I could rack my brain a million times over and still fail to pinpoint the moment he crashed into my life.

I could only remember the night he was taken away.

Coincidentally, that also happened to be the same night that I lost everything.

Prologue

Eight years ago

Molly

It was a little after dark. Daddy was away on business, and Mama was having one of her bad days and hadn't left the bed all day, which meant that I had ended up putting my baby brother Bobby down for the night.

I sat on the sidewalk outside of my house, studying the light dusting of blonde hairs on my legs that were illuminated by the street lamp, all the while listening intently to the vicious screaming coming from the house across the street.

It won't be long, I thought to myself, as I released a heavy sigh and stretched my legs out in front of me. It never was.

Right on cue, the front door across the street flew open and the voices that had been muffled before were loud and clear now.

"That's right, you little bastard. Keep on walking."

"Wren, please! He's just a child –"

"And don’t come back until you've found some manners!"

"Wren!"

"Better still, don’t come back at all."

"Don’t beg that piece of shit for me, Mama. I don’t want a damn thing from him!"

"Did you hear that? Did you hear how that little bastard just spoke to me? I want him out of this goddamn house, Trish…"

Glued to the spot, I watched as a glowering boy came thundering down the garden path with a backpack slung over his shoulder.

Hair so dark it was almost black in color stood up in forty different directions, matching the disheveled look about him.

"Come on, Molls," he called out, not stopping when he rounded the white picket fence that surrounded his parents' beautiful home, and took off in the direction of the town. "Let's bounce."

He didn’t even look to see if I was there because he knew I would be.

I was always there when he needed me.

Like the dutiful best friend that I was, I quickly climbed to my feet, shouldered my own backpack, and raced after him.

Struggling to keep up with his long strides, I puffed out a breath. "Can you slow down?" Panting, I snagged the back of his ripped t-shirt and tugged. "My legs ain't as long as yours, D."

Not bothering to look at me, Daryl reached for my hand. Still moving like a speeding bullet, he held my hand in his and tugged me along. I could feel the tremors rolling through his tall frame and I knew that he was close to tears– something he hated doing.

"I hate him, Molls," he finally broke the tension by hissing. "I hate him so fucking bad."

"Me too," I whispered, jogging alongside him to keep up.

"The minute I'm old enough, I'm getting out of this shithole town," he vehemently vowed, tightening his hold on my hand. "And I'm never coming back."