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“I don’t think you need to.”
Tell your boyfriend I don’t do refunds.
God, how did I not figure it out sooner?
“John dropped the custody lawsuit because you paid him off. Right?”
“I did it foryou.”
“No, you didn’t. If you did it for me, you would’ve told me. But you didn’t because you knew I wouldn’t like it. Do you even understand what you did? Youboughtmy son. Like a fucking toy. You gave God knows how much money to someone who’s treated him like shit for his entire life. Yourewardedhim for years of awful behavior.”
“I—” Cass’ throat bobs as he swallows, failing to clear the rasp from his voice. “I didn’t think of it like that.”
“Of course you didn’t,” I snap, anger the only alternative I have to breaking down. “Because you don’tthink. You justdo. You dive into things without a second thought and that’s so good for you, Cass, but not all of us can afford to do that.”
I know I used the wrong words the minute I speak them; I know he’s only going to focus on one—afford. “Is that what this is about?Money?”
I flinch. “You know it’s not.”
Angry now too, Cass advances, eyes dark and angry as his temper flares. “I was trying to help, Sunday. To helpyou. Everything I do is for you. I would give upeverythingfor you.”
Everything, I repeat on an endless loop in my head. He’s given upeverything. “And baseball is everything to you, right? Playing with a team you hate iseverything?”
Realizing his mistake, Cass blanches. “Sunday—”
I shake my head, stumbling back another step. “I never asked for your help. I didn’t ask for any of this.”
It’s his turn to flinch, his turn to spit, “And you think I did? You think I asked to be injured? For the team I have spent half mylifeplaying for to not want me anymore? For a fucking overnight fake family?”
He might as well have physically slapped me with how hard I recoil. “Wow,” I choke on a bitter laugh. “It’s a really good thing you’re leaving then, huh? Get far away from that family you never asked for.”
In the blink of an eye, Cass’ expression shutters. He clears his throat, fingers flexing at his side as he backs up a step. He whispers, “That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
He doesn’t tell me. He doesn’t say anything at all.
In the end, I’m the one who leaves.
And he lets me.
46
SUNDAY
Little fingers proddingmy shoulder jerk me awake.
“Mama.” The whisper coaxing my eyes open, I squint at the shadowy figure leaning over me. “We’re gonna be late.”
I groan as I struggle to sit up, the obscene swell of my stomach hindering me like usual. “My alarm didn't go off.”
August pauses before answering quietly. “You left your phone in your room.”
Something in my chest clenches as the fog clears from my head, my surroundings become clear. “Right.” I clear my throat, keeping my gaze on my kid instead of letting it roam around the room I don’t even remember stumbling into. “I was looking for something in here. Guess I fell asleep.”
August, my sweet boy, pretends he believes me. Like he does every time he catches me sleeping in a bed that isn’t mine. We never talk about it, and thank God for that because the irrationalities of a broken heart are not something I’m ready to discuss with my eleven-year-old.
No—mytwelve-year-old.
