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“Not...yet. Things are so unsettled right now, I don’t want to rock the boat more, you know?”
“I hear you.” Finn frowned. “When’s the final hearing?”
“January fifteenth. I’m not sure why the judge wanted six weeks to make a decision, but I can’t say I don’t appreciate I won’t have to fight Lindsay for Christmas this year.”
“Speaking of. Kelly wants to know if you guys want to come by for Christmas Eve?”
“Let me ask Abby. I’m not sure it’s a good idea this year, but I’ll see.” Scott’s phone chirped, and he snatched it up. “It’s Abby.”
Finn flipped him a wave and he hustled out of the locker room.
Scott knew Abby had retreated to a place he couldn’t follow when her wooden voice spelled out Gen’s diagnosis and options, utterly devoid of emotion. In some ways, though it broke his heart, he’d rather she sob again, allow the pain to penetrate, experience it instead of pushing it away, pretending it didn’t affect her.
Her clinical voice bothered him. She’d used it with him only a few times before: that long-ago morning on the playground on the day they’d met, speaking professional words of reassurance to his son as he cradled a broken arm; then again the day she’d told him about Will’s death. What had been calming then terrified him now. How could she disconnect from herself so completely? It couldn’t be healthy.
It’s not, a small voice insisted.Maybe she isn’t as stable as you thought.
Scott shook his head, burying the voice. “What are you going to do?”
When she spoke again, the words were small, scared. Not an EMT or a medical professional anymore, but someone whose dog was dying.
“I don’t know.”
Scott weighed his next words carefully.
Let me be a part of this, he wanted to beg.Come to Dylan’s concert tonight; we’ll go back to my place afterwards and talk.Don’t shut me out.
He said none of these things.
“Will you let me know when you decide?” Perhaps it wasn’t fair, but the vicious, small voice in the back of his head won.
If she loved you like she claims, she’d say those things all on her own.
“Yeah, of course.” The distance returned, far away and receding, like a riptide pulling away from the shore, dragging her to a place he couldn’t—wouldn’t—follow.
Scott paused, waited, thought about speaking again. He could push. Prod. Remind... He should, he told himself. She’d had a horrific week; she couldn’t be blamed for forgetting about Dylan’s concert. But he remained silent, and then she’d hung up.
Thirty-One
THE RAPTORS ENDED the regular season at twelve and five, which let them squeak into the playoffs but not earn a bye.
Middle of the pack wasn’t a bad place to be, Scott reminded himself as they won their first playoff game against their wildcard opponent, the New York Jets. Not when most teams didn’t even make it this far, but the second week would be a hard fight for every yard, every point. And then, assuming they survived, they’d still go on to face the first-seeded team: the ever-present, always-dominant, Kansas City Chiefs.
One week at a time, Scott reminded himself, lacing up his cleats.Beat the Texans today. Worry about the Chiefs next week.
His phone chirped.Good luck.
He clenched his hands into fists, pretending they didn’t tremble too much to type a reply. Then, shaking them out, he took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled.
Thanks. Love you.
She didn’t answer. He didn’t expect her to. He’d have to be content knowing Abby would watch the game on her tiny television, Gen curled beside her. Maybe, eventually, he’d convince himself the space benefitted both of them; with only a couple weeks until Dylan’s final custody hearing, he didn’t need Lindsay getting all upset again about Abby and Dylan spending time together. Or worse, learning of Gen’s illness and making an ill-conceived comment that would devastate his son.
Then again, Abby’s presence hadn’t been an issue the last few weeks. Since Gen’s diagnosis, they’d only seen her a few times, and even then, she’d been quiet. Withdrawn.
Gen had bounced back from her trip to the vet, although she’d lost weight. More subdued than usual, still, her enthusiasm at seeing Dylan again had overwhelmed Scott. Like long-lost best friends, Dylan had opened his arms to her, and she’d bounded into them, throwing both of them to the floor, and proceeded to wash his face with doggy kisses.
Abby, protective, had warned Gen to settle down, had warned Dylan not to rile her up too much, had refused to let them retreat to his room, had warned him not to feed her or sneak any treats, then, after a few minutes, had recalled the dog to her side.