Corey slung the covers to the side and kicked them to the foot of the bed; then rolled onto his stomach and punched the pillow into submission. If he didn't get her image out of his head, he could forget about getting any sleep.

Maybe he was going about it wrong. Trying to suppress the memories wasn't working, so why not just let it happen? Relive them frame by frame until he could stamp, "The End" on it. Flipping over, he settled on his rigid back. He breathed deep, loosened his fists, and forced them to lay by his side. Deliberately, he dredged up every detail he could remember, and let them wash over him.

She had not taken her eyes from him, not when the waiter had brought her food, or when the boy at her side had twice tried to get her attention. Their eyes had locked, the link between them re-forging itself with threads of steel that neither of them could break. Fortunately, at the end of his song, the enthusiastic applause did that for them. She'd reacted immediately. Leaning toward the boy, she'd spoken in his ear and then motioned him toward the door.

After the next set of songs, he'd left as well. Twenty minutes later he'd pulled his pickup into the dirt driveway in front of the old house and twenty acres he owned on the south side of town, a house that had been considered in the country when he was a boy but was now only a few blocks from the new Wayback Central School. 

He'd thrown on sweat pants and running shoes and jogged to the school's football field. In solitude, he'd run along the track's outer lane, and finally, when his heart threatened to burst, he'd walked. His body had trembled from the excessive exercise and painful memories, the same way it shook now from the blast of cold air coming from the vent over his bed. He drew the covers over his bare skin, took a deep, muscle-relaxing breath, and forced his mind to continue.

At first, he hadn't given the boy much notice, not till Tiffany nearly yanked him out of his chair in her haste to exit Telli's place. Giving in to his mother's prodding, the boy had finally stood. Before he allowed himself to be hurried out, though, he'd briefly turned to stare back at the stage, giving Corey a fierce and accusing glare. He was an astute kid. He couldn't know the facts, but he was smart enough to pick up on the source of his mother's agitation.

Corey's chest tightened with new, unfamiliar pain and loss. The boy's hell-raising glare had been a revelation. That, and the fact that he was the mirror image of himself at that age, had sliced a hole through his gut. 

Joey Covington was his son. 

All those years spent alone in a prison cell with nothing but shattered dreams to fill the endless days and nights. All that time he'd had a family — a son. 

Corey added another line to the long list of wrongs done by Tiffany Covington. If he had to kick up the biggest dust storm Deliverance had ever seen, she was going to give him some answers. It was payback time.

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