His low growl cuts me off. “You waited in the goddamn bathroom while your mom fucked a John?” He looks at me like he’s waiting for an answer, even though one isn’t necessary. Looking away, he rakes his fingers through his hair. “Jesus Christ.” “I had headphones.” I defend my mother. I’ve been at the mercy of men—wealthy men, powerful men, cruel men—for survival, so in many ways, I understand it. She worked hard to get us on our feet. Into what she thought was a safe home. “I watched movies on the iPad and kept quiet. I didn’t really understand what she was doing. Not until later.”
