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She stepped away, restoring some space between them, but the distance didn’t feel like a wall between them, anymore. “It’s fine. I had fun. I hadn’t been out with anyone in a long time. You made it...easy, I guess. Or like it could be easy.”
“Then I’m glad.” There wasn’t much else to say.
She pressed her lips together. “C’mon, we should get back.”
They arrived to find the foam balls still flying. Gen, flopped on the floor at Cara’s feet and surrounded by several children, had the shredded remains of innumerable footballs between her front paws as she gnawed the nose of another one.
“Here.” Scott dug through one of the boxes and pulled out a gift bag, black with a silver raptor, glittering strands of silver rickrack erupting over the top and trailing down the sides. He handed it to Abby.
Digging beneath the decorative layer, Abby pulled out two rolls of cloth. She shook them out to discover a pair of jerseys, but they were different from those the kids had been given. One, in her size, had the Raptor’s symbol on the sleeves, but whereas the children’s shirts had double zeroes and the team’s name, hers had Scott’s number—seven—and his last name emblazoned across the back. The other, much smaller, took Abby a moment to recognize.
“For Gen?”
Scott nodded as Abby held it out to the dog to sniff. She unclipped Gen’s working jacket and slipped the dog-sized jersey over her head. Gen nipped at the loose fabric a few times, then flopped back to the floor, taking up one of the masticated footballs between her paws and trying to find an unchewed part.
“Thank you.” Abby smiled up at Scott.
“Well, I don’t know if you’re much of a sports fan, but maybe you could wear it on game days.”
Cara giggled. “You have no idea. She can probably quote the Raptors’ stats from last season better than you.”
“Shut up, Cara.”
Scott turned toward Abby and the flash of pink across her cheekbones caught his attention before she could duck her head into the jersey, hands smoothing it down over her shirt.
“I love it. And I’ll definitely wear it on game days. But only if you promise to hit a passer rating of over a hundred this year. Last year, you werehellon my Fantasy score, and Livins got traded to Miami this year, so you won’t have anyone to pick up youruncatchable throws.” She used air quotes, her derisive tone a categorical judgment of what the commentators deemed acceptable.
His jaw dropped while Cara’s peals of laughter echoed down the hall. A moment later, he allowed himself a chuckle, running through the other above-one-hundred quarterbacks in the league and considering himself in good company if he could match them. Over a hundred would be a good goal, considering he’d broken ninety-five last year.
“Yes ma’am.”
The elevator dinged and several more people disembarked onto the pediatric floor, cameras and note pads in hand.
Scott grimaced. “Ah, the press corps. Like I said, the team loves this kind of publicity.”
Linda, the head nurse, came out from behind the counter and smirked at Scott. “Don’t you worry yourself, darling, the hospital loves this kind of publicity, too.”
“I, on the other hand, do not.” Abby eased away.
“But you’re the whole reason we’re here,” Scott reminded her.
“Inspiration, darling. It’s a powerful thing,” Linda added. “As are all those donor dollars we’ll get when the pictures hit the internet. You want to deprive the kids of that money?”
Abby shuffled her feet a moment, twirling her ponytail, then sighed. “Fine. For the kids.”
Nine
“ABBY, YOU CAME!” Dylan launched himself across the wide, grassy field, one arm waving wildly, the other slightly less so, weighed down by a bright blue splint.
Abby and Gen had joined Dylan at his most recent appointment with Dr. Hastings, and after taking another set of X-rays, he’d pronounced Dylan’s arm healed enough to remove the cast, though he’d have to wear the splint and go to physical therapy for a few more weeks.
Gen had climbed on the table with Dylan while the doctor cut off the cast, pressing her body against his leg and letting him wrap his free arm around her, face buried in her ruff.
Afterwards, they’d all gone out for ice cream, and Dylan invited Abby and Gen to his school fundraising fair.
Laying at Abby’s feet, Gen pushed up into a sit, ears forward, tail wagging through the grass as Dylan approached.
Abby glanced down at her partner. “Easy, Gen.”