“Her knees buckled when his pronouncement penetrated her stunned brain.Joint custody.Over her dead body.Every instinct told her to take Tony and disappear, run to the farthest corner of the world.She heard the familiar sound of her son skidding to a stop, his sneakers squeaking on the uncarpeted floor.“Mom?”A miniature of his father, Tony braced the doorframe. Each day he grew more and more like Rolan, in looks and in personality. She raked his features, taking in the wobbling lower lip, reading... the unvoiced question in his dilated pupils. He knew. He’d overheard.“He’s my dad, isn’t he?”“Yes.”“I have a dad,” he said and clenched fingers into tight fists. He gave her the exact same lip-curled-at-one-corner cutting glance Rolan shot her not moments ago.“You lied to me.”The words sliced her heart apart and she dug fingers under her rib cage, the pain a physical one, stabbing at her diaphragm. Sarita didn’t even know when her son slipped out of the room, too caught up in misery to do anything but wallow in self-pity.For years it had been just the two of them united against the cruel small-town mindset that favored the country club members, those tennis playing blondes with their perfect Kellogg’s families and husbands who tried to cop a feel at each high-falutin’ shindig she waitressed.She’d had to drop out of high school a scant month before the year ended and long after the NFL drafted Rolan.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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