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“I know, Sugarbaby.” Her gaze shifted to Luke then. Her red cheeks went even redder. “You must think I’m a terrible mother.”
I didn’t take my gaze from her face, so I wasn’t sure what Luke’s expression said, but his words weren’t gentle. “I think you didn’t protect him the way you should have.”
Mama’s eyes welled up again.
“Now, now.” I tsked, brushing away her new tears with my thumbs. I tugged her into a hug. “Don’t cry, Mama. It’s all over, like you said, isn’t it? It’s all done now.”
Luke made a sound that I wasn’t sure how to interpret, but I suspected it meant he didn’t agree that it was all done or in the past because, like I’d already said, I was still carrying it around inside me. He hadn’t been able to beat or fuck it out. Neither had Kyle, for that matter.
“Here,” I said, turning to where the half-opened card was flung onto the floor. I bent to retrieve it and handed it to Mama. “Open it.”
She did with trembling fingers. Luke put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed lightly, letting me know he had my back. As she read what I’d written, her lips trembled again. “Are you sure?” she whispered. “It’s a lot of money.”
“I’m sure. They say the Biltmore House at Christmas is stunning.”
I summoned a smile, the shiny one I used to keep people from seeing how damaged I was on the inside. “You’ll love the decorations, Mama. And we’ll pretend we live there, won’t we? We’ll pretend we’re rich and fabulous like the Vanderbilts.”
“Sugarbaby…”
I couldn’t take the agony anymore. I’d cut open the wound and let poison bleed out, but now it was time to stitch it closed again. “Let’s have cake!” I said as brightly as I could muster. “And thenwe’ll eat that lasagna you’ve got in the oven. I swear I could smell it as soon as we pulled up outside.”
She sniffled and wiped her eyes, but she agreed. “Yes, let’s have the cake. I made your favorite. White frosting on chocolate.”
“But it’syourbirthday, Mama.”
“And you’re my favorite boy,” she said tremulously. “I like to make you happy. I onlyeverwant you to be happy.”
I nodded. “I know you do.”
Luke silently followed us into the kitchen, and when we sat at the table with the white-frosted cake between us and a few crooked candles flaming up for Mama to blow out, I caught his eye.
He looked shell-shocked, and when he gazed at me, I could see him evaluating me in a new light.
My stomach roiled, but I kept the happy smile slapped onto my face as we sang the birthday song, cut the cake, and proceeded with Mama’s birthday dinner like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t just confessed to my boyfriend that I’d willingly sucked off my own father and then spit the cum in his face. Like I hadn’t just proved how degenerate and unlovable I was. Like I wasn’t just trash.
The rain came down in sheets again.
But the expression on Luke’s face wasn’t washed away.
Neither was my shame.
Chapter Twenty-Five
‡
Luke
“You hate menow, don’t you?” Minty whispered, his hands tight on the steering wheel.
The rain still came down in buckets, but the windshield wipers were doing a valiant job at slapping it off so that he could see to drive.
“Hate you?” I was deeply confused. It’d been a long, strange afternoon. The way Minty and his mother had simply moved on from the horrible “mistake” of her having hung up a family photo that’d includedhis rapist, the way they’d laughed and faked happy and pretended nothing had happened at all blew my mind. I was mystified by him and his mother both.
But hate? Where did that come into things?
Minty’s shoulders were tight. “Because of what I did. You know the whole truth now.” He inhaled sharply. “All of it. The absolute worst of who I am.” His lip snarled up in disgust. “And you hate me now, don’t you?”
I blinked rapidly, comprehending his meaning. I motioned toward the side of the interstate. “Put on your hazard lights. Pull over.”
