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I smile faintly. “Whatever was on sale.”

She waits.

I stare at the ceiling again. “One year, she got me this little cake with monster trucks on it. Bright blue frosting. Plastic trucks stuck in the top.”

“How old were you?”

“Six.”

She smiles. “I bet you loved that.”

“Thought it was the greatest fucking thing I'd ever seen.”

I can still picture it.

The blue frosting.

The cheap plastic decorations.

My mom standing in our kitchen, smiling because she'd managed to do something good.

“She took me to the store that morning and let me pick out a toy truck, too.”

“Sounds like a pretty good birthday.”

“Yeah.”

I pause. “It was. For a while.”

Laney goes still.

I should stop there. I know I should. But it's late.

She's warm against me. And for some reason, the words don't feel quite as impossible as they usually do.

“My dad came home drunk that night.”

Her fingers stop moving.

“He was pissed about the money. Said she was wasting it on a kid who probably wasn't even his.”

“Bishop…”

“He used to say that a lot.” I stare at the darkened ceiling. “Called me a bastard. Told my mom she should've left me wherever she found me.”

Laney lifts her head. “Hayes.”

I look at her. Her eyes are bright behind her glasses.

I hate that.

Hate that I've put that look on her face.

“Hey. It was a long time ago.”

“That doesn't make it okay.”

“No.”