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I shake my head. “Naw, it’s okay. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Sounds good.”

We hang up and I shove my phone in my pocket before stopping in front of my door and leaning back against the wall across from it and before my thoughts can even fall down the rabbit hole of why my woman is ignoring me, something crashes inside my room. Sucking in a breath, I push off the wall.

“Here we go,” I whisper to myself before stepping forward and opening the door. Clay is in the corner of the room, looking through the books on my bookshelf and his head snaps up as I walk in the room.

“Looking for my cash?”

He tosses the book in his hand down on the floor and glares at me. “Come on, big bro. I just need a little bit.”

“No, you don’t,” I answer, grabbing his shirt off the chair and tossing it at him. “Get dressed.”

“Why?”

“There is somewhere I want to take you.”

He takes a step back and shakes his head. “I’m not going to rehab.”

“Believe me, Clay, I’d love nothing more than to drag your ass to rehab but that’s not where we’re going today. Now, get dressed.”

“Aren’t you going to give me a little privacy?”

“Why?” I growl. “So you can sneak out of the clubhouse and go get high again. I don’t fucking think so.”

“Motherfucker,” he mutters, shoving his arms in the sleeves of his t-shirt before grabbing his jeans and pulling them on. When he has his tennis shoes on, he stands and flashes me an expectant look. “Willing to tell me where we’re going now?”

I shake my head. “Nope. Let’s go.”

I have to push him out of the room and continually nudge him down the stairs and outside to my truck. Once he’s in the passenger seat, I sigh and round the hood before jumping in and firing it up.

“Are we going to see Dad?” he asks as I pull out of the parking lot and I barely avoid glaring in his direction.

“No.”

We’re silent for the rest of the trip and when I pull up to the cemetery, I feel his shocked gaze whip to my face.

“What the fuck are we doing here?”

I put the truck in park and turn it off. “We’re here to see Mom.”

“I don’t want to do that,” he whispers, shaking his head. The fear in his eyes is exactly the same as all those years ago as I packed up our things and pushed him out of our bedroom window. Maybe this is exactly what he needs or maybe this will send him off the deep end but I know that it’s time for me to do something other than what I’ve been doing for the past six years.

“Tough shit. Get out of the truck.”

He seems smaller as he gets out and meets me on the other side, like all this time he’s still been the five-year-old little boy who went on the run after his father killed his mother.

“Why are we here, Luke?”

I sigh and we start walking along one of the paths. “I’ve never told you what happened that night.”

“And you’re going to tell me now?” he scoffs and I nod, glancing over at him.

“Yeah, I am.”

We stop in front of our mother’s grave and I suck in a breath as I read her name on the tombstone:

Amanda Julette