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“You don’t have to get me anything.” The automatic response came without conscious thought. She had a hard enough time letting him pay anytime they went out, and always offered her fair share, but he wouldn’t accept it.
Gifts... Aside from the flowers, ostensibly from Dylan, and the jerseys during his hospital visit, there hadn’t been any, but Abby couldn’t forget her early concerns about Scott’s fame. She didn’t want gifts from him and didn’t want to grapple with what they might mean. Didn’t ever want him to think she might be using him.
“It’s something small, I promise. There, in the pantry.”
“The pantry?” She loved chocolate; maybe he’d gotten a special dessert. She pulled open the door and glanced inside.
A large plastic tub with a silver ribbon stuck to the lid caught her eye. Flipping it open, she couldn’t help the grin stealing across her face.
Popping her head back into the kitchen, she laughed. “I think this might be the sweetest gift anyone’s ever given me.”
“I mean, technically it’s for Gen, but same thing, right?”
“No more plastic baggies of kibble. She’ll be thrilled.”
“There’s more.”
“More?” The smile flickered and died. Abby didn’t notice anything else in the pantry, but when she peeked out again, a small gift bag sat on the counter. She approached, eyes flitting between the bag and Scott. “You really didn’t have to...”
“I know. But I wanted to. Please, open it.”
She hesitated, but his tone, underpinned with uncertainty, decided her. She pulled the tissue paper from the top and plunged her hand inside, rooting around until her fingers met a cool, smooth, curved surface.
She pulled it free, and the corners of her lips couldn’t help pulling upwards.
“Dylan picked the color—red, like her jacket—and I thought the rubber ring on the bottom would save her from chasing it all over the floor.”
“It’s perfect.” Abby turned the dog bowl in her hands, finding a painted scrawl of cursive on one side spelling out Gen’s name. GiftsfromDylan; giftsforGen. Oh, he was a smart one, indeed. But how could she be mad? How could she say no when they had been so carefully chosen, so personal, so kind?
She set it down on the counter and turned toward him, unsure what she’d say, but her conversation with Cara echoed in her mind. Did she like him enough to risk her heart, and his, and Dylan’s, too? Was she lying to herself, believing she could even try?
She imagined Will somewhere in whatever came next, after death, staring down at her standing in another man’s kitchen. Was he rooting for her? Or was his heart breaking?
“Scott...”
“Abby, listen.” He cut her off before she could say more, stepping close and taking her hand in his. “I like you. I like having you in my life. I like having you in Dylan’s life. Heaven knows I could use a few more friends, and he could use a role model he can respect. Be inspired by. And if that’s all you want, then we—then I—can be okay.”
She opened her mouth to respond, the conflicting quagmire in her mind swirling without resolution, tearing her in two, but Scott continued on before she could gather her words.
“I want you to stay in my life—in our lives—in whatever shape you’re willing. As friends, yes. But I think we could be more.”
“More?” It came out strangled, a question, though she already knew the answer. He responded anyway.
“If you’re ready...whenyou’re ready, yes. More.” He pulled her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Not before then. I won’t try to compete; that’s not fair to either one of us, but I’m willing to wait. For as long as it takes.”
Abby wrenched her hand from his, the scruff of his stubble scratching her knuckles and sending shivers skittering over her skin. “Don’t. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Hadn’t Will done the same? Hadn’t he promised her forever? A lifetime together...For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, ‘til death do us part.Oh, they’d had better and worse, but they’d skipped over sickness and went straight to death. And whose death? His, or both of theirs? How long was she bound to his broken promises?
Abby wrapped her arms around her chest, pressing against the familiar ache of her heart breaking all over again. Physiologically, a broken heart didn’t exist, but as her breathing sped up and her lungs gasped for air, the pieces of herself unraveled, flying away before she could catch them.
She clenched her eyes shut, realizing too late she couldn’t reel herself back together.Not here.She clung to that thought, like she had at the hospital when her body had betrayed her.Not in front of Scott. Not now.
“Gen!” Her voice cracked as the name erupted, a command and an entreaty. But no comforting jingle answered, no toenails clicked over the floor. Asleep in Dylan’s room, she’d left Abby alone.
Alone, alone, alone.
The word pulsed in her mind, dragging her deeper.