prologue

Maddox

I RAN INTO the house, skidded to a stop in the kitchen, and stared in horror at the boxes.

My father turned, glaring at me. “Pack your stuff. We’re leaving.”

“No!” The word was out before I could stop it.

Pain exploded in my cheek from his backhand. He knew how to hit to cause the most agony. After all these years, he was an expert at it.

“You have half an hour. Anything that isn’t packed, we’re leaving behind.”

My eyes smarted from holding in the tears. I grabbed two boxes, trying not to flinch at the sight of them. Stained, partially torn boxes that, no doubt, my father had grabbed from a dumpster or behind a store.

In my room, I glanced around, knowing he was serious. Anything I didn’t have ready I had to leave behind. Every time we moved, it was the same. Once again, he would pull me from the routine I had fought to establish. The thing I needed to cope. Now I would have to face a new place, new school, new people.

None of which I would stay at long enough to become attached to. He made sure of that.

I hurried to pack my things, being careful. I didn’t have much in the way of clothes or possessions, so I tried desperately to take care of the few things I had. My father found it amusing to destroy anything that might mean something to me, so I had learned never to let him see what I liked. I acted nonchalant even when I found him rifling through my things. I knew he was looking for money or anything of value to sell. However, I’d learned to hide anything I really loved. Loose floorboards, wall vents with covers he would never think to check in, became my friends.

I listened at my door, but he was down the hall in his room, so I hurried and pushed aside my mattress to get to the loose floorboards hidden underneath. Briefly, I wondered if the next place would even have the luxury of a mattress on the floor to sleep on at night. I grabbed the small, hidden shoebox and shoved the bed back into place. Using some frayed jeans and T-shirts, I wrapped the box and placed it into the old cardboard box, rushing to add the rest of my meager wardrobe on top. I added my few books and folded the torn lid into place. Into the second box, I put my worn shoes and the one item that went from place to place with me.

An old lamp, chipped and worthless. It meant nothing to anyone except me. But what it represented was everything. My mother used to read to me with the lamp sitting on the table by her elbow. Her voice was always soft as she spoke the words on the page and her touch gentle as she stroked my head.

I shut my eyes and stuffed my thin pillow around the lamp to keep it safe.

It was one of the few things I had left of hers. He had no idea of its existence or the memories it held for me.

Her gentle, loving voice, sweet words, and a time when I had been happy. Dim recollections of a long dead childhood.

That was all I had of my mother. Reminders of being loved.

I fought to keep them alive in my head.

No matter how he tried to beat them out of me.

He appeared in my doorway.

“There’s room for one box. Move your ass.”

“But—”

He shoved me aside, my shoulder burning with pain when it met the edge of the doorframe.

I didn’t make a sound.

He reached into the box, tossing my shoes carelessly. “Carry these.” Pushing the pillow aside, he lifted the lamp, a frown creasing his face. All that remained was the decorated base, the lampshade long ago broken, bent, and discarded. The truck with the loader lifted high was dull, the streetlight it sat beside pieced together with glue. The edges of the truck were worn from where my fingers had rubbed, wanting to play with it when I was a child. I could hear my mother’s patient voice talking to me.

“No, Maddy, just to look at, baby boy. One day, you can have a real one.”

A glimmer of recognition flitted over my father’s angry face. “What the fuck? Where did you get this?”

I shrugged and tried to bluff. “It’s a stupid lamp. I need something to use when I read. It was in one of the houses, and I took it.”

He wavered, his saturated memory unclear. “Oh yeah? Well, leave it behind. We ain’t got room.”

“No! Please!” I couldn’t help but beg.

Satisfaction glimmered in his dark eyes, confirming his thoughts. “Well then, let’s make it fit.”

Frozen, I watched as he lifted the lamp, cracking it against the window frame. It broke, the truck separating from the stand, the streetlamp shattering as it all fell to the mattress on the floor.

“There,” he sneered. “Fit it in or leave it. You have five minutes.”

With shaky hands, I lifted the truck and tucked it into the corner of the one box he allowed me to bring. The rest of the lamp was garbage, damaged beyond repair, so I left it behind. I would have to safeguard the last piece and keep it well hidden.

Tears dripped on the box as I flipped closed the lid.

I lifted my box, and placed my shoes on top, leaving the pillow.

I wiped my face roughly. I would never allow him to see my tears. I would never give him that satisfaction again.

I didn’t look back as I left another piece of my life behind.

There was no point.