voice raspy and holding out her hand as if to stop my thoughts. “You were the gift, Jared. The light. Your father was the hell. I thought I loved him. He was strong, confident, and cocky. I idolized him…” She trailed off, and I swear I could hear her heart breaking as her eyes fell to the ground.

I didn’t want to hear about that ass**le, but I knew she needed to talk. And for some reason I wanted to let her.

“I idolized him for about a month,” she continued. “Long enough to get pregnant and get stuck with him.” And then she looked at me again. “But I was young and immature. I thought I knew everything. Drinking was my escape, and I abandoned you. You never deserved that. When I saw Tate trying to make you happy that night, I let her. The next morning you weren’t in your room. When I looked out your window, I could see you both passed out in her bed, just sleeping. So I let it be. For years, I knew you were sneaking over there to sleep, and I let it go, because she made you happy when I failed.”

The purest, truest, most perfect thing in my world, and I’d dumped pile upon pile of shit on top of her for years.

A knot of realization worked its way into my head, and I felt like punching my fist through a f**king wall.

“Jesus Christ.” I combed my hands through my hair, my eyes squeezing shut as I whispered to myself. “I’ve been so horrible to her.”

My mother, like Mr. Brandt, probably knew nothing of what I’d put Tate through, but she did know that we weren’t friends anymore.

“Honey,” she spoke up, “you’ve been horrible to everyone. Some of us deserved it, some of us not. But Tate loves you. She’s your best friend. She’ll forgive you.”

Will she?

“I love her.” It was the most honest thing I’d confided in my mother in a long time.

My father could kiss his own ass, and my mother and I would survive, for better or worse. But Tate?

I needed her.

“I know you love her. And I love you,” she said as she reached out and touched my cheek. “You’re not letting your father or me take anything else from you, do you understand?”

Tears burned my eyes, and I couldn’t hold them back.

“How do I know I’m not going to be like him?” I whispered.

My mother was quiet as she studied me, and then her eyes narrowed.

“Tell her the truth,” she instructed. “Trust her with everything, especially your heart. Do that, and you’re already not like your father.”

Chapter 30

Yesterday lasts forever.

Tomorrow comes never.

I looked down at the blank piece of printer paper, the words of my tattoo staring back at me.

Now I knew what they meant.

I was a huge, f**king idiot. That was for sure.

Not only had I let myself get tied up by the bullshit my father doled out, but I’d willingly let my hate control me, wrongfully thinking that it made me stronger.

Leaning down, I placed the paper on my thigh and scribbled another line.

Until you.

Feeling the weight lift off of my shoulders, I nailed it to the tree between Tate’s and my houses and grabbed the rest of the stuff off of the ground.

Backing up, I looked at the huge Maple, not only bright with the red and gold leaves that had not yet fallen, but with the hundreds of white lights and several lanterns I’d hung.

It was her birthday today, and all I could think about was how she’d brightened my day when I was eleven. I wanted to return the favor and show her that I remembered.

Assuming she was out with K.C., I hung out in her bedroom, leaning on the rails outside of her open French doors and just stared at the folder I’d placed on her bed.

The folder with all of the proof of what my father had done to me.

She already seen it, of course, when she snooped in my room.

But she hadn’t heard it from me yet.

A door closed downstairs, and my back straightened.

I breathed deliberately—slow and calm—but my body heated up and my heart raced.

Jesus.

I was f**king nervous.

Will what I tell her be good enough? Will she understand?

Tate walked slowly into her room, and I immediately gripped the rails behind me to stop myself from rushing her.

Her eyebrows were slightly drawn together as she looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and concern.