"Nope," I deadpanned. "Healthy as a horse."

"Then why aren't you at school or practice?" Her tone was harder now and laced with concern. "You know Wren won't be happy if he finds out you've been skipping class –"

"Like I give a damn what Wren thinks," I sneered, jerking off my bed. "Jesus."

"I don't appreciate your tone, Daryl."

"And I don't appreciate your husband's bullshit," I shot back, reaching for my wallet and keys. "Screw it. I'm out of here."

"And where exactly are you going?"

"Away," I called over my shoulder. "That's what everyone in this house wants, right, Mama?"

"Don’t be so dramatic – hey, we're not done talking, young man," she snapped, following after me. "Where were you this weekend?"

Knowing that I could never in a million years give her an honest answer, I continued down the staircase, needing to escape the four walls closing in on me.

"Daryl," she pressed, unwilling to let it go. "Where were you? You didn’t come home and you didn’t call."

"If I recollect correctly, you didn’t call me either, Mama."

"Were you at Rourke's house?" she asked, stepping around me and blocking my exit – aka the front door. "Well?"

"Where else would I have been?" I deadpanned, unwilling to meet her eye.

"I don’t know, Daryl, that's why I'm asking," she sighed wearily. "You never tell me anything about your life anymore."

"Can you blame me?"

"Daryl." A pained sigh escaped her pursed lips. "I'm still your mother."

"Yeah," I muttered under my breath, feeling like a prick. "I know."

"Then please act like it." Taking my hand, she tugged me into the kitchen. "I'm the only mother you'll ever have."

Reluctantly, I let her lead me to the table and push me down on a chair. Our relationship was beyond fractured, but she was still my mother, and brushing her off wasn’t something I had managed to master yet. Wren? Abso-fucking-lutely. But her? The woman that gave me life? Not so much.

"Let's talk," she coaxed, sliding into the seat opposite me. "We never talk anymore."

Because you're sleeping with the enemy.

"What do you want to talk about?" came my flat response.

"Life," Mom answered, resting her elbows on the table and giving me her full attention. It felt weird as hell because if Wren had been home, my face was the very last place her attention would be focused. "What's going on with you? How's football? Is school going okay? Is your heart still set on Alabama State next year? You're happy about giving them a commitment? You're keeping your grades up?"

"You know me, Mama," I replied, knees bopping restlessly under the table. "Same as always. And pretty much yeah to all of your questions."

"And Rourke?" she added, trying to pretend that she knew more about my circle than she did. "Is he still planning on playing college ball, too? Is he planning on Alabama, too?"

"No." I stared blankly at her. "He has no interest in playing football after high school and doesn’t need a scholarship to get out of here." You would know that if you paid even a slither of attention to my life. "Rourke's gonna be an architect."