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“Did he?” She felt the color drain from her face, and her heartbeat thudded through her brain. “I suppose you met his son,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted when deep inside she ached.
“Dave?” His smile faded, and something dark and dangerous skated through his gaze as he glanced in her direction.
“Y-yes. Dave.”
“I knew him,” he admitted, his voice suddenly flat. Was it her imagination, or did he suddenly grip the steering wheel more tightly? “Helluva guy.”
“Is he?” she asked, her own question sounding far away when she thought of the one boy she had loved, the one to whom she’d eagerly given her virginity, the father of her only son.
“Was,” Luke said, flipping on his turn signal and wheeling into the gravel lot beside the high school.
Her heart turned to ice at the implication. Luke rubbed his chin as he pulled into a parking spot. He cut the engine and looked at her with troubled blue eyes.
“I thought the news would have gotten back here by now.” She felt a chill as cold as Alaska in January and braced herself for words she’d never expected to hear.
“Dave Sorenson died six months ago.”
CHAPTER THREE
Katie’s world tilted, the underpinnings giving way. All that she’d held true for years shattered, bursting through her brain in painful, heart-slicing shards. No! It couldn’t be. Dave Sorenson was alive.
But the look Luke Gates sent her convinced her that he was telling the truth, that this wasn’t some sort of cruel, hateful joke.
Josh’s father was dead.
“Dear God,” she whispered, her throat raw, the insides of her nose and throat burning with sudden, grief-riddled tears. “I—I…I didn’t know.” She cleared her throat and looked away, blinking rapidly against the wash of tears. Her throat was so thick she couldn’t swallow; her eyes ached. For years she’d considered trying to find Dave Sorenson and telling him the painful but glorious truth that they had a son—a wonderful, lighthearted boy she’d named Joshua Lee—but she never had. She’d always thought—assumed—that there would be time, that the perfect moment would somehow appear for confiding to Josh the fact that his father was a man whose circumstances had forced him to move to Texas; a man who, at the time of Josh’s conception, had been little more than a boy himself; a man who, at that tender age, couldn’t have been expected to settle down. Then she’d thought, in this silly fantasy, that she’d eventually track down Dave and give him the news. She’d told herself he would be mature and would understand, and that Josh would somehow connect with his father. But…if Luke was telling the truth, it was too late. Josh would never know his father.
“Katie?” Luke’s voice startled her.
“It…it can’t be.” She glanced at him and saw a storm of emotions she didn’t understand in his expression. “He was so young—not much older than me.” She drew in a long, disbelieving breath.
“I know.” His face showed genuine concern. “Are you okay?”
“Yes…fine…” But
it was a lie.
“You’re sure?” Obviously he wasn’t convinced.
“No. I mean, yes.” She blinked rapidly, refusing to break down altogether. Inside, she was numb. Shaking. Grieving painfully. But she couldn’t let Luke Gates or anyone else know how devastated she felt. This was too deep. Too personal. Dabbing at an escaping tear with the tip of her finger, she stared out the window. “I, uh, knew Dave…. He was in the twins’—my half brothers’—class in high school, and he hung around the house sometimes. I liked him, and I didn’t know that…that he’d…” She swallowed hard, then let out a sigh that started somewhere deep in her heart. “You shocked me, I guess,” she admitted, trying desperately to recover a bit when her entire world seemed shaken, rocked to its very core. Forcing an empty, faltering smile, she asked, “What…what happened?” Then, as she looked through the windshield, she said, “Oh, no.”
Focusing for the first time on her son’s soccer team, a ragtag group of kids in shorts and T-shirts who were coming off the dusty field, she saw trouble. The boys’ faces were red, perspiration darkened their hair and grass stains smeared their jerseys. Part of the team was still kicking a ball around, a few others were gathering up their bags and water bottles, but what held her attention was the group huddled around the coach who was helping a sweaty kid who bit his lip as he limped toward the parking lot.
Josh.
Her already-battered heart sank even further.
Luke reached for the door, but Katie was ahead of him, out of the pickup like a shot. “Josh?” she called, waving her arms madly. “Over here!” His face was so red she could barely make out his freckles, and every time he started to put some weight on his right foot, he winced, then bit his lower lip. He had one arm slung around his coach’s shoulder, and he hobbled slowly. Though tears swam in his eyes, his chin was jutted in determination as he made an effort not to cry.
“What happened?” Katie asked when she reached him. Luke had gotten out of the truck and was leaning on a fender.
“Little accident,” the coach explained. “Josh and Tom were fighting for the ball, and Tom tackled him. Josh went down and twisted his ankle.”
“Let me see—” She bent over and eyed the injured foot. His shin guards had been stripped off, but the swelling was visible through his sock. She clucked her tongue, and when she tried to touch his leg, Josh sucked in a whistling, pained breath.
“Heck of a way to start the season,” the coach, a man by the name of Gary Miller, said.
“I can still play,” Josh protested.
