She stares down at her lap. “I mean, he went there all the time.”

I force my attention back to the road. Getting in a wreck is the last thing we need right now.

“Make a left just up ahead. Before the exit.”

I flick on my blinker and do as she says. Cars pass by, their lights glaring off the wet windshield. The sun has fully fallen now, leaving us with nothing but rain and darkness.

“His dad was an alcoholic?” I ask quietly.

“Yeah.”

“How long?”

I see her shrug in my periphery. “Always. Or at least, since around the time Waylon was born. From what I’ve gathered, he did sober up for a couple years when Waylon was still really young. After Reggie went back on the road for work. He and Eva—Izzy’s mom, she was Waylon’s mom’s best friend—they pretty much raised Waylon his first year. Uncle Seamus wanted nothing to do with him.”

I suck in my cheek. “He was just a baby. How could he just turn away from his own flesh and blood like that?”

It’s a long moment before she speaks again. “It would have been better had he just abandoned him.”

The road before me blurs.

“You know his mom died giving birth to him, right?”

Throat tight, I nod.

“Did you know it was her choice?”

My brow pulls in and I cut her a questioning look.

She pushes back some of her damp hair. “There was some kind of complication. I don’t know what exactly, but they discovered it, maybe, halfway through her pregnancy.” She pauses. My breathing shallows as what she’s saying registers. “They urged her to terminate. Said she’d be lucky to even carry to term. And surviving the strain of the birth...”

In my periphery, I catch her shake her head.

“It was her or him?” I find myself whispering. “Waylon or...”

“Her own life, yeah.”

I lift a hand off the wheel, running it under my nose. “And she chose him.”

She sucks in a deep breath, then releases it. “She chose him.”

I bite out a quiet curse. “I take it his dad wasn’t too happy with her decision.”

A throat clears, then, “No.

“He was just a baby.” I find myself repeating. My voice breaks.

Ivy doesn’t say anything to that. There’s nothing to say.

“Turn left up here,” she says eventually. “Then it’s about another mile. It will be on your right, once the trees clear.”

I clear my throat and follow her instructions, forcing myself to focus on the road ahead. Anything but what she just revealed.

Later. I can figure out what this all means later.

I can rage. Cry. Scream. Break something...

Later.

“Why would he go here?” I find myself whispering.

She doesn’t answer right away. Then, “I don’t know—”

Behind me, a pair of headlights appear on the horizon.