Chapter 10 - The Real Father
The entire stadium fell into a dramatic, expectant hush.
Everyone loved a good storyline, and the rumors of a wealthy biological father flying in from Chicago had already spread through the VIP boxes.
Mason held the microphone tightly, his eyes never leaving mine.
He didn't look up at the luxury suites where David was supposed to be sitting.
He pointed directly at me, a bruised, exhausted mechanic in a torn flannel shirt standing by a chain-link fence.
"He's right down there," Mason said, his voice thick with raw emotion.
"Fourteen years ago, my mom died, and I was left entirely alone."
"The man who shares my DNA walked away because it was too hard."
The crowd gasped softly, captivated by the absolute vulnerability in his voice.
"But a twenty-eight-year-old mechanic, who didn't owe me a single thing, stepped in and gave up his entire life for me."
"He sold his motorcycle to pay legal fees, he worked double shifts to buy my cleats, and he slept on a broken couch so I could have a real bed."
Tears were freely streaming down my face now, blurring my vision entirely.
"A father isn't the man who gives you his name, it's the man who stays when the whole world falls apart," Mason declared.
"Leo Carter is my dad, and this trophy belongs entirely to him."
The stadium erupted into a thunderous, standing ovation.
Mason jumped down from the podium, sprinting directly toward the sideline, completely ignoring the reporters.
I opened the gate, and he crashed into my arms, hugging me tighter than he ever had in his entire life.
"I love you, Dad," he whispered into my shoulder, crying openly.
"I love you too, son," I choked out, holding him as if I would never let go.
The nightmare was finally over, David was behind bars, and my son was safely in my arms.
We walked off the field together, our arms around each other's shoulders, ready to go home.
Later that night, the house was quiet, and Mason was fast asleep in his room with his gold medal resting on the nightstand.
I walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, feeling a profound sense of peace.
My cell phone suddenly vibrated on the counter, displaying an unknown, restricted number.
I answered it cautiously, bringing the phone to my ear.
"Enjoy your little victory speech, Leo," a cold, chillingly familiar voice whispered through the static.
May you like
David was supposed to be in federal custody.
"I took out a three-million-dollar loan using Mason's social security number yesterday, and the cartel is coming to collect it by Friday."
