Thirty-Two

“I MEAN, IF you want to go, I’m game. Tickets are going to be expensive, though.”

Abby hummed. “I know. Really expensive. But I don’t mind paying.”

“Girl, if you don’t say yes when Scott finally asks you to marry him, I’m gonna smack you upside your pretty blond head, you know that, right?” Abby could picture the stern expression on Kelly’s face, even through the phone.

“Funny, my best friend said the same thing when I told her.”

Actually, Cara had demanded when she’d hurry up and ask him ; none of this waiting around for Scott to get his act together. Girls ran the world, now, in the twenty-first century.

“Okay, then, you find tickets, I’ll find flights, and we’ll go surprise the boys.”

Abby hung up, glanced at Gen, curled at her feet, then slid her laptop across the bar.

“Six-hundred dollars? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Gen lifted her head, cocked it to one side, then settled it back on her paws, as if to say, Well, it is a divisional playoff game.

“I know, girl. And it’s the Chiefs. I’m afraid to go; their fans are rabid.”

She clicked the buy button, then sent the information on to Kelly.

Picking up the phone again, she found Scott’s number and dialed.

“Hey, Abby. What’s up?” The hesitancy in his voice stabbed at Abbys heart. She’d failed him—and Dylan—so badly.

“Hi Scott. I was, umm, wondering if Gen and I could come by tonight. Maybe eat dinner with you guys? If... if it’s okay?”

He didn’t answer right away, and enough time passed for anxiety to bubble up in Abby’s chest, then, “Yeah, sure. That sounds good.”

Relief flooded through her, but tension followed on its heels, again. She’d been an awful girlfriend; she owed Scott an apology. She only hoped he’d be willing to accept it.

Gen had eaten an entire bowl of canned food as an early dinner, and now she pulled Abby toward Scott’s door, breath huffing in her throat as her collar pressed against her neck.

“Gen, heel, girl.”

The dog pranced, circled, but obeyed, falling into step beside her. Hope sprang up anew in Abby. Gen’s palpable excitement at seeing Dylan mirrored her old self, as if she’d never been sick at all.

When the door opened, Dylan tumbled out, already throwing his arms around Gen.

Gen, tail wagging so hard her whole body wavered, pressed her chin over his shoulder and lifted one paw, resting it across his leg where he crouched beside her. Abby had to swallow hard against the thickness in her throat as her dog nearly hugged Dylan back.

She’d done nothing in weeks but hold back one spate of crying after another.

Enough. No more tears.

If Gen could fight for her life, then she’d do her damn best to make sure it wasn’t made more difficult by forcing her dog to comfort her.

Can you gaslight a dog? Abby wondered.

Slipping the leash from her wrist, she handed it to Dylan. “Don’t let her get too excited, and no...”

“No treats or extra food.” Dylan nodded and stood; his forehead crinkled with concern. “I’ll take good care of her, I promise.”

“I know you will.” Her throat closed, her voice pitching higher than normal, but her eyes stayed dry.

Instead of running for the stairs, Dylan led Gen into the living room, where a large dog bed had been tucked against one end of the couch. Flopping down on it, Dylan patted the space beside him.

Gen sniffed it, circled, then curled up.

He ran a hand down her spine. “Good girl.”

Heading for the kitchen, she slipped inside.

Scott juggled a pan and a pair of tongs, a stack of ingredients waiting to his left, the sharp sound of sizzling oil and scent of browning meat filling the room.

She paused a moment, taking in the sight of him, shoulders straining the fabric of his shirt, cuffs rolled up to his elbows, jeans hugging his hips.

But nothing on those tight leggings he wears to play.

Jif’s comments about the players rattled through her mind at the most inopportune times. Her cheeks flushed and she swallowed hard.

Crossing the tiled floor, she slid up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He stiffened, then relaxed. “Hey.”

She pressed her nose between his shoulder blades, inhaling the scent. “Hi.” Then, “Missed you.”

Turning, he pulled her into his chest. “Missed you, too.”

Tipping her head back to smile up at him, he bent to meet her, his lips brushing across hers, delicate, tantalizing. Pushing to her toes, she pressed into the kiss, and he responded in kind, running a hand over her hip and up her spine to tangle in her hair.

Dropping her hands to his waist, she found the loops of his jeans and pulled herself closer as he cradled her head and ran a fine line of kisses along the length of her jaw.

Abby let herself get lost in the sensation of his firm strength, a welcome distraction, something good in the midst of so much terrible.

Scott broke the kiss, but Abby followed him, not yet ready to surrender the moment. He pressed his lips to hers again, more gently, then touched their foreheads together, eyes dark and expression solemn.

The acrid tang of smoke burned her nose, and she pulled back.

A moment later, Scott noticed, and, with a swear, he dove for the pan of chicken on the stove, sliding it off the hot burner and reaching for the tongs.

Stepping back, Abby combed her fingers through her hair and smiled. “Did you save it?”

Scott glanced over his shoulder and winked. “I always save it.”

She burst out laughing and he froze, hand suspended above the pan, tongs already angled to scoop up the lightly charred chicken.

“Sorry,” she gasped, shoulders still shaking in amusement. “Sorry, that was... I can’t ...”

He turned back to the stove, held still a moment longer, then moved the chicken onto a plate. Under his breath, she barely caught his words. “You haven’t laughed in weeks.”

She sobered. Took a breath. Let it out. “I know. I’m... sorry.”

He kept his back to her as he measured some broth, poured it into the searing pan, and scraped the leftover bits off the bottom. He set it aside to thicken.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I couldn’t...” She still didn’t have the words as her mind played the moment Gen collapsed over and over. “I’m sorry.”

“You missed Dylan’s concert, my last game...” The accusation in his voice cut through Abby’s defenses like a scalpel.

She winced. “I know.”

He stirred the broth, then turned to face her. “I would have come over. I would have helped bring Gen home, brought Dylan to visit...”

“I know...”

“Brought pizza and a crappy movie.”

She nodded. “I... I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t enough. She knew that, too. It didn’t matter how much she meant it; she’d hurt him – hurt Dylan – even if she could have excused it, she wouldn’t. They deserved better from her.

In one long stride, Scott crossed to her, hands wrapping around her upper arms. “Why, Abby? Why won’t you let me help you?”

She didn’t have an answer. Not for him, not for Cara, who had asked the same question more than once, not for her former in-laws, who’d been cut out of her life after Will’s death, too stark a reminder of all she’d lost, not for her own parents, who’d tried for so long before giving up.

“I don’t know.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “I thought I understood what I was getting into, dating you. I thought...” He shook his head.

“You know when we went to that Japanese art exhibit over the summer? They had those broken bowls, but instead of throwing them away or trying to cover up the cracks, they’d filled them in with gold, instead.

They were beautiful. The cracks hadn’t ruined them, they’d made them better. ”

Abby pressed her hand to her mouth, refusing to let the sob escape.

No more tears.

“I thought, That’s Abby . Those bowls, they were you. Shattered by use, by life, but instead of being thrown away, they’d been knit back together. Instead of trying to pretend the cracks never happened, they became art, a testament that broken didn’t have to mean useless. Purposeless.”

“And now?” She didn’t know where the strength to ask came from. She already knew the answer.

“Beautiful, but untouchable. Encased in glass.”

Her shoulders jerked, his words a physical blow. What would it take to shatter the glass she’d surrounded herself with? Why couldn’t it be enough that she’d learned to love again? Why did loving Scott mean she had to surrender every part of her defenses, even in the midst of being shattered again?

Liam is dead , she wanted to scream. Gen is sick.

How could she let him in? How could she keep her heart from flying into a million pieces if she didn’t clutch every one of them?

She wasn’t an empty bowl, to be put up on a shelf until someone had time to fix it; she was a living person, and if she didn’t hold it together, everything within her would leak away. Only an empty shell would be left.

Scott spoke again, fists clenching and unclenching at his side.

“Dylan’s final custody hearing is a week from Wednesday.

I have to walk into a courtroom and convince a judge I’m the best parent for him; otherwise, Lindsay will take him.

I’ll lose my son, Abby. How can I defend my relationship with you and not be able to trust you’ll be there for us?

How can I say you’re good for Dylan and then have to explain how upset he was when you missed his concert? ”

She flinched again. “I’m not perfect...”

“I’m not asking for perfect. But right now?

I need better than this . I need better than you disappearing on us.

I need you to decide: are you in? Are you going to let me in, let us in?

Or are you doing life on your own. Because if you are.

..” He opened his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I can’t lose my son.”

She lifted her chin, met his eyes, and she blinked hard. She could make it up to them, but it would hurt.

“I know. I know you can’t. I know... we can’t.”

He stilled. “We?”

She nodded. This much she could do for him.

“I won’t be the reason you lose Dylan, Scott.

I can’t be. So, if you need to walk away for a while, fight this battle while I fight Gen’s, I get it.

If I can’t be what you both need, then maybe it’s for the best.” She paused.

“But not forever. This stupid custody thing will end, and you’ll get Dylan back.

And Gen... When Gen’s better...” She still couldn’t say the words.

Her hope perched too fragilely in her soul to speak it aloud. “Then maybe we can try again.”

He stepped back. “So that’s it, then.”

“Its... It’s for the best,” she said, as the pieces of her heart ripped apart in a whole new way.