Page 88

Dylan stiffened beside him, but Scott let her words flow over him. He’d spent so long living in fear one day she would change her mind and come for Dylan. Now, she had, and he’d won. With that, she’d lost all ability to rattle him.
“So, the rumors were true.” The vicious expression on her face, a malicious parody of a smile, screamed her victory, even in the face of all the defeat of the day.
He kept his voice low, still hoping to protect Dylan from his mother’s vitriol, but done with Lindsay’s garbage, especially after Judge Farmer’s ruling. “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
She snorted, eyes glancing over Dylan in dismissal. Scott waited for the anger to bubble up within him, but it didn’t come. When had it lost its ability to sting?
Abby’s face floated into his mind, then Dylan’s, with the expression of adoration he had when Abby walked him through the steps of handling Gen. Those were the faces who mattered most to him.
He thought back, trying to recall a time when Lindsay had looked at Dylan the way Abby did, eyes shining with pride and love; when Lindsay had invested into her son the attention Abby lavished on him.
I can’t lose her.
“Dad? Can we go get some lunch? I’m hungry.”
Scott glanced down at his son, squeezed his shoulder. “Sure. What sounds good?”
“Can we go to Burger Barn? Can I get a shake?”
“Shakes at Burger Barn are for special occasions.” Also, Burger Barn would definitely not meet his diet plan, and he didn’t relish trying to explain to the team nutritionist why he’d broken the rules on a non-cheat day.
“Isn’t this a special occasion?”
He stilled himself, a visceral reaction, long habit more than conscious thought. His eyes flew to Lindsay’s face... and then nothing.
Dylan had surprised them both. He’d been deep in his first year in the NFL, a rookie relegated to a third string position despite his high draft number. He’d shed the ego, the entitlement of being an All-American athlete, a championship-winning college quarterback, working twice as hard as anyone else to earn his spot on the starting line-up. Lindsay had been studying for the bar.
One night in particular would always symbolize everything about that time in his life. He’d been exhausted, run down in body and in mind, and Lindsay had been pacing the kitchen, crying hysterically.
“You have no idea what I’m going through, Scott. There’s this parasite growing inside of me, I’m sick all the time, I’m so tired... I hate this! I never wanted this.”
Scott couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. He’d never understand why she wouldn’t make the best of it. Why she wouldn’t accept life didn’t always go the way you planned.
With the benefit of years of hindsight, he could begin to sympathize.
He’d never intended to be cruel, but that’s how Lindsay had taken it. Perhaps she hated him so much now because he’d failed her then. He’d been so wrapped up in his own head he hadn’t made the space to understand things from her point of view. To empathize with her experience, even if he couldn’t share it.
Had he done the same to Abby, now, as he let her freeze him out in the midst of her grief over Liam, over Gen? Would she, too, one day come to hate him? Was he the problem, after all? He’d never asked himself the question before.
His eyes softened as he took in his angry ex-wife, then he turned, wrapped an arm around Dylan, and guided him away. “Okay, you can have a shake.”
Lindsay’s shrill voice followed them down the hall, “Don’t you pity me, Scott Edwards. Don’t you dare. I don’t need your pity...”
Mark shielded his back.
The small shoulder of his son tremored beneath his hand, betraying his tension, walking away from his mother as she screamed after them.
Scott took a deep breath.
They had a chance at a new beginning, right here, right this moment. A second chance. And Scott didn’t waste second chances.
“Will Abby be there, Dad?”
Scott frowned as he helped Dylan layer his numbered jersey into the overnight bag on his bed. “I don’t know.”
“I hope so. I miss her.”
“Me too, Dylan. Me too.”