“You can go outside whenever you need to,” I tell Clara when she draws the collar of her tank top over her nose.

“I’m fine,” she assures me. “It just smells in here… like a dead animal or something.”

I take a whiff of the air then wince. She’s right. It does smell like something died in here. Adrenaline soars through my body when I realize what that could mean—it might not be a dead animal, but my mother’s body rotting away.

“Wait here,” I say then hurry through the house to track where the smell is coming from. Memories haunt me around every corner. So much happened in this place, so much bad stuff. Fights. Yelling. Drug use. Abuse.

By the time I reach the top of the stairway, I’m on the verge of throwing up. Not just from the smell, but because I’m remembering all the reasons I left.

I hate that I’m here again.

I check my mother’s room, which has been cleared out; the bed and dresser are gone along with her clothes and all of her belongings. I peek into the room that used to be Avery’s. All that’s in there is a lumpy mattress on the floor and beer bottles. I stick my head into the bathroom and dry heave. The toilet has overflowed onto the floor, and the stench is enough to make my eyes water. I quickly shut the door. The dead animal smell has to be coming from inside there.

Still, I look inside the last room to be sure. My hands quiver as I grip the doorknob and enter my old bedroom. It looks exactly the same as I left it. Even the dresser is still tipped over from when my mother’s then husband tried to throw it at me.

I swallow hard as the memory of that day rushes over me. Lester swung his fist and I swung back. Blood painted our knuckles. He kept shouting for me to respect him, that I had to because he was my father. He wasn’t my real father, though. He was my fifth stepfather and acted like he was the man of the house, even though he was a blip on a long list of men my mother let into her home. In his words, he was the boss and made the rules, even if the rules he set were fucked up and warped. What really sucked is that I didn’t—and still don’t even know who my real father is. Even my mother doesn’t. Men like Lester are all I’ve ever known when it comes to fathers.

“Are you okay?” Clara unexpectedly moves up behind me and gently places a hand on my shoulder.

I’m so lost in the memory I jolt from her touch. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She pulls away as I face her. “I’m just thinking about stuff.”

“About your mom?” she asks.

I shake my head. “About what happened the last time I was here.”

“Oh, the fight?”

I free a shaky breath. “It happened in here.”

When I nod my head at the room behind me, she scans the messy area, the holes in the walls, the cracks in the ceiling, the broken window. “Was this your bedroom?” she asks.

I run my thumb along the ring on my finger, thinking about the time my mother gave it to me, the one happy moment I ever had in this place. “It was.”

Sorrow fills her expression. “Jax, I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” I ask. She has nothing to be sorry about. She came with me on this trip, is making being in this house bearable.

“That you had to live here.” She threads our fingers together. “I didn’t realize… that it was this bad for you.”

“I tried to warn you. This is why I asked you not to judge me.” Please, please, don’t let her judge me.

“I know you did, but this,” she glances around the room again, noting the holes in the walls, “is more than I’m capable of imagining.”

“That’s a good thing.” I sketch my fingers along her jawline and think about kissing her, knowing if I did, I’d probably feel a little better. She’s even holding my hand, so I’m betting I could get away with stealing a kiss. But it seems wrong to do something I love so much when we’re standing in the midst of a crackhouse. “We should go get checked into a motel, get something to eat, then start asking around to see if anyone’s seen her.” I start for the stairway, pulling her with me. “We need to move fast since we only have three days here before we have to head back.”

She nods in agreement. “Do you have an idea of where to start? I mean, who to ask. Or are you just going to wing it?”

“I have a few ideas of where to start,” I reply as we descend the stairs, the steps creaking under our weight. “But I’m going to warn you in advance that pretty much every place we go is going to be as bad as here. In fact, you might want to stay in the motel room or hang around town.”

She hesitates, as if she’s actually considering doing it. Part of me of is glad that she is. Somehow I’d forgotten how bad this place is. But then she straightens her stance.

“No, I’m going with you. You shouldn’t go through this alone.”

“Are you sure?” I give a pressing glance at the drug paraphernalia on the floor. “I won’t be upset if you don’t want to. In fact, I’d kind of prefer if you didn’t.”

“Jax, you asked me to come so you wouldn’t have to be alone in this, right?” she asks, and I unwillingly nod. “Okay, then. I’m going with you.”

“All right, but only if you promise me one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“If at any point things start to get dangerous, you bail. I don’t want anything happening to you.”