My dad slapped me on his birthday. “what kind of w…

small. “My father is Gerald Owens.” Ryan’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “No, he’s not.” He pulled into a motel parking lot. Motel 6, Springfield. The irony. Same town, but miles from the Owens house. They got me a room. Room 13. Separate from theirs. Ryan handed me the key. Lock the door. You’re safe. I’m next door. If you need anything, continue reading …