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Scott’s teeth ground together, and Mark settled a hand on his arm.
“Ms. Weiring, your report also suggests possible co-dependent tendencies?”
“Yes, Your Honor, although...”
“And that dog,” Lindsay interrupted the guardian. “It growled at me when IrescuedDylan... Is it really a therapy dog? I know there’s all sorts of people these days pretending to have service dogs when they’re nothing but glorified pets.” Lindsay’s lips crinkled in a sneer as she bit out the last word.
Scott exploded to his feet, hands shaking. “Gen is a therapy dog, and the work she and Abby do is critical. They’re at the hospital two to three times a week visiting sick kids. They go in anytime they’re called, day or night. And Gen behaves perfectly. They have a therapy certification from...” His lawyer tugged his arm and Scott trailed off.
“Sit down, Scott.” Mark’s tone brooked no argument.
His eyes sought the judge’s and, seeing the impassive expression on the man’s face, his shoulders dropped and the heat that had run to his face drained away. “I’m sorry, Your Honor.”
He sank back into his seat.
A slow, victorious smile spread across Lindsay’s face.
“Ladies, gentlemen,” Judge Farmer began. “The intent of this hearing is to explain any mitigating circumstances to the findings of Ms. Weiring and Mr. Ferndale. If there are no other explanations forthcoming?” He paused while Lindsay and Mark both shook their heads. “Very well. We will adjourn while I considerallthe evidence provided to me today. We will convene again—hmm, with the holidays coming up—in six weeks’ time. At which point, I will render a new custody arrangement.”
He picked up the gavel and brought it down with a quick snap.
Twenty-Seven
THEY WON IN overtime on Sunday. Tied at three at the end of regulation, the Raptors pulled out a miraculous touchdown on the back of a solid offensive line, who held the pocket, even as a blitz pushed through to Scott. Abby, hanging out with Dylan at Scott’s house, hadn’t even processed the play before Dylan leapt out of his seat and danced around the room.
Lauren, making dinner, poked her head through the door. “They won?”
Dylan, jumping up and down and clapping his hands, nodded. “Yep, they’re nine and four.”
Abby did the math, then shook her head. “Easy, Dylan, they’re in the hunt, for sure, but they’d be seeded pretty low right now, and if the Rams win, that’ll set the Raptors back into a wildcard spot.”
Dylan wrinkled his nose at her. “The Rams are playing in Kansas City tonight.”
“Still...” Abby knew better than to count her chickens before they hatched – or her points before they were on the board. She’d been a football fan longer than Dylan had been alive.
“Are you staying? Please stay?” No longer flailing around the room, Gen leaned into Dylan’s legs, and he knelt to wrap his arms around her.
“For dinner, yeah, but then I have to get going. Your dad won’t get home until tomorrow morning, anyway.” Although the chance to talk to Scott, to learn how the hearing had gone, to celebrate the win tempted her to stay, she couldn’t justify the risk of an overnight, even if he wasn’t there.
He’d call her tomorrow morning, so she’d have to be patient. Besides, Dylan had school in the morning, and if she didn’t go home, he’d want to stay up late playing with Gen.
Speaking to the guardian had put Abby on her guard; every choice she made had the potential to reverberate through Dylan’s life. She couldn’t be responsible for anything that might strip Scott of his parental rights.
His face fell. Would every choice they made hurt Dylan, no matter how hard they tried? Would it be better for him to be tired but happy in the morning? Or should she stick to the rules, even if it did impact Dylan’s mood? She didn’t have a good answer and couldn’t make the call without Scott’s input.
“Sorry, kiddo. Them’s the breaks.”
He pulled Gen closer. “Okay, I guess. But can I go to the hospital with you later this week? I miss Ethan and Liam.”
“You know Liam can’t play, right? He shouldn’t even have a lot of visitors.”
“I’ll wear a mask, and gloves, too, if you want,” Dylan pleaded. “Please? I haven’t seen them in so long.”
Abby sighed, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll talk to your dad. Maybe Thursday, if you don’t have too much homework.”
Dylan gave her a radiant smile, then, true to form, jumped to his feet, pulling at Gen’s collar. “C’mon, I’m hungry.”
Instead of calling, Scott came by the house in the morning, a rare, mid-season, half-day off. Coffee and bagels in hand, but dark marks beneath eyes still shot through with red from too short a night, Abby appreciated he wanted to spend time with her more than stay home and sleep, but her stomach knotted.