only eight when my mom left, and I still remember her last words to me, the look on her face as she said them.”
“And?” she asked, her gaze intent on his face. “Besides the fact that I don’t need to keep making that teapot for her.”
“No. You don’t.” He gave her a brief, self-mocking smile of acknowledgment. “What I’m saying is, Danny’s trying to find his way in life, and friends and sport are vital to a child’s self-esteem. Being called a mama’s boy is fatal. He’ll be bullied about it all his life, no matter where you go.”
Her face closed off. “What do you know about it?”
He shrugged. “Maybe not much. I’m not a father. But I was a boy once, and most boys believe the same credo. If you keep overprotecting him he may make it to twenty-five, but if all he remembers is you stopping him from living the life he wants for himself, he won’t thank you, Beth—and you should know that better than anyone. Your parents turned you into a model, their pride all centered on your looks and fame, and you resented them for making you live the life they wanted for you.”
She whitened, her eyes dark and shattered. “Thank you for your honesty.” She wheeled about, heading for the curtain where heavy tapping sounds indicated Danny’s obedience was wearing thin. “I’ll be right back,” she said, her voice filled with quiet bitterness. “You seem to think you know all about me.”
Yeah, that precious moment of trust between them had been just that—a moment; but what choice did he have but to do it? He couldn’t gain her confidence at the cost of Danny’s happiness. He might be a lowlife, but he hadn’t gone that far down yet.
McCall let the door fall to behind him, trying not to listen in as the woman on the run fought with the loving mom, faced with a vivid, passionate boy who just wanted to play—a child’s birthright that had become a rare privilege to him.
“It’s just practice, Mummy. I need to practice so’s I can make the team! An’ you know Mr. Richards is nice!”
Beth said something to Danny, low and pleading. McCall squelched the temptation to use his earpiece to hear better.
“Why can’t you be like the other mums?”
Silence for a few moments, then Beth asked something. Even muffled by the curtain, McCall could hear the bewildered hurt in her voice, and he ached for her.
“The kids all make fun of me ’cause of you. I just wanna play football, Mummy. I just wanna play with my friends!”
The throb and lilt of anguished passion came so clearly through in Danny’s voice, McCall ached for him, too. He’d never realized how hard life must be for them both….
Beth’s next words were again muffled and indistinct; but Danny’s were not. “Why?” he cried, kicking something, and it thudded with the impact. “I never go anywhere without you but at school. All the other kids get to play, and their mums don’t watch them all the time. It’s not fair. It’s not fair!”
Beth’s voice, discernible now, throbbed with anguish. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she muttered in a thick tone, obviously fighting tears. “But that’s the way it is.”
The halting words touched McCall’s soul. Why hadn’t he ever realized what she’d been through, what she’d sacrificed to have this strange half life of fear? What price had she paid for her son to live untainted by Falcone’s corruption?
“I’m almost seven, Mummy! I’m big. I wanna play football! An’ I’m goin’ to play with Ethan an’ Mr. Richards!” Danny pulled the curtains open, storming out.
Reacting on instinct, he reached out, snaking an arm around the boy’s waist, lifting him off his feet and whirling him around in a playful motion. “Hey, there, big guy. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
Taken off guard, Danny giggled and squirmed.
“Let him go. Put my son down!”
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