The next morning, I drove to my mother's house.
It was a small house, in a small town, in a part of the state that had never recovered from the factories closing. I'd offered to buy her something better. She'd refused. She'd said she was happy where she was.
Carter was there. That's the first thing I noticed. His car in the driveway, the same car I'd co-signed the loan for five years ago. I parked on the street, got out, and stood on the sidewalk for a moment, looking at the house.
Then I walked up the steps and knocked.
Mom answered. She looked tired. Older than the last time I'd seen her, though it had only been a month.
"Ryan." She stepped back. "Come in."
The house smelled like coffee. Carter was in the kitchen, sitting at the table, a mug in his hands. He didn't stand when I cam
