“Mom’s gone,” said the voice on the other side. “Went down for cigarettes. Come on, let me in.”
I opened the door.
Sam stood there, staring back, concern etched on his face. At 15, he looked older than his age. He’d grown early, to almost six feet, but he hadn’t filled out yet, and he was awkward and gangly. With black hair and brown eyes, his coloring was similar to mine. We definitely looked related. I could see the concern on his face. He loved me more than anything.
I let him in, quickly closing the door behind him.
“Sorry,” I said. “I just can’t deal with her tonight.”
“What happened with you two?”
“The usual. She was on me the second I walked in.”
“All she does is scream and yell at me,” I added. “I think she hates me. No—I am sure of it. Sometimes I think that she wishes she
