Homestands (Chicago Wind #1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

then silenced.
    She stared at cheese that oozed out of the omelet and sizzled. Keep quiet. Make him talk.
    “Her name’s Brooke.”
    Meg’s gaze lifted to the stove’s digital clock. 1:03. As she watched, it turned to 1:04.
    1:04. She would never forget that moment of change.
    She forced herself to turn toward Mike’s voice.
    He stood in front of the door to the garage.
    “Whose name?” she asked.
    “Brooke.” He studied his keys. “You asked me her name. Her name’s Brooke.”
    “Who, Mike? Your new agent? A new GM? A new bat girl? Who is Brooke?” She swallowed, stunned at the volume she’d finished with. She’d make him say the awful truth, make him hear his own disgusting words.
    Instead he motioned to the door behind him. “I’ll be gone awhile. Tuesday—I get back on a Tuesday, real early. We’ll talk.”
    He wouldn’t call? Yes, the phone calls had come less frequently, their length shorter and shorter, but eleven days? Nothing?
    He started out the door, and this time she couldn’t hold back. “Mike—”
    He shook his head and closed the door, leaving red-hot pain behind him.

    The ringing of her phone jarred Meg from the past. Disoriented, she scanned her dark bedroom, focusing on the digital clock. 9:30. The phone rang again, and she hurried to her nightstand to answer it.
    “Hello?” The word came out a whisper. She cleared her throat.
    “Meg? We need to talk.”
    She closed her eyes at Mike’s voice, remembering the disaster that had followed the last time he’d said that.
    “Are you there?” he asked.
    “Yes.” No more cowering. It was time to take charge—for herself and for Terrell. She opened her eyes and forcefully repeated herself. “Yes.”
    “I want you to meet me after tomorrow’s game.”
    She eased onto her bed and pushed her hair back with a shaky hand. “I’m not meeting you, Mike. You’re not taking Terrell—”
    “Will you listen?” He lowered his voice. “I think we can work this out.”
    Men talked and laughed in the background. Tonight’s storm must have rained out his game if he was calling from the stadium.
    A door closed, muffling background sounds of conversation. “Tomorrow, Meg, let’s go out for dinner and talk everything over, just you and me.”
    How could he make a call like this from the clubhouse? And did he really think she’d discuss their son in public? “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
    “If you say no, then I hang up and call my lawyer. And I won’t go easy on you.”
    As if he ever had.
    She squeezed her eyes shut. Lord, help. What do I do?
    “Come on, Meg. This isn’t that hard.”
    “Just a minute. I’m thinking.”
    “I don’t have time—”
    “Come here then, after your game. I’ll make dinner.”
    Where had that come from?
    “Your house?” He paused. “Only if Terrell’s there. I want to see him.”
    “Then no lawyers, nothing. Just you and me, like you said.”
    “Done.”
    “You promise? I can trust you?”
    “Meg…” Mike’s voice sounded a mix of concern and confusion. Someone called him, and he muffled the phone, responded quickly. “I have a one-oh-five start tomorrow. I’ll be there when the game’s over.”
    “Fine.” She ended the call without a goodbye.
    Sat motionless on her bed.
    The phone’s screen blended into the room’s darkness.
    The nightmare she’d dreaded for six years had begun. Mike would take Terrell away.
    Her shoulders slumped.
    No. No!
    She would not be weak. She would not .
    Instead, she’d be ready for everything he threw at her, for every promise he’d just made to be broken.
    When he came, she’d be ready.

Chapter Eight
    How was she going to tell Terrell about his dad?
    The red numbers on her clock marked the night’s slow progress. Meg forced her eyes closed, but Mike’s deadline kept sleep away. How would she tell Terrell? And when?
    When she finally slept, she dreamed that she and Terrell pulled up in front of her old Texas townhouse. The door was shut