Head Games by Mary B. Morrison

Head Games by Mary B. Morrison

Author:Mary B. Morrison
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-08-29T00:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER 29

Ramona

Day 23

Ignoring Kohl gave me satisfaction. Confirming he was William’s biological father allowed me to stop chasing him to do right by our son. A ten—make that eleven if I counted my pregnancy—year emotional weight was lifted. I was going all the way in on his ass, through the court system.

Act an ass? Go to jail. Don’t pay? Go to jail. As I moved forward, everything would be strictly business with Kohl.

William was on the nineteenth-yard line. The score was tied at fourteen in the fourth quarter, with three minutes left to go.

“Defense, William! Get ready!” I shouted, bouncing on the bleacher.

“Sack, sack, the quarterback!” Carmella yelled.

My son had gone from being excused from the team to starting. There were players that were better than William, I’d admit. Whatever Harold told the coach and the things he’d taught William worked in our favor: calisthenics, jogging, stretching, watching recorded game footage, explaining plays to our son. William deserved a chance to prove himself worthy. And I learned a valuable lesson, Kohl wasn’t going to control my emotions ever again.

“Oh, my gosh! Yes! William! Run, baby!” I bounced hard on the bleacher. My cropped top dipped below my areolas.

Carmella yanked it up. “Run, William!” she yelled.

“Thanks, girl.”

Carmella laughed. “No one saw your goods.”

Hopefully, Carmella was right. My followers had moved on to the next trend. I did not need to give them a reason to circle back to me.

We were in our usual seats at the top. Harold was on the sideline with the other dads cheering on our son. William intercepted the ball. Harold ran on the sideline motivating William to keep moving. Our baby went straight up the middle. “That’s my boy! Keep going! You got this, baby! Touchdown!”

Overheard a parent for the other team complaining, “He can’t run with him. That’s not fair!”

She wasn’t close enough to hear me say, “Shut up, bitch. Life ain’t fair.”

At the start of the next play, Carmella’s son was on offense. I heard a familiar voice: “That’s my boy, son! You ain’t his daddy.”

“Aw, hell no.” I stood to confirm it was indeed Kohl Bartholomew.

Harold looked up at me, shaking his head. He texted, Kohl wants your attention. Stay put. I got this.

Kohl had wedged his way into the lineup of dads, three persons down from Harold. He’d never shown his face at any of William’s game.

“Don’t let him steal your joy,” Carmella said. “Look at it this way. He was here to see William score his first defensive touchdown.”

Kohl stared up at me. His back was to the field.

“Yayyyy!” I screamed. “Get ready, Cornelius! It’s your turn!” I stood. Shifted my weight from one heel to the other. Rubbed the tips of my fingers. Our team had to stay in the lead.

“You finally got the upper hand,” Carmella said, standing beside me. “Kohl is going to do the fool every chance he gets. Let him. He looks stupid hawking you. Long as you were struggling and miserable, he denied William. Now that you’re rocking a Cardi B, hot-ass bod, he’s lost his mind.



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