But he shrugged, like it didn’t matter.

“Did your dad teach you to play?”

His shoulders tensed, but that faraway look on his face remained. “No,” he muttered. “The only thing that asshole is good at is getting drunk and passing out. It was my mom.”

His mom? I hadn’t seen a woman around his place. I’d never given it any thought either. But even though he wasn’t letting on with his emotions in regards to her, I had a sad feeling in my heart. I could feel the melancholy coming off of him. It was so different from how upbeat he was just moments ago.

“Did she teach you these songs?” I gently asked, treading softly.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. ‘Thank You’ was the last one she ever sang to me. Then she died.”

“How’d she die?”

He paused a beat. “She was sick.” He said in an odd strained voice, and I thought at the time it was because it was difficult to talk about.

“Did she sing as nice as you?”

His brows came together in thought, and then he swallowed a lump in his throat. “She sang like an angel.”

“I wish I’d heard her.”

When he didn’t respond, I told him quietly, “My mother died too. I was five.”

He was surprised by this. He looked at me with wide curious eyes. “How did she die?”

“Car crash minutes after she dropped me off at school. It was a rainy day and her windshield wipers weren’t working. She ran a red light and got hit by a truck.”

I had rehearsed all that after years of being told what had happened, but I don’t even remember all that much about it. It’s a blur in my memories, vague little scenes in my head, voices telling me delicately of what had become of her. I remember what I felt more than anything. I know I was sad. I cried a lot when I asked for her and people kept telling me she was gone. Gone where, though? I couldn’t understand. But my life was such a whirlwind after her death, I don’t think I ever stopped to grasp what had truly happened. I was swiftly placed into Uncle Russell’s care and that was the end of that.

“Sorry to hear that,” Carter said gently.

Without thinking, I rested a hand on his warm arm, consoling him through a soft gesture. It happened on its own. I’d never touched another kid before, but this felt right.

“Sorry about your mother, too,” I replied.

He looked down at my hand, his lips parting just slightly. For a while, there was only silence and it wasn’t at all awkward. I was surprised by my ease. I thought my nerves would have suffocated me by now, but I was too lost in Carter to think about that right now. Something told me he wanted me here. He wanted me to listen from up close because he was ready to bring somebody into that side of him.

“Sing another song,” I whispered to him, motioning to his guitar. “I want to hear you sing again.”

“For how long?” he asked, focusing back on his instrument.

“For however long you want.”

If it were really up to me, I’d have said forever.

Four

He took me back home after that. The way back was silent again, but this time we were both lost in our own thoughts. When we got to my trailer, I waved goodbye to him as we parted ways. I sat down on the porch, unable to resist watching him. He glanced at me several times before he disappeared inside his trailer, leaving a mess of teenage hormones (well, almost) behind. I mulled over the events, creepily humming random tunes that popped into my head, all while smiling like a goofy idiot to myself. All I kept hearing in my mind was the soulful sound of his voice. It gave me chills.

One wouldn’t have to look at him to like his voice. It had nothing to do with attraction. Truly, for a thirteen year old, he was unusually gifted.

And remember that, Leah. My mind reiterated over and over again. He’s thirteen, popular, and gorgeous as hell. You’re twelve, hated by everyone, and awkward as hell. You stand no chance.

What a bittersweet mess life was, filled with boundaries and never ending disappointments. The blaringly obvious truth was punching me in the face. Carter was never going to want me, and yet I was Mohamed Ali, rounding my shoulders, raising my fists up to fight and mentally hardening myself through every punch reality had in store.

I wondered about his mother, and what she meant to him. I was afraid to ask him about her, only because of the sad look in his eyes. Had she died around the time he moved next door to me? It killed me to think he was bottling up his sadness. If I could just get close enough to him to let me in…

Sometime later the front door behind me opened, and a broad figure burst out, zipping up his pants and running both hands over his long black hair. I redirected my gaze and kept it firmly planted to the ground as the stranger walked past me, slowing down for a moment to look down at me.

“She’s off limits,” Uncle Russell suddenly said from behind me. “Only twelve.”

I could still feel the man’s heavy gaze on me while he backed away. I heard the sounds of keys jingling, and when he was a safe distance away, I looked up at him and watched him unlock his car door. Just another seedy looking man. Nothing new.

Right before he climbed in, his face turned once more in my direction. It was only a brief second, but I felt uncomfortable by it. Then he disappeared inside his car and took off.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d grown tired of the attention men had given me whenever they came and went. Sometimes they were regulars, but I’d rather that than strangers like the one that’d just gone. At least with the regulars I knew they’d respect the off-limits reminder Uncle Russell had given them. Strangers, on the other hand, were entirely unpredictable.

“What are we in the mood for tonight, darling?” Uncle Russell asked as he stepped out and took a seat next to me.

He was a large man, not in a muscular way whatsoever. Just big and meaty, mostly due to genetics than anything else. Glancing at his gut, I hoped I wouldn’t turn into him. He was my mother’s brother, and if you looked at Russell hard enough, you’d see the similarities between us. Like the light coloured hair and hazel eyes, or the thin red lips on a heart shaped face. Other than that, we were nothing alike, both physically and mentally.

“Fish and chips,” I suggested with a shrug. I wasn’t all that hungry. My stomach was still swirling with butterflies after being so near to Carter.

Uncle Russell smiled down at me, and it looked friendly and kind, but I knew better than to trust him. I’d seen how he treated people. He was a hard man, even to Aunt Cheryl. Sometimes he frightened me when they argued. He wasn’t physical with her. But I quickly learned mental abuse was equivalent to words with pointy daggers at the end.