He steps closer, his jaw clenched. “When you lose everything,” he says, “I’ll be there to remind you of today. Your cars, those stupid jackets, the thousand‑dollar shoes you rub in my face.” His smile is thin. “I’ll take it all.”
“No, you won’t,” I say. “You’re here for something and you haven’t found it.”
He chuckles slowly and then he reaches into the pocket of his hoodie.
My body goes rigid.
He pulls out the pen and lifts it between his fingers, waving it like a prize. “What were you saying?” he smirks. “I love that look on your face. That little crack.”
I swallow hard. “You’re a real son of a bitch.”
He tuts. “You know, I remember the first time I met your mom. I… uh, I can’t even remember how old I was, but I was excited. I knew my mom lived in some apartment, and my dad was mar
