Vitale.

I snagged my phone and laid out the papers one by one. Carefully, I took pictures of each one, trying to keep them in the proper order. Front and back, I recorded every bit of information that I could.

“Tex?”

My heart raced as my mother called me. “Coming!” Shit, not enough time.

I quickly gathered everything up and stuffed some files into the back of my jeans, tugging my shirt over them. I shut the drawer and locked the door to the office. When I emerged to the main floor, my mom was frowning.

“What are you doing down there? You know how your father gets about the basement.”

“Yeah, I was looking for some of my old stuff.”

She looked me up and down. “Yeah, well, there’s still a ton down there. Are you going to go through it anytime soon?”

“Soon,” I promised as I followed her back into the kitchen. “I need to get going, Mom.”

“Are you sure? Just stay for a little while.”

“I really need to get to work.”

She sighed. “You never stick around. I wish you wouldn’t take off so quickly.”

I wish you would protect me from him more. Or at least stand up for me. The words set heavy on my tongue, but I couldn’t bring myself to say them. She was a good mother, and I knew she’d done the best she could, but when it came to my father she cowered. And part of me hated her for it.

“Don’t forget your food,” she said. She wrapped up the sandwich and then opened the fridge. “I made some chicken the other day too. And veggies. Here, take all of these.”

I let her load my arms up with containers, effectively building a wall between my hurt and her shame. If all we focused on was food, the weather, the job, and every other trivial matter in between, then we would never have to talk about the chasm of pain that grew between us and threatened to swallow us whole.

* * *

“You sure you don’t want to come out tonight?” Rourke asked.

I stared through my windshield at the place in front of me. How long had I been waiting? There was a slight cramp in my legs, and my stomach growled. I reached for the sandwich my mom had made and took a huge bite out of it.

“Nah,” I mumbled. “I want to sit at home, relax, and do nothing.”

“Fine,” Rourke said. “Make sure you stay out of trouble.”

“When do you ever know me to be in trouble?”

Rourke grunted, reminding me of the disappointed sounds my father made at me, and my stomach clenched. Suddenly, my appetite was gone. I stuffed the sandwich back into its container and slammed the lid closed.

“Alright, well, don’t be late for work tomorrow,” he said.

“I won’t.”

We hung up, and I went back to staring at Enzo’s place. He lived in an apartment building that was a lot more lowkey than I expected. I’d thankfully found the place through my father’s files; surprisingly, there was an address for all of them. He’d done a ton of work before packing it in, and I was glad I’d listened to my impulses and sought the files out.