What I Did For Love_a breath-taking psychological thriller by Mickey Corrigan

Author:Mickey Corrigan [Corrigan, Mickey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodhound Books
Published: 2019-10-20T16:00:00+00:00

As I was walking down the hall to the teacher's lounge, another text arrived from my bewildered boy. That's it? You're not going to help me out?

I stopped to text back. Not now. Tonight.

Then I put my phone away and went about my day.

When he texted me at midnight from down in the guest lot, I was ready for him. I waited a minute, then texted him back. He came right up. I had become brave over time, taking more chances and allowing him to visit me when it was impossible for us to have one another at his house. Or outside somewhere. On the beach. In an empty park. In the backseat of my cramped Volvo.

This time I had prepared for his visit. Makeup on. Hair washed. Shaved and perfumed and delightfully half dressed in silky short-shorts and a loose top. No bra, no panties. On my way to the door, I mussed my hair a little for that just-awakened look. I wanted him to think I'd been asleep, his predicament forgotten.

As soon as I opened the door, he pushed inside and past me. As always, I checked the hall for nosy neighbors. None in sight. I locked the door and followed my boy into the kitchen, where I leaned against the counter and forced a lazy yawn.

"So?" I said, pretending to rub my eyes.

He had a bottle of my tequila in hand and was searching the cabinets for a glass. I pushed him aside, lifted two tumblers from a shelf over the sink.

He smelled of fear. And lust. But not alcohol. He was trembling so much the booze sloshed in the bottle.

When I saw this, I stopped my phony distant act. "Honey, you're shaking." I took the bottle from him. "Go sit on the couch. You need something to eat too?"

He shook his head. His eyes were wide and bright, darting about, frightened. He looked like a scared kid.

He was a scared kid.

I followed him into the living room with the bottle and glasses. I waited until he dropped onto the couch, then poured him a big glass. He drank it right down, held out his glass for more.

I sat down next to him on the couch, poured him a smaller glass. Down it went. He shivered, closed his eyes. He held out the glass again.

I gave him mine.

Finally, he spoke. "She says it's mine but I doubt that. I think it's a game she's playing. To what end, I have no idea. Money?"

I wasn't following but could put two and two together to get the sum total of a paranoid kid shirking responsibility.

Not that I blamed him.

"Maybe she loves you. Is she Catholic?" I asked. Weren't all those mobsters from churchgoing families? Or was that just on TV? "I mean, what about an abortion?"

He didn't open his eyes, just shook his head. "She's out of her mind. Let's get married, have a family! I know, you can work for my dad!" He looked at me when he imitated her squeaky voice, the Jersey accent.

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