Page 16 of Love Rewritten

I laugh, watching her frantic excitement blend with the understandable nerves about this whole situation. I’m curious what her story is about. I know how faithful she is to that bundle of bound paper. It’s like a lifeline. She takes it with her almost everywhere. She’s never allowed me a peek at those words, and I haven’t tried to steal any glances at them, just in case she’d find that a breach of confidentiality. But I do wonder what captures her attention every time I notice she has a lightbulb moment, or when she scribbles something out and rewrites it.

I had to coax Abby to bed last night with a promise that made her toes curl. Today, she barely moves from her spot at the table. Loose papers scatter the wooden top, but her trusty notebook sits open next to her. She’s going to need a new one soon with how quickly she’s filling it up now. She bites a pen between her teeth as her fingers move at lightning speed across the keyboard.

“Can you drop me off at the library before you go to the game? I think I’m going to spend the day there.” Her gaze never breaks from the screen.

“Don’t you think a break might be in order, so you don’t burn yourself out?” I ask, tying my shoes.

“This is only a rough draft. I have to finish this before I can edit it.” She furiously scribbles something onto a nearby piece of paper.

I sigh. “All right. Pack up your stuff. We’re heading out in a few minutes.”

Once Abby disappears through the library's front doors, I head off toward the field.

“So, how’s all the legal stuff going?” Logan asks from the passenger seat.

I shrug. “A little slow, but that’s to be expected. Legal stuff always takes a while, especially this kind.”

He stares out the side window for a moment. “Do you think she’ll win?”

I tap the steering wheel to the faint beat of the radio. “Yeah. I don’t think there’s much, if any, evidence to say otherwise. I think the hardest part will be the sentencing. It’s rarely long enough or strict enough. Especially with domestic stuff.”

He turns to look at me this time. "How areyoudoing with all of it?"

I shake my head as I think. "I wish I could do more."

"It's not your job," he says, not missing a beat.

I tip my head toward him, shooting him a look that I hope he reads asyou know what I mean.

"I just don't want you losing yourself in this. I have no problems with Abby. But you know your tendencies when things get hard. I don't want you going back to that."

"I'm not, and I wont," I say, gripping the steering wheel harder.

He sighs, but doesn't press further. "Any word on Sam yet?" he asks instead.

"Nothing. I'm not sure if I'd rather he stay away for Abby's sake or if I want him to come back to get his ass handed to him."

"You can want both."

I haven’t talked to my mom since the first meeting. Neither has Abby that I know of. Mom said she’d be in contact as things started moving forward. So, I’ve done everything in my willpower not to constantly call or text her to ask where things sit right now. As much as I want to help, I know there is very little I can do other than simply be there for Abby through the process. And Abby needs to have somewhere she can detach from everything. She needs a safe space. Home is the most natural place for it, and she has been comfortable there. Ruining that peace could be detrimental.

Chapter 7

Abby

Finishingthisstoryhasgiven me exactly what I need lately. Burying myself in the words, separating from real life, it's sedative.

At the same time, I know it’s just a matter of time before everything picks up speed. The past two days have been a waiting game to make sure the protective order goes through correctly. Once it does, the rest should start to fall into place. At least that’s what Trisha told me before we left the conference room. I want to believe her. But it’s a little hard to do that when life, or Sam in this case, keeps hitting you when you’re down. Literally. I know it’s something I need to do. Something I want to do. But it’s the single scariest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.

So, while everyone around me keeps moving on with their life, I feel like I’m stuck until something else happens. Something other than my writing. Getting accepted into the LAO is a big deal, and one I am so grateful for, but if I’m being honest with myself, it’s intimidating.

I scribble another note onto an increasingly jumbled piece of paper about a line I need to adjust, the ink in my pen somehow still holding up. It’s a wonder my hand hasn’t cramped up yet. I set the pen down on the library study table to splay my fingers wide before returning my attention to my laptop.

“Abby?” The voice pulls me from my computer screen, eyes straining to focus on the person standing before me. Meredith leans into her hip, clutching the leather strap of her purse. “Uh, hey,” she says hesitantly.

It takes me a moment to find my words. I haven’t seen her since the day she called the cops. I haven’t wanted to. But something in me starts to cry. It starts to beg, pushing me toward her. I think deep down, I do want my best friend back. But I don’t know how to go back to what we were. Or if that’s even possible.

“Can I sit?” she asks, even though I haven’t greeted her yet. I nod, leaning back in my chair. Her long curly brown hair is pulled back into a low bun. She wears her usual light-wash denim overalls, a black crop top underneath, and brown strappy sandals. She hangs her purse over the back of the chair before taking a seat across from me. She stares at all the papers around me, smiling a little brighter with each passing moment.

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