Page 20

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.

Given your track 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.

Seeing the missed call from Abby, emotions flitted through him: disappointment, guilt, anxiety, relief.

Disappointment he’d missed her call, guilt he hadn’t even bothered to check his phone, assuming Lindsay had called to harass him some more, anxiety Lindsay might go after Abby, or she wanted to end things between them, or a million other doubts he had about their relationship that bubbled to the surface, no matter how hard he quashed them.

.. Relief he hadn’t picked up—the most complicated feeling of all.

Tapping the screen, then holding the phone to his ear, he waited while it rang. When she answered, he had the ugly thought he’d been hoping it would go to voicemail. “Uh, hey. It’s me.”

“Rough day?” Abby, hearing the edge of exhaustion in his voice, worried she shouldn’t have bothered him. But, no, he had called her, she reassured herself. He wouldn’t have done that if he hadn’t wanted to talk. Right?

“Tired. Two-a-days are brutal.”

“I can’t even imagine. And in this heat...” she trailed off, unsure what to say next.

“Yeah.”

The pause turned long. Awkward. “Well, I’m sure you’re playing great,” Abby managed, trying to restart the stalled conversation.

“I’d better. Quarterbacks are a dime a dozen, or so I’m told.”

“Ouch, that bad?”

“It’s the football equivalent of basic training; break us down to build us up or some bull...” He cut himself off, voice harsh on the line.

“Oh.” The silence stretched thin and brittle again.

Gen, responding to Abby’s growing distress, twined herself between her handler’s legs.

“Gen, that’s enough. Go lay down.”

The dog ignored her, pressing her body harder against Abby’s.

Sighing, Abby bent down to scratch her ears. “Gen’s being weird. I should figure out why.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re being weird. She’s a pretty accurate barometer of your emotions, after all.”

Abby tensed, her breath catching in her chest. Another long, fraught pause.

“Okay, then,” she managed through a throat closing with some unnamed emotion existing somewhere between fear, anger, and sadness. “Well, I’ll stop bothering you.”

“Abby, wait, I didn’t mean...”

Her eyes burning, Abby let the phone drop into her lap. She pressed the red button to end the call, then buried her face in Gen’s ruff.

“I literally have no idea what the hell just happened. But I’m guessing that’s a no on borrowing his pool this evening. You’ll have to make do with the fan.”

Gen panted in response and, grateful for the distraction, Abby ran her fingers over the rough patch of fur Gen had been worrying for the last few days.

“I don’t want to shave you, girl, but I think I’m going to have to. This hot spot isn’t getting better, and if you have one, you probably have others.” Abby frowned.

She’d discovered early on Gen couldn’t comfort the children when she’d been shaved. Without her long, tufted fur, the kids didn’t want to pet and cuddle her.

Gen whined, then flopped onto her side, still panting. Whining again, she twitched a leg, then laid still, air whistling through her nose as she breathed, each exhale a hair-raisingly high-pitched sound on the upper edge of Abby’s hearing.

“Yeah, definitely going to have to shave you.”

Abby got up to gather the necessary supplies.

Taking her phone with her, she scrolled through her contacts, then dialed.

It went to voicemail. “Hi Sadie, it’s Abby.

Listen, I have to shave Gen; she’s got some hot spots, and I was hoping I’d be able to do some other OTC treatment, but it isn’t going to be an option. ”

Abby gritted her teeth, tempted to call Scott again, but then she steeled herself. She would not become a burden on him, a parasite, another person who only wanted him for what he could give her.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I think it’ll be a few weeks before we’ll be able to be back. She’ll need time to heal before I can bring her into a sterile environment again.”

Hanging up, she pressed her lips together, then reached for the electric clippers.

For Gen, she would do anything.

Anything except call Scott back and ask to use his pool.