Page 77 of Game Plan

“Everything I said to Andie was legit. My half of the relationship was completely honest.” His crossed his arms over his chest before Lasha dug a hole clear through to his back with her lance of a fingernail. “And while it’s nice of you to jump to her defense, I think she’ll be fine.” Probably already was.

“Why? Because she hasn’t come crawling to your door, or cried into your answering machine, begging you to change your mind? Because she hasn’t been texting you and emailing you, telling you how much she loves you? It’s a good thing you’re pretty because you sure are dumb.” She snorted in disgust. “You don’t know Andie at all.”

* * *

ANDIE

Andie clapped softly as Dylan crossed home plate. No screaming or jumping up and down. She glanced at the man to her right. Even Scott was outdoing her in the cheering department tonight, and that said a lot.

She’d agreed to come to the game together. Dylan had asked her to, and he never did that. So he and dad could cheer her up, he’d said. Sweet boy.

Over a week had passed since she told her son that he wouldn’t be meeting her boyfriend because she no longer had one. She’d been careful not to cry or act melancholy around him, but Dylan was a perceptive kid. No, a perceptive young man. He matured a little more every day—intellectually, emotionally and physically. Seeing how wonderfully Dylan was turning out only made the maternal longings worse. Damn Mason for stirring them up. Damn him for a lot of things.

“You’re uncharacteristically reserved today,” Scott said as he resumed his spot beside her on the bleachers.

“That should please you immensely. I know how much my exuberance embarrasses you.”

A thin line took the place of Scott’s lips. “Not once have I ever said that.”

“No, never in those words. But asking me to tone it down, or suggesting I pick something more appropriate to wear—both of those, plus others, said thousands of times—same thing.”

“I’ve always appreciated your whimsy. But when you’re the wife of a respected professional, and when your last name is Finch in this town, there are expectations, And.”

This wasn’t the place for an argument, but he started it, so… “I solved the first issue with a divorce. Changing my last name just jumped to the top of my to-do list.” Angry heat bubbled under her skin. That reservedness Scott mentioned was slipping fast. “And, for the millionth and final time, I hate being called And. Not that you’d remember this, but I’m a woman. I am not a conjunction.” If it weren’t for Dylan, she’d harrumph out of there fast as her peep-toe pumps could take her. Trapped on the home-team bleachers, she settled for crossing her leg over her knee and bouncing one heeled foot hard enough to cause a breeze.

Scott knew her well enough to give her a full two minutes to calm. “Don’t change your name.”

“Dylan won’t have a problem with it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I wasn’t considering Dylan for the moment. It pleases me that you’re still using my name, that we’re still connected.”

Hisname. Didn’t the fact that she’d been a Finch most of her adult life make it her name too? Ugh. “We’re connected by our son and always will be. But that’s all.”

“After you’ve had your…free time…you’ll want more of a connection than that. What we had before, the comfort and ease of our family life. Nobody knows you better than I do. I might ask you to change your dress or laugh a little quieter, but at least you always know where you stand with me. No surprises, no disappointment.”

The speech seemed like a bunch of backhanded digs, not words from Scott’s heart. Coming to the game as a family unit was a mistake. Scott took any tiny act of togetherness as a sign they’d get back together.

“I think you should drop me off at home after the game. The three of us going out for dinner isn’t a good idea.”

“Dylan will be disappointed. And worried about you.”

She must have buttons visible only to Scott.Push here for guilt, in doses from gut-churning low to heart-ripper maximum. “Fine.”

“We’ll get our usual booth. Like always.”

Like always? It’d been over two years since they’d gone out for a meal together. There was nousual boothfor them anymore. She shook her head. Scott just smiled.

But Scott wasn’t the only one with insight. The smile on his face didn’t fool her—it was victorious, not genuinely happy.

She stared as if her eyes were glued to his face. For years she’d loved this man. With all her heart, she’d thought. Now there was…nothing. Only the tiniest shred of warmth remained. Without Dylan tying them, she’d forget about those years with Scott as easily as she forgot her shopping list every Tuesday. The memories of kissing him, touching him, the other things she’d done with him—now caused her to shudder.

“You should’ve dressed more appropriately,” Scott said, putting his arm around her shoulder. The words, his sermonizing tone, his fingers on her bare shoulder…a ball of vomit crawled up the back of her throat. For her son, she forced it back down.

* * *

MASON

Mason scanned the small bar area. No sign of Logan yet. He grabbed an empty seat and nodded at the bartender. “The darkest you have on tap, large.”

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