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Mom hasn’t worked since Thursday.

I know because she called out Friday while waiting for Wade to come home, then called out again today because she was too angry to sleep last night. I don’t point that out.

“Did he call you?” she asks, looking at me suspiciously.

“No.”

She tosses her phone onto the cushion. “Piece of shit. I swear to God, if he comes back here, I’m done. Fuck him. Leaves my kid on the side of the road to go fuck some whore.”

My chest hurts. “You’ve said that before.” I realize my mistake as soon as I hear the words leave my mouth.

Her head snaps toward me. “What did you say?”

I swallow. “Nothing.”

“No. Say it again.”

“I just… said you’ve said that before…”

“So?” she presses, her voice dropping into something dangerous.

I shrug nervously. “So nothing.”

“Don’t get smart with me, Kamden,” she hisses.

“I’m not,” I whisper.

“You’ve had some fucking attitude since Thursday.”

“I’m sorry.”

She steps closer, and I flinch, fighting the instinct to step back.

That only fuels her fire. “What the fuck was that?”

“What?”

“That.” She jabs her finger at me. “You acting scared and shit.”

“I’m not scared,” I blurt.

“Of me?”

“No.” My voice cracks.

“Then quit looking at me like I’m gonna hit you.” The irony is so enormous that for one dangerous second, I almost smile. Luckily, I don’t.

Mom comes even closer. “Did Wade do something to you?”

My heart stops. “W-what?”

“That morning. You came home looking like shit. Your clothes were different. Now every time somebody makes a noise, you jump out of your fucking skin. So what happened? He hit you? He touch you?”

I say nothing; my brain stalls out when I need to be thinking of the right thing to say to her.

“Kamden.”

My hands ball up inside my sleeves. If I tell her the truth, everything changes—the police, investigations, the killer I think is hunting me, Mom’s blame. I can’t risk it. “He was just…weird.” It’s not a lie. “I think he might’ve been high.”