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Abby chewed her lip. “Well, like I said, I can’t make any promises, but then again, neither can you, right? I mean, you might go six weeks and figure out you don’t want to be with me anymore. I guess that’s the nature of relationships. No one can ever make any promises because... because you never know what’s going to happen.”
She wasn’t only talking about the two of them, and he thought back to his own, failed marriage, the promises he’d made and broken. “Yeah.”
The word stuck in his throat like a burr. He wanted more this time around, wanted to let the promises pour past his lips in a reassuring litany, but he couldn’t ignore the truth of Abby’s words; they had a long way still to go before she could trust him with her whole heart.
Could he trust her with his, too?
“Hey, Dad, watch this.” Dylan had convinced Gen to get onto the diving board and now wound up his arm and launched the ball to the far end of the pool. Gen, claws scrabbling on the textured surface, launched herself into the air, then splashed down, sending a huge wave spraying up to either side. High enough to flood the deck and spatter Scott and Abby where they sat. They tucked their feet up and Abby flung a towel over her book to protect it.
Gen chased the ball, heaved herself onto the deck, then flopped down, tongue hanging out and panting. Dylan, racing around the edge of the pool, about fell over her as he slid to a stop beside her. “Good girl.” He rubbed her ruff, ruffled her ears, then laughed as she proceeded to lick his face clean of the last beads of sweat and water still clinging to his skin. He glanced up at them with a radiant smile.
Abby returned it, then snorted with laughter. “Maybe we’ll try dock-diving classes while you’re away.”
Fifteen
I’M TOO TIRED for this.
Scott scrubbed a hand over his grimy, sweaty face, the grit and grass clippings of the practice field scraping away like clay under his nails.
I should have showered before calling her back,he lamented, not for the first time in the last fifteen minutes.
Then again, Lindsay had always known which buttons to push to rile him up, and even the veiled inference something might have happened to Dylan had sent Scott scrambling to reply, shower or no shower.
Of course, his son was fine, and now he found himself subjected to a long list of his shortcomings as a father, the ridiculous sacrifices he made for his career—abandoning his son for months at a time, and her general displeasure at the interference in her own life. By now, he knew better than to answer any of her accusations; letting her vent until she ran out of steam would take much less time than the argument that would follow if he dared to suggest her one week a year and two major holidays weren’t enough to mother her only child. Or, worse, if he pointed out it had been she who had left both of them to pursue her career in New York City. So, instead, he hummed when she paused for breath and let the words wash over him and then away.
“And now I have to listen to him prattle on about this new woman you’re seeing, and her dog this, and her dog that... I’m not sure I’m comfortable with him spending so much time with this person I’ve never even met. Givenyourtrack record, I bet she’s nothing more than another fake-blonde, bimbo, gold-digger, and I won’t have my son around that type of person, do you hear me? Mark my words, if that dog bites him, which I’m sure it will, stupid mongrel, I will sue that bitch for all she’s worth...”
Scott ignored the sting of her insult, recognizing the trappings of truth to it, even if they were more a record of his past than his present. But her implicit threat against Abby pricked his ears. Lindsay had long since proven she had a vicious streak; she wouldn’t be above moving against Abby if it meant striking at him in the process. What had he ever seen in his ex-wife? Where did the inexhaustible wellspring of her hate stem from? Their divorce had not been amicable, but he couldn’t understand when their soured relationship had turned so mean, why she tried so insistently to ruin his happiness.
“... and I’m not kidding, Scott. If my son isn’t safe, I’ll take him back. You know no judge would challenge me, his mother...”
And there it was, the threat Lindsay always hung over his head, like a guillotine blade waiting to slice him apart, but instead of his head, she’d chop his heart out of his chest. Eager to end the conversation, worried allowing her to continue would wind her up more, Scott interrupted. “If it’s too much of an inconvenience for Dylan to be there, you can send him home. I can call Lauren.”
“Home? Ha,” she barked.
Scott sighed silently in relief. Complaining about him again meant she had moved on.
“My place is as much his home as yours. He needs to learn that. Needs to learn I’m his parent as much as you are. Certainly, much more than whatever little tramp you’re seeing.”
Scott bit his tongue. Replying would only encourage her, he reminded himself. Fed up, he blew out a breath. “I mean it, Lindsay. If you want to send him back, let me know, but I have to go, now. Give Dylan my love.”
She wouldn’t, of course, but with those words, he hung up.
When his phone vibrated again a few moments later, he almost threw it against the wall in anger and frustration, but settled, instead, for tossing it face-down on the bed.
He took the longest, hottest shower he could manage, letting the heat seep into his sore, tired muscles, dissolving away the caked grime and sunscreen, soothing the stress of Lindsay’s call. After a while, though, he heard banging on the bathroom door. Finn must be back from his receivers meeting and wanting a shower, as well.
Toweling himself off, he winced as his muscles protested the sudden movement. Mostly dry, he wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped into the small hotel room, jerking his head toward the steamy bathroom. “All yours.”
“Thanks, man,” Finn replied. “Didja leave me any hot water?”
“Nope.” The corner of Scott’s lips quirked up, the closest thing to a smile he’d managed since he’d picked up his phone at the end of practice.
“Asshole.”
“Yep.” With that, Scott released the last of his tension and let the half-fledged smile spread across his face, wrinkling the creases at the corners of his eyes.
As Finn closed the bathroom door, Scott flopped unceremoniously, exhaustedly, on the bed, then dug out his phone from where it jabbed into his hip. Blowing out a breath, he forced his attention back to the screen.