Page 87 of Single Dad Dilemma
On the drive over, Lily had stayed quiet.
Not just quiet—she was dry-eyed as she asked me to wait in the lobby, dry-eyed as she followed a vet tech down a hallway, disappearing behind a glossy black door with the number 5 painted on the placard on the wall.
She’d shut down, and I couldn’t blame her.
Discomfort sat like an anchor on my chest, like my insides were being stretched in two very different directions. There was no foundation between us that might warrant my presence in that room, but damn if I didn’t want to be there.
My mom sent a text not long after Lily went into the exam room. She’d told the kids, and they were sad, but Griffin and Ruby’s arrival helped. They were settled in the guest room, and she’d order pizza for dinner. Enough for Lily, too, if she wanted to join, she said.
I shook my head. Subtle as a freight train.
A door opened, and I lifted my head, but it was a redheaded woman cuddling a black-and-white puppy on a leash. My shoulders fell, and I had to cover my mouth with one hand as I waited. Patience, in moments like this, was not my strong suit.
Doing nothing was even worse.
But sometimes doing nothing was the best thing you could do for someone. Being there was doing something. Even if it meant waiting. Even if it meant being perfectly fine that she didn’t say a single word.
Another door opened. The soft murmuring of voices reached my ears.
It was door number 5.
Slowly, I stood, waiting for her to leave the room. The vet tech came out first, her eyes downcast. Lily was behind her, face pale and her coat clutched in her hands. When her gaze lifted, she looked so empty, so unbearably fragile, that my chest ached.
“Hey,” I said softly. “You ready to go?”
Lily tucked her hair behind her ears, attention shifting to the front desk. “I need to pay.”
“I already did,” I told her. “I didn’t want you to have to stay any longer than necessary.”
Her throat worked on a swallow. “Thank you,” she whispered.
When she looked up into my face—looking so fucking lost, so devastated—I almost did something really stupid, like pull her into my arms. But doing nothing ... I couldn’t.
I laid my hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Underneath my fingers, her hair was silky and smooth. Lily pinched her eyes shut and then walked past me, my hand falling back down to my side.
A vet tech came around the corner with a bag in her hand. “Here. She forgot to take these from the room.”
All it took was a quick glance over my shoulder to know she was long gone. Lily was already in the parking lot, arms crossed tightly as she strode to my truck. I gave the employee a small smile. “What is it?”
“The dog’s collar, and the blanket she had him wrapped in when she arrived last night. It looks like it was well loved; I thought she might want it back.”
“Thank you.” I tucked the bag under my arm and sighed. “Is there anything else we need to do?”
She shook her head. “We’ll take care of everything. She didn’t want the ashes after cremation, so there’s not really anything left to do.”
“Okay. Thanks again.”
“Have a good day, Coach.” She smiled shyly.
Lily was waiting outside the truck, and the lost look was gone from her face. In its place was stoicism. Her chin was lifted, andshe still held that coat in her hands despite the snow flying and the blustery wind.
Without a word, I held out the bag, watching her face carefully. For a moment, she stared at it, then removed it from my grasp. I unlocked the truck and opened her door. She stared at my hand on the edge of the door, her chest rising and falling on a deep breath before she grabbed the handle and pulled herself into the passenger seat.
Once she was in, I closed the door and walked quickly around to the driver’s side.
She was quiet on the drive home, but unlike last time, she didn’t stare out the window.
Lily was staring at me.
