Page 50 of Love Rewritten

Completely consumed.

“I’m just gonna…” Logan says, words tapering off before Dallas nods, and I hear Logan’s bedroom door shut.

Dallas shifts in front of me and positions his phone to his ear. “Mom?” He listens a moment and then says, “Yeah. We … we got that.” He sighs, rubbing his brows. “Nope. That’s my fault. I should have called you back, but I forgot.” Another pause. “Yeah, one sec.” He places the phone on the couch next to me and says, “Okay, you're on speaker.”

Trisha speaks calmly. “Abby? Honey, I’m so sorry I didn’t get a chance to warn you before they served the paperwork.” She pauses like she’s waiting for me to say something.

I can’t. Nothing forms in my head. It’s a void right now, a black hole. Maybe, if I’m lucky, it’ll suck me in, too.

Someone takes a deep breath. I’m not sure who.

It’s Trisha who speaks again. “We’ll need to meet and discuss what this means for the case. I won’t say too much over the phone. It’ll be easier to talk in person. But please take some time today to relax. Put this aside for a while. Do something fun tonight. Lean on Dallas. You’ll be okay. I know it may not feel like it right now, but I promise you, we’ll get you through this.”

Right. Through it. Not over it, around it, under it. Directly through the middle. I don’t have that choice anymore. That was taken from me. Ripped from my fingers, from my heart, from what should be my freedom, but here he is. Still in control.

One question pops into my mind through the void. The only one I care to know.

“Who ordered it?” I ask with a surprising bite to my words.

Trisha sighs on the other end of the phone. “Sam’s attorney. I’m sorry, Abby. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“So, Sam asked for it more than likely,” I say flatly. “Just to fuck with me.”

“I have no way of knowing, I can only see who ordered it, not who initially asked for it.” Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper. She sounds almost as defeated as I feel.

That’s all I needed to know. Dallas and Trisha talk for a little longer before they hang up. I stopped listening after getting my answer. Dallas reads through the papers again. I’m not sure why or what he’s looking for, but it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. And now, yet again, Sam left me to pick up the pieces he’s shattered while I walk through them barefoot.

As the numbness slowly dissipates, though not all the way, it’s anger that replaces it. Not panic like I was prepared for.

When he sets the papers down again, he places a tentative hand on my knee as he rises to sit on the ottoman behind him. “I know we planned on going out for dinner tonight. Did you still want to go?”

I shake my head. Going out is the last thing I want to do tonight. There’s no way I’m in any shape to keep my terrible poker face in check. I wear my emotions on my sleeve, hell, clearer than that even. All the other innocent customers don't need the halo of rage I'll bring with me to disrupt their nice evenings. “Can we go tomorrow instead?” I finally look up and see just how much concern laces Dallas’s features.

“I work tomorrow night, and I’m training the new guy, so I can’t call in.”

“It’s fine. Forget it.” I shake my head and push up from the couch, but Dallas grabs my arm and pulls me back down.

“No, I’m not going to forget it. You wanted to go to your favorite restaurant. We’re not skipping that. Two days from now, we can go. How does that sound?”

I take a deep breath, trying to rid the anger from my voice before I speak. It’s not Dallas I’m mad at. He doesn’t deserve to get the brunt of it. “Okay. Two days. I’m holding you to that.”

He smiles, trying to break the tension. “I would expect nothing less.” He pulls me into a hug that I didn’t know I needed.

It’s everything right now. The warmth, the security, the unwavering protection. Somehow, the numbness fades to almost nothing. The anger is doused to barely a simmer. I pull my focus back to where I sit on the couch, back to the arms wrapped around me, drawing his scent in through my nose, letting it out in a long sigh from my mouth.

“Better?” Dallas asks, his chin resting on top of my head. I squeeze him tight one more time before letting go and nodding.

It’s time to forget about everything for a while, to do what Trisha suggested, and find something else to distract me for the night. I feel like I’m doing a lot of that lately, distracting myself rather than processing it. But it’s working for now. And there are already too many changing variables in my life to add another one.

“Good. What would you like for dinner? I’m sure we can whip something up in that almost empty kitchen.”

No one has been grocery shopping in almost two weeks, and it’s growing apparent by the trash can that's filled with takeout boxes. Dallas heads to the fridge. I head to the pantry. He turns around and pulls out some chicken from the back of the freezer. I turn around with a bag of rice.

He smiles. “I think we can figure out a meal with this.” He turns around again and searches the refrigerator. He sets half of a stalk of broccoli on the counter and grabs a block of cheese. “There. Even better.”

“Okay. But I want to bread the chicken. It’s so much better that way.”

“Deal.” He tosses the chicken into some warm water in the sink to thaw and then grabs a cutting board to start chopping up the broccoli.

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