Fumbled (Playbook #2)(19)

I try to tell myself that something isn’t right, that something else is going on, but it doesn’t work. I feel the burning behind my eyes start to build, which only makes me angrier.

Do not cry. Do not cry. I hold eye contact with him until the tears evaporate, no doubt from the heat of the rage boiling beneath my skin.

“Screw you, TK. I didn’t even want to tell you about Ace. I was giving you the benefit of the doubt of being young and dumb. And even though it was fucked up, you deserve to know you have a son almost as much as he deserves to have a dad.” He opens his mouth to say something, but I keep going. “But let me be clear: In no way will you be allowed around my son like this. He is pure and he is loved and he is untouched by bullshit. We’re fine without you. If you don’t want him, it’s your loss.”

“I can’t believe you’re keeping this shit up right now.” He sits back down, raking his fingers through his hair. “My mom told me not to meet up with you.”

My jaw falls to the floor. Lydia Moore. The bane of my existence.

“Yeah, I lied when I told you she liked you,” TK says, reading me all the way wrong.

“Like I give a single shit if your awful mother likes me.” I grab my purse from beside me and throw it over my head. “But it’s good to know you’re finally big enough to make a decision on your own.”

“You’re so full of shit right now, I can’t even believe it. Find some other sucker to pin your kid on.” The asshole laughs.

I scoot out of the booth and stand next to TK, ignoring the crowd around us. Even though I’m standing and he’s sitting, we’re still eye level. I block him into his seat and keep my voice low and even. No way is he getting me to act out in public. “Screw you, TK. You didn’t want him. I went to your house after you were too chickenshit to even respond to the text I sent you saying I was pregnant. I went to your house. I called you, pregnant and heartbroken, and you had some other girl answering your phone. I was sixteen. Sixteen, scared, and alone at a clinic with your mom’s money.” I don’t let go of the eye contact. He can choose not to believe me if he wants, but he’s going to have to work hard to convince himself I’m lying. “You wanted to know why I moved? It’s because my parents kicked me out when I told them I was pregnant. You went off to college, living your fairy tale, not even thinking about me or even trying to find out if you had a kid. Now you act like I’m the one in the wrong? This is why I ran when I saw you. I didn’t want to see you. I didn’t want to tell you.”

“What are you even talking about right now?” He shuts his eyes and brings his fingers to his temples, pushing on his pressure points like his head is the one about to explode.

I ignore his question and point a finger in his face, just wanting to say what I need to say so I can get the hell out of here. “You’re going to think on this and one day you’ll realize what a massive asshole you’re being. But before you come apologizing, think really hard. If you want to be a dad, I won’t stop you. But you come to fucking stay.” I wait for him to acknowledge anything I’ve said, and when he doesn’t, I prompt him, “Got me, Moore?”

“I . . .” He lifts his palms and tilts his head to the side. Maybe he had more to drink than I realized. “What?”

I don’t respond. I turn on my heel and walk straight to the door. I hit Broadway with my shoulders back and my head held high and walk until I can’t see Punch Bowl Social anymore. There’s a group of teenage boys messing around next to a bus bench, and the mom in me wants to ask them about curfew, but the woman who just had her heart stomped on ignores them. I sit down on the bench and dig out my phone, hoping there’s an Uber nearby.

The bus comes before Sam, my Uber driver, does. And sitting on the bus bench, again. After being rejected by TK, again. I let the tears I’ve been holding in for ten years fall. For me. For my sweet boy. For the family I’ve always wanted but will never have.

On a cold metal bench on Broadway, I give up all hope.





Eight




By the time Sam drops me off at my well-lit bungalow, I’ve realized one thing.

TK’s rejection means nothing.

I’ve been doing this alone and I still will. I don’t need his support or money or love. I don’t need shit. Ace is a fantastic kid and I did that. Not TK. Not his mom or my parents. Me. And when he comes home in a few hours, he’ll still have me.

And one day, when Ace is old enough and he asks about his dad, I’ll be able to tell him I told TK. My conscience is clear. TK gets to live with this, not me.

Not one thing changed.

So screw TK and the Mustang he rode in on.

I kick off my flats and grab my phone before dropping my purse on the floor. I drag my ass to my room and collapse on my bed, still in my clothes. This is why I don’t cry, this is why I don’t feel. I feel like I’ve run a marathon, it’s freaking exhausting.

I unlock my phone and pull up the one contact I know will answer my call no matter the hour.

“Chello.” Sadie yawns into the phone after the third ring.

“I told him.” I waste no time with preamble, there’s no point.

“No shit?” she says, sounding much more awake. Apparently life drama is the gossip equivalent to caffeine for Sadie. “How’d it go?”