“I remember when I was little, like five, he bought three bikes for Christmas. Two were pink with white ribbons floating from the end of the handles and the other one was blue. I asked why he bought two extra bikes. He looked so sad and said, ‘These two are for my son and other daughter.’ I told him that he doesn’t have any other kids. And he put a helmet over my head and said, ‘I do, and I let them down because I’m a horrible man.’ Then he cried. I think that was the only time Dad was sober. Momma told me the reason why Dad drank so much was because he watched Granddad drown Grandma in the bathtub.”

I look at my ma for confirmation, and she nods. Ma never talked about Dad’s side of the family. I knew our grandparents died when my dad was ten because Ma tried to convince him to visit their graves when she wanted to visit her mother’s grave right after she died.

Then the tears form in my eyes. Cydney wails for her bottle, and Alana leaves the living room.

“Daddy loved you. I think he just didn’t know how to show it. Like Mommy loves me, but she doesn’t know how to love.” She shrugs, and then I kiss her forehead.

For a twelve-year-old, Cora is very insightful and loveable.

“I’m proud of you, Gunner.” She wraps her tiny arms around my neck and squeezes.

“Thank you.”

When I stand, Ma, Herold, and Darien engulf me in a hug and they offer words of encouragement.

When I grab my duffle bag sitting by the oak door, I swing it open to see Logan and Matt standing by a black SUV.

“I heard you’re going to rehab for three months, yeah?” Matt says, taking his toothpick from his mouth and tossing it to the wet asphalt.

I shoot Darien a look.

“I sent out a group text. I figured you need all the support you can get.” Darien pats my back. “Get your ass in the car.”

After I toss my bag in the trunk, I hop in the passenger seat.

“Did Nova file a police report on Ryan?” I ask Logan as he drives down the street.

“The DA charged him with rape and domestic violence in his state. He’s facing twenty years since he has a history of it,” Logan answers. “I wrote her a check for forty grand because she wanted to go to Hollywood. She told me to tell you thank you.”

“Motherfucker, always saving everyone else while he should have been saving his own ass,” Darien says, leaning forward in the back seat.

“Shut the fuck up,” I say.

“Have you talked to Rainbow?” Matt asks.

We pull up to the highway next to a Publix eighteen-wheeler, and a taxi driver gives us the middle finger for cutting him off.