Homestands (Chicago Wind #1)

by Sally Bradley

  “I want to spend time with Terrell. Lots of time.”

  “So you want weekends or…” She dragged out the last word, hoping he’d catch her sarcasm. It was awfully hard for a guy to parent when he traveled half the year.

  “Meg.” He straightened. “I’m not trying to take custody from you. He’s lived without me for six years, he looks happy and healthy here, and as much as I hate to admit it, I can’t take care of him by myself. Between my games and travel, he’d be living with a nanny half the time.”

  “Three fourths of the time.”

  Mike held up a hand. “Whatever.”

  Silence fell between them. Mike sat still, watching her.

  Meg eyed him back. What was behind this sudden change? “Did your lawyer tell you that you wouldn’t win custody?”

  “I didn’t talk to a lawyer. When I thought it through, I knew it wouldn’t be right. Having a dad all of a sudden has got to be a shock to him. I can’t shake up his life any more than that.”

  Interesting. Mike Connor with a conscience. Well, she’d take it, whatever his true motive. “How do you plan on this working?”

  “I can call when I have free time and we can get together, hang out, do whatever six-year-old boys do.”

  “Terrell would like that.”

  “Good. During the off-season I can watch him while you’re working, keep him at my place every now and then.”

  She gave a non-committal shrug. Until she knew Mike’s character—if he had any—she wouldn’t agree to a thing.

  “Who watches him when you’re working?” he asked.

  “My neighbor, Jill. Her husband’s been—” She paused, embarrassed at what she’d almost said. Well, Mike might as well know. “Clark’s been like a father to Terrell.”

  Mike nodded, but his mouth twisted and he toyed with the rim of his cup. “Jill keeps him at her house? Nearby?”

  She nodded. “Next door. Jill and Clark are good friends. They have a little boy too. Samuel, after Samuel in the Bible.”

  Mike stared blankly.

  What was she thinking? Mike wouldn’t know that story. It was new to her too. “It’s a story in the Bible. A woman who couldn’t have kids.” She waved her hand between them. “Never mind.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Since when do you read the Bible?”

  It didn’t sound like a real question, but after a moment, she answered. “I became a Christian over a year ago.”

  His mouth twitched. “Good for you.”

  “We go to church Sundays and Wednesday nights.”

  “Wednesday? Why do you go to Mass twice a week?”

  “It’s—it’s not Mass, Mike.”

  He sat up, expression serious. “What kind of church is it? I don’t want my son picking up weird ideas.”

  “We follow the Bible. Is that weird?”

  He shrugged as if that were up for debate. “And your parents?” A smirk covered his face. “I can’t picture them happy with this.”

  The words stung like a sudden paper cut. “My parents are dead.”

  His grin vanished. He pulled back, eyes closing. “Meg, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  She studied her hands, angry that with no warning he’d resurrected her pain. “They died in a car accident awhile back. Bad snowstorm, white-out conditions.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  Silence covered the room. The enormity of all the divorce had taken shook her still. She’d visited her parents in Dixon, Illinois, her childhood home, on rare occasions, afraid a mutual friend from high school would see Terrell, guess, and tell Mike. She’d never imagined that she’d lose her parents or that she’d be forced to sell the family farm she loved—because of him.

  Mike blew out a deep breath, then tapped the tabletop. “My parents had been wondering. They’d lost touch with your parents and were afraid they were upset with them over… us.”

  Us.

  Meg met his eyes. How could he be so calm? “Mom and Dad were never angry at them.”

  “If it’s any comfort, my parents were pretty peeved at me.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Yeah, I guess not.” He glanced around the room, lips pressed together as if he was thinking things over.

  What had he expected tonight? What was it with all this niceness?

  Her mind traveled back to the months following their separation and the way she’d asked him to come back every chance she got. Had he expected that?

  She lifted her chin and waited for him to look back. When he did, she held his gaze. Did he see how strong she was? Had he noticed she’d said nothing about them?

  “Meg, I’ve missed you.”

  She caught her breath and turned away.

  Mike leaned in front of her. “Do you ever wonder if we were too quick to—”

  “We were too quick?”

  He dragged a hand over his mouth. “Okay. Me. Sorry.”

  How could he twist what had happened? If he even accused her of being the one who was unfaithful…

  “You’re right.” His words seemed to pain him. “You’re right. I was the idiot. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I’ve spent years wishing I could change everything.”

  Too late for that. Too late to take back his words and smirks and humiliations. “What good does that do me now, Mike? What am I supposed to do with that?”

  “I mean—I messed up. Okay? I wanted to make things right, but nobody knew where you were. When I saw you at the game, I had to come see you. You can’t think us running into each other doesn’t mean something.”

  “Stop. Just stop.” She stood up, heart pounding, tears threatening. He’d looked for her? “I expect to fend off you and your lawyers, and instead—”

  Thudding footsteps sounded in the foyer.

  Terrell—what had he heard?

  Meg sat, folded her arms and crossed her legs in an effort to calm herself.

  A moment later Terrell’s voice sounded behind her. “Mommy?” His bare feet padded across the floor. “Is everything okay? You guys were talking loud.”

  He leaned his head against her shoulder, and Meg forced a smile, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Everything’s fine, Terrell. Mike was about to leave.”

  “Actually, I can stick around.”

  Wasn’t he being helpful? “Not tonight.”

  Terrell moaned.

  Meg shot him a look. “It’s getting late, and you still need a bath. You have school tomorrow.” She stood, avoiding Mike’s eyes, and headed for the foyer.

  Terrell followed. “But you said you’d tell me what you talked about.”

  Meg listened for Mike’s footsteps behind her. There they were. “Later, Terrell.”

  “Everything’s fine, Terrell. Your mom will explain it to you.”

  His voice quivered. “I’m not moving away, am I?”

  Her anger at Mike melted. How could she have forgotten Terrell’s fear?

  She turned, finding Mike kneeling before him, his hands gripping Terrell’s forearms.

  “You’re staying right here,” Mike said. “Whenever your mom and I say it’s okay, you can visit me, but this is your home. I don’t think it’d be right to take you away. Do you?”

  Who was this thoughtful man?

  Relief covered Terrell’s face. “When will I get to see you, then?”

  “I’m not sure. Tomorrow the team starts a road trip, but when I get back we’ll plan something.”

  Terrell’s lower lip protruded.

  “I’m sorry, Terrell, but that’s the way it is when you play baseball. I travel a lot. When the season’s over, things will be different.”

  Meg closed her eyes at the heartbreak on Terrell’s face. She should have prepared him.

  “I got it.” Mike snapped his fingers. “Let’s make up a sign I can give you when I’m at bat. I’ll rub my chin, like this.” He dragged his thumb once beneath his chin, as if absentmindedly wiping something away. “That’ll be my way of saying, ‘Hi, Terrell. Looking fo
rward to coming home and seeing you.’ What do you think?” Mike rubbed Terrell’s chin.

  Terrell laughed. “I like that.”

  With a grin, Mike stood to his feet. He rubbed Terrell’s chin again, then bent over for Terrell to rub his own.

  Once they finished, uncomfortable silence returned.

  Mike looked around, patting his pocket for his wallet. His eyes finally met hers. “I can’t go, Meg.”

  “You can’t—what?”

  “I need more time. Another half hour. We can get ice cream, play a game, something.”

  She didn’t want another second with him, not after everything he’d dropped on her.

  But he had her in a bind, and he knew it. A refusal would have him calling his lawyer.

  He wasn’t playing fair.

  “Fine. Ice cream.” She could hear the chill in her voice. “But he has school tomorrow.”

  “Then half an hour.” Terrell’s cheers almost drowned out Mike’s voice. “Thanks, Meg.”

  She ignored him as she headed for her purse. She hadn’t done it to be nice.

  Chapter Ten

  Twilight lingered over the ice cream shop, its crowded parking lot lit by brightness spilling from the shop’s windows.

  Mike pulled into the last parking spot, disappointed to see so many people.

  Two teenage boys walked in front of his car. One nudged the other with his elbow and pointed Mike’s way.

  Not good, not tonight when he needed privacy.

  Meg’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Something wrong?”

  “No.” He smiled at her as he shifted into reverse, ignoring the way she sat with arms crossed. “We’ll go through the drive-through.”

  Terrell ordered a caramel sundae and Meg a cup of frozen strawberry yogurt, the same thing she’d ordered the last time they’d eaten ice cream together. However long ago that was. She must live in ruts—fifteen years ordering the same frozen yogurt, six years hating his guts.

  They waited silently while the sleepy teen, clearly not a baseball fan, filled their order.

  So far the night had been a roller coaster. Getting to know Terrell had been the climb, followed by the deep plunge of rejection. When was the last time a woman told him no? He searched his memory. Seemed he was the one telling them no.

  Their order finally ready, Mike handed his sundae to Meg, who directed him to a park at the end of her block. He parked on the street and followed her and Terrell to an isolated picnic table.

  Two kids and a woman, who ignored him, played on the swing set.

  This was better than he’d hoped. Privacy and setting.

  Terrell scarfed his ice cream before Mike was halfway done and ran for the swing set.

  The silence in his absence drew Mike’s gaze to Meg.

  She played with her melting yogurt.

  What did he say, now that their common bond was gone? He glanced Terrell’s way. “Having Terrell—and seeing you again—we’re like our own little family.”

  She smiled as if humoring him. “We’re not a family, Mike.”

  “I know.” He scraped hot fudge from the side of his bowl as he waited for the sting of her words to fade. It didn’t. “But it’ll be nice to look forward to seeing someone when I come home from a road trip.”

  “What about your parents? Your sisters?”

  “Mom and Dad live near LA now. Betsy’s up in Lake Forest, but I really don’t see her unless her boys want tickets to a game. They’re still White Sox fans. Go figure.”

  Terrell waved from atop a plastic slide.

  Meg waved back. “How are Betsy and Linda?”

  “All right.” No, Meg had missed the bombshell that had rocked his family. “Actually, Betsy was getting beat up.”

  The confusion in Meg’s eyes changed to shock. “Doug? He beat her?”

  “From the moment they got married.”

  She stared at him, the longest gaze she’d given him yet. “I never knew.”

  “Neither did we. A couple years after you”—he swallowed, rephrasing his words—“after we divorced, he almost killed her. I was up here, playing the Sox, I think. My parents called, said Betsy had phoned them, was incoherent, and wouldn’t answer when they called back. They asked me to go check.” He tapped his fingers against the wood. “I found her.”

  “Oh, Mike.”

  “Yeah.” His voice shook at the memory of his sister lying unconscious on her kitchen floor, bruised, bleeding, looking as if she were dead already.

  “Is she okay?”

  “Other than permanent back problems, I think so.” He forced fisted hands beneath the picnic table. “I wanted to pound the guy. If he’d been there—” Mike breathed deeply. Closed his eyes. Later he’d been shaken by the insanity of what he’d longed to do.

  Sometimes that still shook him.

  Meg lowered her eyes to her yogurt and pushed it around with her spoon. Sorrow covered her features.

  He gave her a minute. The news was a downer, but he’d had time to deal with it, time to celebrate Doug’s prison sentence, time to make sure his sister was back on her feet. Betsy was stronger than anyone had expected.

  “Please tell me you have better news about Linda.”

  “I do. She’s in San Diego, and she and Chris are grandparents. My niece Heather had a baby girl in January, so I’m a great uncle. And at such a young age.” He pointed his spoon at her, willing her to smile. “My new purpose in life is to live long enough to be a great-great-great uncle.”

  “I thought it was grand uncle. Great-great grand uncle.”

  “Whatever. It’s a goal.”

  Meg smiled into her yogurt.

  Score one for him.

  When she lifted her head, he looked away at Terrell, who swung from the monkey bars. Strong kid. “I haven’t told my parents about Terrell yet.”

  Meg went still.

  Evidently she’d not thought about his parents’ reaction to a birth announcement six years late.

  Her voice trembled. “When will you tell them?”

  “I don’t know. When we’re ready to face them.” What would his parents say? Finding out about Terrell would revive all their anger over his affair and divorce.

  What would they say to Meg?

  “I’m sorry, Mike. I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

  No joke. “It’s in the past, Meg.”

  She stared beyond him.

  He shifted in his seat. He’d been gracious there. Super gracious—which she did not deserve. Had she heard him? Was she listening? “You ever think about us getting back together?”

  Her gaze shifted to his.

  Guess she was listening. He inhaled before taking the plunge. “I was serious when I said I’ve missed you.”

  “I take it there’s no one else in the picture—no, wait, that wouldn’t follow the pattern, would it?”

  Her words smacked him in the chest.

  She sighed and plopped her cup onto the table. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “No, it’s fine.” Not really, but…

  She withdrew again, her gaze lingering on the street as if some deep thought were revealed there.

  She needed to listen.

  “The girl—Brooke—you know, the one I was with…” He waved his hand in the air, filling in the ugly blanks. At least he hadn’t been a wife beater. “We weren’t together long—”

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Meg, I’m trying to—”

  “Mike. Like you said, it’s in the past.”

  Head lowered, she attacked her yogurt, stabbing and slicing. A small glob flew from her cup and landed on his wrist. “Sorry,” she said again.

  He shrugged and wiped it off. What would make her listen—and consider his words? He whacked his plastic spoon against the table top, the spoon making a thwacking noise.

  Meg looked pointedly at him.

  He quit, and she returned to her yogurt.

  “I’ve been doing well,”
she told the pink slush. “I’ve got my own business. I work my own hours. I’m not rolling in money, but I make a good living. And I’m happy.”

  That last one sounded like an afterthought. Mike reached for her hand, his fingertips skimming her nails as she pulled away. “Are you?”

  Her hand fluttered to her hair, pulling strands over her shoulder in a familiar gesture he’d forgotten. “It’s late,” she said. “Terrell needs a bath.” She fumbled for her purse, knocking it beneath the picnic table.

  Mike snagged it before she could. “We were good together, Meg. Now we’ve got Terrell. We can’t just quit.”

  She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I didn’t quit.”

  “Let’s go out then, you and me.”

  She leaned for her purse, but he pulled it out of reach. She huffed at him, hands fisted. “Why would I do that, Mike?”

  Never had words hurt so much. “Have you forgotten how much fun we had?”

  “No, you had that problem.”

  He ground his teeth into a closed-mouth smile. In case she’d forgotten… “Neither one of us was perfect.”

  Her eyes flashed. “I wasn’t the one who had an affair!”

  “So it’s all my fault we got divorced?”

  Meg picked up her cup, half-full of strawberry yogurt, and hurled it at him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Her yogurt landed with a slosh on his chest. Mike leaped from the table, stunned by the sudden cold.

  The cup fell to the ground but not before most of the yogurt, a freezing mush, spilled across his shirt and soaked through the cotton fabric and T-shirt underneath. He bent at the waist, trying to shake off the cold mess sliding down his skin.

  “Say goodbye to your father, Terrell.”

  Where was she going? Mike straightened to see Meg tugging a forlorn Terrell toward the sidewalk. The icy cloth burned his skin again, and he jerked the shirt from his stomach. “Meg!”

  They disappeared past a house.

  Her yogurt cup lay upside down on the grass. Gritting his teeth, Mike smashed it with his foot and ground it into the dirt.

  Pink squirted up around the sides of his shoes.

  “Perfect,” he snarled. He snatched the flattened paper cup and hurled it into a trash can. The remainder of his sundae joined it.

  Nice of Meg to throw the blame on him. Literally. He swiped a layer of pink off his shirt. So much for tonight. He shook his hand until most of the yogurt fell to the ground, then flexed his fingers, the yogurt sticky on his skin.