Page 115 of Mom Ball

“I don’t think you want me to,” I answer.

The light turns green. I white knuckle the steering wheel and gas up my truck. Some kid in a sports car beside us lays on his gas.

Just great. Punk thinks I’m wanting to race. I slow down and let the kid pass. Then I take a smaller side road when I get a chance.

“Say something.” Her voice is shaky.

I wait a minute and mull over different responses. This news cuts deep, hurting me even more than our breakup. I’m furious, but I still love Brooke—and Timothy. I don’t want to talk, but she’s not going to let up until I do.

Of all the times to be stuck in a truck together.

“I can’t believe you kept this from me so long.” I glance at Brooke.

The doe-like sweetness is back in her eyes. Although there’s an underlining sadness and no twinkle to them. I clear my throat and look back at the road.

“I missed the first eight years of my son’s life. I missed nine years with you. We could’ve been a family all this time.”

* * *

Brooke

I am the scum of the earth. I kept my son and his father from one another for almost nine years.

Okay, that makes me worse than scum. I am whatever kind of scum grows on scum, with a big pile of dog poop on top. Even Tami is a better parent than me right now.

The veins on Nate’s neck bulge, as do his biceps. Normally, the biceps would turn me on, but they are bulging due to his kung-fu grip on the steering wheel.

There’s nothing I can say to make this any better, and it’s all my fault. Nate is furious at me.

I’d feared he might be mad about me not telling him, but the more I watched them together, the more I was sure it would all smooth out and everyone would be happy with the news.

Wrong. So wrong.

He’s mad that I kept Timothy from him for so long, and he has every right to be.

I’ve spent my twenties raising him with the help of my parents. I was there for his first steps, words, day of school, pulled tooth, and everything else that comes with raising a child. All the while, Nate was playing ball and had no idea the child even existed.

How selfish could I be?

Apparently, very.

I sink against his leather seat and drain the rest of my coffee drink, which is now watery vanilla slush. It gives me an instant brain freeze. I welcome the headache for once, because I deserve to feel pain.

For eight and a half years, I acted as if raising Timothy alone was noble of me. I changed career aspirations and moved back home. I gave up any extra hobbies or romantic life to focus on him.

In my mind, this was my penance for getting pregnant. I’d allowed myself to go too far with Nate, and this was my fate.

In hindsight, it wasn’t the burden I’d made it out to be. My parents were nothing but accepting and loving. As was our community. Even some of the older ladies who’d whispered when I’d come home pregnant crocheted baby quilts and loved on him in the church nursery. The church gave me a baby shower like they would any expecting member, and my cousin helped me paint a nursery.

Maybe I’d secretly wanted them to judge me. At the time, I felt ashamed and wanted to be blamed. I could’ve lived with those consequences.

What I couldn’t have lived with was bringing down Nate’s career with it.

Only now do I realize he deserved to know the truth. I can’t make decisions for him, and I took away his right to do so by keeping Timothy a secret.

Heck, as much as everyone loved on me, they would’ve loved on me even more had they known the baby was also Nate’s. His mom would’ve helped out too.

Oh crap. Poor Miss Anne! That’s another yard of yarn I’ve yet to unravel. How will she react when she realizes she’s had a grandson all this time?

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