Page 14

“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.

Gifts from Dylan; gifts for Gen. 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... when you’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.

Always alone .

The shivers turned to tremors as the world shook itself to pieces around her.

Scott lunged toward Abby as her legs collapsed.

He caught her, pulling her into his arms, but she thrashed, fighting him off.

He sank down with her, afraid to let go but afraid he’d hurt her if he didn’t.

The guttural sound of her hiccupping breaths wanted to form words, but he couldn’t understand them.

“Are you hurt? What’s going on?” He half-turned, reaching for his phone before remembering he’d left it on the coffee table in the living room. And who could he call? Cara?

Abby’s nails bit into his arm, his presence her only anchor.

The moment rose up around him, spooling out of control.

Scott forced himself to breathe, his body already responding the same way it always did when the pressure and the emotions threatened to overwhelm him on the field.

A hundred games had prepared him, the clock running out, a first down, a long throw, or a couple more points to win the game.

“I’ve got you.” He swept Abby into his arms, her gasping breaths punctuating the quiet calm of his voice. “I’ve got you, Abby. I’m right here with you and I’m not leaving.” He carried her into the living room and laid her on the couch, then cradling her hands, pressed them to his chest.

“Breathe with me, Abby. In and out. In and out. Feel that?”

Abby twitched and convulsed, her cheeks pale and the edges of her lips darkening with a bluish-purple tint. Her fingers shook in his, ice cold despite the warmth of his skin.

“C’mon Abby, listen to me. I know you can do it. One deep breath in.”

A jagged sob escaped her lips, and she dragged in a half breath before wheezing it out again.

“Good job. Can you do it again? I’m right here. We’re going to do it together. Ready? Deep breath in...”

Even as he kept his voice steady and calm, a part of him reeled. Should he call for help? Was she sick or dying and he thought some deep breathing exercises could cure her?

Another part of him recognized the burst of adrenaline, the panicky response, and his college coach’s voice echoed in his head.

Calm body, calm mind, Edwards. Don’t look out there, look right here.

It had been his first time starting and they were playing their old rivals. A sea of navy-blue and gold filled the bleachers, the sound deafening, and they were all counting on him. What if he failed them? What if he threw an interception on the first play?

His chest had tightened, his vision narrowing until the uniforms had blurred around him. A dull roar had filled his ears, though whether from the crowd or inside his own head, he couldn’t tell. Then, the clap of a hand on his shoulder.

Breathe, Edwards. Just breathe. It’ll pass. Calm body, calm mind...

“Calm body, calm mind. Just breathe.” He kept his voice low, but Abby’s tremors eased. Her chest rose, then hitched, then rose again as she matched his inhale. He exhaled and though her breath came out ragged, broken, whistling through her pursed lips, still she tried.

“Good. We’re going to do it again, for as long as it takes, okay? Big breath in...”

She came back to herself, like swimming through molasses. One part of her mind gibbered she needed to pull herself together; another cringed away, already humiliated Scott had seen this side of her; another clung to his voice like a lifejacket in a storm-tossed sea.

Breathe, just breathe.

Her litany.

Scott’s voice.

Her eyes were shut. Black. A rainbow of sparkles. Jagged strikes of lightning. The green afterglow. Black again.

Her fingers spasmed. The heat of Scott’s skin against hers. The fabric weave of his shirt. The hard plastic of a button. The pressure of his hands.

She thrashed, her ears straining for the comforting sound of Gen. Scott’s voice, calm and soothing, still droning. Cars passing on the street outside.

The remnants of dinner perfumed the air: garlic and tomatoes. Coffee.

They’d been drinking coffee.

No, that wasn’t right. She’d made the coffee, but then Scott had given her a gift.

Her sluggish thoughts were slow to grasp reality, again.

Her eyes flew open as air shuddered in and out of her lungs. Scott’s face crumpled in concern, and his hands, holding hers, squeezed too tight. Her fingers tingled and she pulled away from him. She tried to speak, but her throat, fiery and raw, strangled her words. Had she been screaming?

“Are you... okay?” Soft and soothing, his voice tamed the wildness in her mind, settled the fluttering of her heart.

Her eyes filled with tears, and then finally— finally —came the comforting tap of nails on the hardwood floor. Breaking their locked gazes, she wrenched herself around on the couch and her voice rasped out. “Gen? C’mere, girl.”

Gen approached, tail low and deep eyes limpid in the dim light. She laid her head on Abby’s lap and Abby pressed her forehead to the fine fur between the dog’s ears. She dug her fingers into Gen’s ruff and focused on breathing.

In, out.

Gen caught her hair in her teeth and pulled, the gentle tug at her scalp so familiar, so reassuring.

“No, Gen.” Scott touched the dog’s shoulder, but Abby shied away, her body convulsing tightly around Gen’s head.

Gen pressed her chest against Abby’s legs, then worked her front paws into her lap. With more of the dog’s weight in her arms, Abby squeezed, finding the steady rhythm of Gen’s breathing. Slowly, her breathing matched Gen’s and her heart rate slowed.

Unable to face Scott, she kept her face pressed to Gen’s fur and mumbled, “We should go.”

“You don’t have to.”

She appreciated his kind offer, but as lucidity returned, so did the dawning horror of Scott having witnessed her first full-blown panic attack in years.

She rose, hand still tangled in Gen’s ruff. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Sorry for ruining his evening, sorry for thinking she could try to start over again, sorry for dragging him into her mess. There were no words to fix what she’d done.