Then he moved to the fridge, opened it, nabbed a six pack, slammed it, and stormed out.

Carson went to the trash.

It was a third full.

His father was right. It stunk. Carson had no idea what the man threw in there, but whatever it was smelled lethal.

The same thing had happened last week, though. The garbage hadn’t been half full, his dad tossed something in that smelled to high heaven, and unable to bear the stench, Carson took it out.

The minute he came back, he got open-palmed smacked across the face because “We’re not made of fuckin’ money, you piece of shit! I’m not a millionaire who can afford fifty trash bags a week, for fuck’s sake! Wait until it’s goddamned full!”

He couldn’t win for losing.

This didn’t bother Carson. He had a good memory, which sucked, seeing as every one of them wasn’t one he’d want to remember.

He was used to losing.

He took the garbage out to the alley and tossed it in the Dumpster. As he was dropping the lid, he saw his neighbor roll up in his pickup.

The man slid his window down and stopped.

“Hey, Car, how’s it hangin’, bud?” Linus Washington asked.

Then Linus’s eyes narrowed on Carson’s face.

Linus was a big, black guy who’d lived next door to them for the last three years. Good guy, serial dater, but he’d had a steady woman for the last year. Carson liked her. She was pretty, had a smokin’ body, but he liked the way she looked at Linus the best. Like he could do anything. Like if he went to the Pacific Ocean, raised his arms, and spread them wide, the sea would part.

Yeah, that’s what he liked about her best.

Sometime recently, Linus had got on bended knee but Carson only knew that because his dad had told him she’d accepted the ring, then said, “Dumb fuck. Gettin’ his shit tied to a woman. Stupidest thing you can do, boy, gettin’ your shit tied to a woman. Learn that now, save you a world a’ hurt.”

He understood this coming from his dad. Carson’s mom was beautiful. He’d seen pictures. That was the only way his mother was in his life. Stuffed in an envelope full of pictures shoved at the back of his father’s nightstand. Pictures just of her, smiling and looking gorgeous. Pictures of her and his dad, both of them smiling, looking happy.

She left before Carson could even crawl. He had no memories of her. His father never spoke of her, except the constant trash he talked about women that Carson knew was directed at her.

He also knew better than to ask.

And last he knew that she left her baby before he’d even learned to say the word mom.