I nod, and Leighton waves at her. “I’m sure we will. Have a great night.” She tugs me, and my feet practically drag along the pavement. “You look pale. Are you feeling sick?”
“That was Foster’s mom.”
She stops and turns to look over her shoulder. “Well, that’s probably not a good thing.”
Suddenly, it hits me. The whole sex lessons thing isn’t the problem. It’s the fact that I’ve been inching closer to Foster for weeks… and his mom just reminded me there are parts of him I’ll never get to touch.
Chapter
Forty
Foster
* * *
I walk out of the stadium after the press interview, leaving everyone behind. I told Callie we’d have lesson number two tomorrow, but we won the game today, so I’m hoping I can convince her to have a lesson right now. I can already feel the crawling sensation working its way up my spine, and if I don’t shove all my thoughts away, my temper will get the best of me, and I’ll do something I regret.
“Foster,” Decker calls from behind me, but I keep walking. I already know what he’s going to ask me. “Come on, man. Just hear me out.”
I stop right before I leave the clubhouse when really, I should keep walking. Nothing good is going to come from this conversation.
I turn around.
Decker doesn’t even have his shirt on. “She heard the news.”
I’m surprised he’s getting right into it.
“Good for her.” I turn around again to leave.
“She’s the grandma.”
I whip back around. “And you’re going to welcome Dad as a grandpa to your kid someday? Have him over for birthdays and holidays? Hell, let him babysit?”
He winces.
Exactly. How the hell does he think this feels to me?
I was completely blindsided to get on that mound and look at the stands to search for Callie, only to see her eyes staring back at me.
“That’s different, and you know it.”
I pull my bag farther up on my shoulder because I need to get the hell out of here.
Decker steps closer. “She wants to talk. Coffee? A drink? She’ll take whatever.”
My teeth hurt from clenching my jaw so hard. “She had a lot of years to talk. She chose not to.”
“You know Dad. He didn’t make?—”
“That’s bullshit.” I point at him. “And you know it. That’s what’s most fucked up to me—you know exactly what she did, but you continue to stick up for her. Asking me for a few minutes because what? She wants to look like some fawning grandma? Post some pictures on Facebook about her other son and his kid? Give me a fucking break.”
He doesn’t say anything in return. Because what can he say? Sorry Mommy chose me? That’s only going to pour salt in wounds that will never heal.
For a moment, my brother’s face looks tired… and sad. “I just… the baby changes things, no?”
I balk. “Why would the baby change anything? I should invite her to do the same thing to my kid that she did to me? Not on your life. She’ll never have anything to do with my child. You can run back and tell her that.”
“I get it. I understand. There’s a lot of shit there, but there are things you need to hear.”
