Page 6

Five

“AND YOU RAN out on him?” Cara’s horrified expression said almost as much as her words.

“Well, Liam had already gone into emergency surgery and Ethan was a wreck. I had to go.” Abby threw her hands up to stave off Cara’s response. “Plus, he’s a football player. He’s, well... famous.”

Cara made a face. “So? He likes you. You could at least become friends.”

“It would never work.”

“Why, because he clearly hates dogs, or wouldn’t be supportive of your work? Because he despises coffee? And since when is football a bad thing? You love football.”

“I like football. Geez, I’m not some rabid fan, Cara. And his second suggestion after dinner was a brewery. How, exactly, do you think that’s going to work? You should have heard his voice when I said I don’t drink. ‘ At all? ’ He didn’t even know what to say.”

“Okay, fair point, but c’mon. He likes the occasional beer is enough reason to turn down a second date?”

“It wasn’t a date.” Abby took a deep breath, then blew it out.

“I had fun, and I did like him.” She didn’t expect it would be so easy to admit.

“But, you know, he’s got a kid. A ready-made family is a big deal.

If I was looking to date someone—and I’m not—it wouldn’t be him.

Plus, he’s the hometown hero. He’s in the news, and he has all those events and stuff, and he’s always traveling for games.

When would he have time for me? How would I fit into his life? ”

“I’m pretty sure that’s the point of dating, to see how each of you fits into the other person’s life. How would he fit into yours?”

Abby thought it over. “I’m not sure.”

“So, maybe it isn’t this guy, but it’s been three years. You know Will wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life alone.”

Abby flinched.

In fact, it hadn’t taken long for word to circulate around the hospital one of their own had gone on a date—despite her protestations to the contrary—with the handsome football player who had brought his son to the ER with a double fracture of his left arm.

It didn’t help the ER doctors and nurses were all gossips and considered Abby a sort of legacy to be protected.

She’d assumed here, of all places, where his memory pervaded everything, there would be less understanding. Instead, she’d been surprised by the positive reactions of the hospital staff, who seemed more aligned with Cara’s position than hers.

Cara shook her head. “Don’t you think they want you to be happy?” She opened her mouth to continue, then shut it and pursed her lips instead.

But Abby knew what Cara wouldn’t say. Everyone else had moved on; no one would blame her for doing the same.

Abby turned the corner onto her street.

“Almost home, girl.”

Gen sprawled across the backseat, tail limp, head down, the fur of her ruff blowing gently in the draft from the A/C.

Spring, now well-advanced, came with the usual wave of humidity, making the air thick and hazy, but Abby didn’t have the energy to enjoy the honey-warm sun filtering through the thick canopy of new leaves and dappling the road.

After another emergency surgery, Liam’s chances of recovery had plummeted. Ethan, still too weak from the last transfusion to give any more blood, had been inconsolable when they’d had to find a different donor.

Abby shuddered. When they’d told Ethan his brother might not make it, his devastation had torn open a barely-healed part of her own heart.

His horrified expression would haunt her nightmares for many nights to come.

She and Gen had been at the hospital overnight as they comforted Ethan and his family during the surgery, then waited for Liam’s condition to improve.

Ethan had cried himself to sleep in the wee hours of the morning, head pillowed on Gen’s gently heaving chest, fingers twined in her fur.

Parking, Abby’s feet dragged as she unloaded Gen, and the dog’s toenails scraped the ground with each weary step. At least she’d gotten to nap with Ethan. While he’d slept, his grief-stricken mother had finally broken down, and Abby had sat with her until word finally arrived Liam had stabilized.

Abby couldn’t wait to crawl into bed and sleep...maybe for a week.

She reached down to scratch the dog’s head as they walked. When Gen’s ears pricked forward with interest, Abby missed it, exhaustion dulling her response. Finally, her eyes focused, and she stuttered to a stop.

The child sitting on her doorstep looked familiar. He could have been any of her previous patients, in fact, if she gave out her home address. Because she didn’t, the pool of possible visitors narrowed to zero – except...

Her eyes caught and held on the blue cast spiraling from his palm all the way to his elbow.

“Dylan? What are you doing here?”

Gen lunged forward and threw herself into the boy’s arms, slipping her leash from Abby’s grasp.

Dylan, sitting on Abby’s front steps, hugged Gen, then peered up through her fur. “I need help.”

“Help?” Abby repeated dumbly. “What kind of help?”

Words cascaded in a torrent from Dylan’s lips.

“The doctor said he’d have to chop off my arm to remove the cast, and I’d have to get a robotic arm, and he’d try not to let it hurt too much, and my dad thought it was funny.

But it’s not funny; I don’t want to be a robot, or have my arm cut off.

” He buried his face in Gen’s ruff and sobbed.

“Oh, Dylan.” Abby heaved herself down onto the steps next to him and wrapped an arm around him and her dog. “No one is going to cut off your arm.”

The boy sniffled. “Promise?”

Abby nodded.

“Pinky swear?”

Abby smiled for the first time in days. “I promise.” She linked her finger with Dylan and shook on it. “Now, where’s your dad?”

Dylan snorted. “He had a press conference.”

Abby’s mouth dropped open in shock. “He left you here?”

“No way, I called an Uber.” He smiled in pride. “I used all my allowance. Lauren, my nanny, thinks I’m in my room playing video games.”

“You... you ran away?” Abby clarified.

Dylan’s forehead furrowed. “Yeah, I guess. But Dad wouldn’t listen to me, and I couldn’t think of any other way. He left your number on the fridge. I looked it up on the internet to get your address.”

Abby’s brain wasn’t processing at full speed, but she recognized the familiar sense of panic creeping up on her. She pulled her cell phone from her bag and lurched back to her feet, unlocking her door while dialing Scott’s number. She shooed Dylan toward the couch and let Gen hop up next to him.

The phone connected after the first ring. “Abby? I can’t talk right now, Dylan’s missing.”

“Dylan’s here, with me.”

“What?” She couldn’t tell if Scott was furious, relieved, or panicked. “Why?”

“I found him sitting on my front steps when I got home,” Abby explained. “I don’t know how long he’s been here.”

“I’ll be right over.”

Abby gave him her address and hung up. She glanced over at Dylan and Gen curled together on the couch and walked over to ruffle his hair. “Your dad’s on his way to come get you.”

Dylan cringed. “He’s going to be so mad at me.”

Abby crouched on the floor and caught Dylan’s eyes, bright and blue and so like his father’s.

“Probably,” she admitted, “but it’s only because he’s scared for you. It’s okay, I’ll talk to him.”

Dylan perked up.

“Here,” she stood and tossed him the TV remote. “I haven’t eaten all day. Why don’t you find some cartoons and I’ll make us sandwiches? Can you eat peanut butter?” He nodded and Gen’s tail thumped the couch as Dylan snuggled in closer and turned the TV on.

Abby retreated to the kitchen. She figured Gen, who loved peanut butter, would be sharing.

As long as Dylan wasn’t allergic, it was probably the best option.

She debated making coffee but decided on a mug of chamomile tea instead.

After all, once his father picked Dylan up, she still intended to go straight to bed; caffeine wouldn’t help.

Bringing the plate to the couch, she couldn’t help smiling when her prediction proved correct. Sure enough, for each bite of sandwich Dylan ate, he broke off an equal-sized portion and shared it with Gen.

“Don’t get used to it, girl,” Abby chided. “Tomorrow it’s back to kibble.”

Before long, the sleek silver Audi screeched to a stop across the street. Her heart leapt into her throat as she debated what she should say. Abby crossed the room and slipped out the door before Scott could knock.

He leapt the three steps and teetered to a stop before he barreled into her, one arm already moving to sweep her to the side. “Where is he?”

She gestured toward her bay window. Dylan, curled on her couch with his arms wrapped around a blissful Gen, giggled at the television. “He’s fine. He’s safe, Scott. I promise. Can we talk for a minute?”

Scott’s jaw clenched and his words ran over hers. “He’s fine? He ran away!” He tried to side-step her.

She moved with him.

“Yes, he’s fine,” she reiterated. “But he’s terrified of his doctor.”

“He’s what? Are you kidding me?” He scowled, eyebrows knitting together. “That’s ridiculous.”

“He’s scared they’ll cut his arm off.” She pursed her lips. “Your orthopedist isn’t Dr. Cunningham, by any chance, is it?”

Scott nodded.

“I thought so. Good doctor, but no bedside manner, especially with kids.” She had her own reasons for disliking Cunningham, reasons unrelated to Scott and Dylan, reasons that long since should have been laid to rest. Still, they persisted.

The fact that Dylan had been a victim of his twisted sense of humor tugged a chord she couldn’t sever, no matter how many years had passed.

“Uh, okay.” Scott glanced at his son through the window. “He’s scared? Are you sure? It was a joke, and Dylan loves robots.”