The world might think I’m a stupid, skanky slut.

But my kid did not.

And he was never supposed to get that first inkling his mom was that kind of mom, that kind of woman.

Not ever.

Not…fucking…ever.

“You got my kid up,” I said to Merry.

“Yeah, babe, and now I gotta get him to school.”

“You got my kid up,” I repeated, and Merry’s head jerked.

Then his eyes went alert.

I moved quickly, throwing back the covers and leaping out of bed. I snatched my jeans up, shoved a foot in then the other. Yanking them up, I looked to Merry.

“You don’t get to do that shit,” I hissed quietly, doing up my fly. “You do not get to make that decision, Garrett. He’s my kid. I get his mornings.”

Something flooded his face, a sweet something, but I was not done.

Not by a long shot.

“You shoulda stayed in bed, or you shoulda got me up and got out before he got up. You do not make the decision your own damned self about what my kid knows, what he sees, or who looks after him.” I straightened and jabbed my thumb to myself. “I do.”

He stood, murmuring, “Cher—”

I got in his space, head tipped back, mouth still hissing. “You and I fucked once. Now you’re jackin’ my shit with your fucked-up head games, and that’s okay. That’s the way of the world. That happens to stupid bitches like me who do stupid shit like gettin’ shitfaced and lettin’ a man fuck her who’s drownin’ his sorrows because he’s in love with a woman he cannot have.”

Merry’s expression changed again, but I was too far gone to take note.

“But my son never knows his mother’s a stupid bitch like that. And he sure as fuck doesn’t find out that shit from some asshole who gets his rocks off jackin’ her around.”

His entire long, lean body jolted like he’d been struck, but I turned on my bare foot and stomped out of the room, happy to see that I had to open the door in order to do it, which meant Ethan wouldn’t have heard any of that.

I took a deep breath and another shallower one on my way so I at least had some of my shit together by the time I cleared the hall and came into my living room.

Ethan had his jacket on, his backpack on his shoulder, and when he saw me, he grinned.

“He told you, right?” he asked the minute he could get the words out. “Merry told you that Marty got ’im? Tackled him behind the freakin’ Dairy Queen.”

“Yeah, kid, he told me,” I confirmed.

“Marty’s so cool!” Ethan declared, saying words about Officer Marty Fink that only kids in that town eleven years old or younger would utter. “And get this, you know that waffle iron you bought at that garage sale that we used once and it conked out?” Before I could confirm that I knew the waffle iron he was referring to, he kept talking. “Merry opened it up, messed with some wires, and now it works.”