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“I do, and I know exactly what he'll do because he's been doing it forever. He finds the thing that hurts most and keeps pushing until you give him what he wants.”

Max didn't promise me my father couldn't hurt him or tell me everything would be fine, and I loved him a little for not lying.

The thought appeared with such startling clarity that my breath caught.

I loved him.

I didn't know when that had happened, and I definitely wasn't prepared to examine it while drugged, injured, and apparently incapable of keeping anything inside my own head.

I tried to sit up, but the movement pulled painfully at my ribs and made the room tilt again. Max caught me before I could lose my balance and waited until I was settled against him.

“Easy. Slow down.”

“I can't.”

“You don't need to go anywhere.”

“That isn't what I mean.”

The tears came before I could stop them.

Max's expression changed immediately, and something about the concern on his face made everything worse because I wanted him angry. I wanted him to demand answers so I could refuse to give them, or tell me I'd made a mess of everything so I could agree and push him away again.

Instead, he kept giving me somewhere safe to fall apart.

“He has a video.”

The words were barely audible, but Max heard them and I knew because his expression changed. For the first time all evening, he asked a question I hadn't invited. “What video?”

The moment the words left his mouth, he seemed to regret them.

“Forget I asked. You don't have to answer that tonight.”

It was already too late.

The apartment had disappeared.

I could see gray stone instead, the metal railing running beside the fire escape, and my mother's coat moving ahead of me while she hurried me down the stairs.

Come on, baby. Hurry.

My stomach rolled.

“Ash?”

“I was seven when she died.”

Max went completely still.

“My mom was taking me away from him because Dad had been drinking again. She'd packed a bag, but she didn't want to use the elevator because she was scared he'd hear us leaving, so we went down the fire escape.”

I could see it far too clearly now.

For years I'd tried not to remember that night, but the harder I'd worked to bury it, the more certain pieces had stayed perfectly preserved: the cold stone beneath my sneakers, my mother's hand reaching back toward me, and the fear in her voice when she kept telling me to hurry.

“She was in front of me, and I was trying to keep up because she was scared he'd realize we'd gone. I remember running after her, but after that, everything gets mixed up.” My voice shook as I tried to drag air past ribs that suddenly seemed far too tight. “I remember reaching for her, and then she was falling.”

Max's hand closed around mine. “You can stop, sweetheart. You don't have to do this tonight.”