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“This is the gear—”
My phone rings, interrupting him, and I jolt at the sound. Reaching for it, my stomach bottoms out as I read the name.
Isaac.
Pressing ignore, I set the phone back down and give Kon a guilty smile.
“Gearshift,” I finish. He roughly clears his throat as he nods. “And pedals.” I point to them and he nods again.
“What else do you know?” He leans back, watching me. My eyes flick to him before I look around again.
“Radio.” I point at it, and I feel him tense. “Seatbelt.” I grab it and slide it over my chest, the click locking it into place loud in the tiny cab. “That’s it.”
“That’s all?” he repeats. I take a deep breath as I nod.
“You probably think I’m an idiot for not knowing how to drive,” I mutter, dropping my head.
“How can I think that?” His voice is low, almost comforting. “It’s not your fault you were never taught. You can’t be blamed for your shortcomings.” I wince, his words hitting me right in the chest.
Shortcomings.
That’s exactly what it is. Being twenty and not knowing how to drive? Pathetic.
“I could’ve taught myself,” I murmur, and he clears his throat, shifting in his seat.
“You could have.” I look at him from the corner of my eye, shocked he agreed with me. “Or your parents could’ve taught you.”
“Or Roman,” I breathe. As soon as his name leaves my lips, I wish it hadn’t.
“It wasn’t his responsibility.” Again, his words hurt. But instead of only making me realize just how sorry my life is, they piss me off.
“But he could’ve helped. He could’ve done something—”
“He was a kid, just like you were,” he interrupts, his face hard. “Your mother and stepfather should’ve—”
“My mother was a great mother,” I snap, and he dips his chin.
“I didn’t say she wasn’t.”
We stare at each other, my chest heaving, my throat tight. “She did her best,” I continue. “And she died when I was sixteen. She wasn’t around to teach me.”
“So who did that leave?” His voice is steady, his face calm as he stares back at me.
Isaac.
It left Isaac.
And he didn’t teach me. He didn’t do a lot of things.
“He did his best, too,” I mutter, dropping my burning eyes. Kon grunts out a breath, sounding like he wants to say more but doesn’t.
I know he doesn’t believe my words. I barely believe them. Isaac could’ve tried harder. He could’ve done more. Instead, he made me help him at the church, take over for Mama in every way I could.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Being a hole for men to use is all she’s good for.
Is that what Mama went through, too? Is that what he thought of her? How he treated her?
