“Why should I help you? You broke her heart. Congratulations. Hope football is worth it.”
Click.
Damn. I broke her heart?
But what does football have to do with this?
I pull up Jinxy’s number, but get his voicemail. “Hey, it’s Nick. I need to talk to you about something. Call me back.”
The asshole doesn’t call back.
I lie in bed all night and replay that conversation I had with Abby in the hospital. Why wasn’t I more patient? Why didn’t I hug her and tell her I was grateful she and Hazel were okay? Why did I assume the worst?
But more importantly, why haven’t I told her I love her?
My heart pounds and my eyes sting. I can’t believe I lost her, and this time it was my own damn fault.
I can admit it to myself now—I love Abby. With my whole heart and soul. In a way I’ve never experienced before.
That’s what I’ve been having trouble processing. That I love her more than Gemma. Seeing her parents on Sunday drove that home.
I’ll always have a special place in my heart for Hazel’s mom, but being with Abby makes me realize how much Gemma and I glossed over things to be together for Hazel’s sake. In the wake of her death, I think I romanticized our relationship because it felt wrong to remember the times we argued or bickered. And after we had Hazel, we argued a lot.
Being with Abby is like what I expected my relationship with Gemma to be like, but it never was, and that made me feel guilty as fuck.
Everything about Abby felt right, from having her live with us to the way she clicked with Hazel to how she always seemed to understand the pressure I’m under.
When my alarm goes off in the morning, I’d love nothing more than to pull the covers over my head, but I have to get to the field house to weightlift, and since Denise isn’t back from Chicago yet, and Cadence can’t help this morning, I need to bring Hazel with me.
The doorbell rings, and I see a FedEx truck in front of my house. When I open the door, the delivery guy hands me a tablet. “Sign here.” Then he hands me a giant box.
I don’t remember ordering anything online. I set the box on the coffee table and tear it open.
It’s a new letterman jacket.
I hold it up and turn it around. It has my name, number, and football patch. Did Coach order this for me? He was irritated with me a few weeks ago for not having my letterman for a team picture, and I had to borrow one and hide the fact that it wasn’t really mine.
It’s sucked to not have my jacket, but I couldn’t spend that much money to replace it.
At the bottom of the box, there’s a slip. When I read the names, I wince. “Jesus.” My name is listed under “Ship To” but Abby’s name is listed under “Paid By.” My eyes widen when I see the amount.
That girl has busted her ass waiting tables all semester so she could go on her trip, and instead of saving up for that or fixing her car, she bought me a new letterman.
Of course, I had to lecture her yesterday about not repairing her transmission. No wonder Baylee wants to lop off my balls with a rusty blade.
I grab my cell and pull up Abby’s name. When I get voicemail again, I clear my throat. “Abby, I know you don’t wanna talk to me, and I don’t blame you. I was an asshole yesterday. I can’t apologize to you enough. I got your gift today. I received my new letterman. Baby, thank you. You are such a thoughtful woman, and I don’t deserve you. Please call me back. Let me make this up to you.”
As much as I’d love to sit on my ass today and wallow, I need to get Hazel up. I trudge into the kitchen and pour some coffee. As I chug some down, I stare at the calendar on the fridge. We have a month before our quarterfinal playoff game. Finals are next week.
But the date I can’t stop thinking about is two weeks from tomorrow, the day Abby leaves for London.
I’m not sure how to track her down, but one thing is clear—I have to talk to her before her flight.
Or I might never see her again.
43
NICK
