Joseph's POV
Mom barely shut the front door before I swung my hoodie over my shoulder.
“You better not slow me down,” I muttered, not even giving Trish the courtesy of eye contact. I wasn’t in the mood for her dragging feet or her quiet-loud attitude.
“I didn’t ask to go with you,” she fired back.
“Yeah, but Mom did. And when she talks, you obey.”
She raised her voice, too loud for the
morning.
“Honestly, going to the market with you is even worse than living with you.”
I felt that one hit, sharp as a stray nail on the road.
“Oh yeah? Fine. Go to hell,” I snapped, heat rising in my voice before I could clamp it down.
The sun was brutal that afternoon, melting over the tar like it wanted to blind anyone dumb enough to walk outside. We hit the long stretch toward Central City Mark
