Page 28 of Curveball
Twenty minutes later, I park at the pharmacy nearest Natalie’s neighborhood. She and I get out, but when Dylan unlatches his door to step out, I stop him with a, “Nope, not this time. Wait in the car and we’ll be quick.”
“But there’s something I need.”
“Oh, yeah? What is it? I can pick it up while we’re in there.”
He grins. “Condoms. There’s a party at the levee and?—”
He’s baiting me. I know he is. Right? Lord help me.
“Back in the car.”
And laughing, he slams himself into the back seat. Where he can stew in his stink until we finish and come back out.
But I’ll be checking all his drawers when we get home.
And I would have, except Alejandro calls as we walk in the door. I hurry Dylan into the shower because I’d like to avoid what’s sure to be a confrontation in front of my son. If I were a little more desperate, I’d change my number. I’m not quite there yet.
Or I could simply not answer the phone. But apparently, I’m not that hard-hearted. I’m getting closer by the day.
Thankfully, this conversation is short and sweet. Alejandro tries cajoling me into sending Dylan to him for a month during his summer break, and then shortens it to a week when he sees I’m not budging. I end the call by hanging up and then turning off my ringer.
I’m getting closer still.
When Alejandro calls early Sunday morning, I’m still groggy from sleep, standing at the kitchen counter and waiting for my first cup of coffee to finish dripping into the mug. I yank my phone off the charger and stomp into the living room where there’s room to pace.
“Alejandro, I swear, if this is one more call to threaten me about taking my son, I will call the cops and sue you for harassment.”
“Now, mija?—”
“I am not your fucking mija! Your son is not my husband, and you will never, not ever, get your hands on Dylan. I hope this is clear. I want you to stop calling me.”
“Girl, stop with your yelling and cussing. Alejandro, my son, is his father. You have not married another man, and I think this is because you are waiting for him to come back to you. He will be here soon, closer, and he wants to see his son. He wants to be a family again, and he has every?—”
“He hasnothing! Anything he had, at any time of his life—he gave that up. Threw it away for the seven pieces of silver he bilked from his investors. From hisfriends, Alejandro!
“Have you forgotten how ashamed we were to be seen in public? How the feds treated us? How hard it’s been to rebuild our lives? Now he thinks—youthink—he has rights, and it’s all so far beyond the realm of reality, it’s laughable.”
I do laugh. It’s mirthless and deranged, and barely hides my alarm. Becausewhat if my words are only rooted in bravado?
But the man who wants me to consider him a father isn’t done threatening me yet.
“You will see,” he grinds out. “I have the money. I have the power. And you have nothing . . . mija.”
“Oh, Alejandro, that’s where you’re wrong. I have Dylan.” My voice is cold hard steel. Because those words are true. And my son isn’t going anywhere. Without waiting for a rebuttal, further threats, or empty pleas, I press the button to disconnect our call. It’s time to contact an attorney.
A quiet snuffling sound comes from the hallway.
When I turn, my heart—battle-ready only a moment ago—shatters. Furious, aching tears come for the first time and sting my eyes.
Dylan is standing there, barefoot in Christmas pajama pants tied at the waist, his hair sleep-tousled, eyes fierce, and tears of absolute rage streaming down his cheeks. I stretch out my arms and he steps closer to engulf me in a hug.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and it’s as though he grew up in the past twelve hours and now considers himself the man of the house and my protector.
I nod into his shoulder. “I am. How long have you been standing there?”
But it’s obvious by the furious emotion on his face. My anger builds again. It’s one thing for Alejandro to play the fuckinggodfatherand order me around. I’m a big girl and have been dealing with him for years.
I won’t let his bullshit affect my son.
