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“Thanks,” I say.
“No problem.”
“What now?” Dylan shakes his head in disbelief.
“Surgery. After that they run the lab results and figure out what comes next.”
“When?” Dylan asks his face stricken.
“Monday,” Patrick says.
“Another lumpectomy?”
“Double mastectomy. They’re not messing around this time.”
My beautiful player’s resolve crumbles in front of me like stale cake left out on a plate for too long. “I’ll cancel the game.”
“Good,” Patrick says. “That’s for the best. She wants to be with family this weekend. There’s the church event, and she’ll go, put on her game face, but she’s not telling a lot of people.”
My stomach plummets and I make a snap decision. “I’m already here at the airport. I’ll book a flight back to Chicago.”
“No,” Dylan says, a hand pinching that small space between his brows.
Patrick nods at me as if we are suddenly in an unspoken partnership. Collusion. “I’m getting the car. I’ll be out front in ten minutes.” He grasps Dylan’s suitcase, rolling it behind him. “Whatever you decide -- nice meeting you, Evelyn.” He leaves through the exit doors at the same time the heat from summer in Texas bullies its way inside the cool, air-conditioned baggage claim.
“Shit,” Dylan says, running a hand through his hair.
I stare up at my beautiful player. “You need to be with your mom. You need to hang out with family. The last thing you need is me here.”
“That’s not true.” He shakes his head. “I need you here, Evie,” he says, whisking my suitcase away with one hand, placing his other on my arm. He hustles me away from the carousel, away from the thinning crowd of passengers to a side wall.
“I’ll be in the way.”
“Is this your empathy talking?” He drapes both arms over my shoulders, leans me back against the wall, boxing me in.
“No. It’s my practicality.” I twist a lock of hair around my fingers, pulling it taut, trying to think this thing through.
“Your practicality doesn’t get to tell me what or who I need. I need you.”
“This is so intimate. It’s your family. They’re not going to want a newcomer in their midst during a tough time and I don’t blame them.”
“You calm me. You center me. Stay the weekend,” he says prying open my fingers open, my hair falling. “Just a few more days. Stay the weekend and then I’ll get you on a plane back to Chicago before Madame Marchand sends out her storm troopers and has me arrested.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She figured out what your ‘personal problem’ was. Why you’re ‘calling in sick’,” he makes finger quotes in the air. “She’s been texting me since we landed in Dallas.”
“Shit. I’m sorry. She’s so smart.”
“She’s not going to can you for one more weekend. Besides, my mom will love you. I want you to meet her. Actually, I need you to meet her.”
“Think about what you’re saying.”
“I know what I’m saying. Everyone will rally around Mom. Patrick’s wife will be there for him. Even though most of them won’t know about her surgery – the congregation will be there for Dad. Who’s going to be there for me? Mom normally does that, but I can’t really ask her to do that right now.”
My heart travels full circle and aches for him.
“Who’s going to be there for me, Evie?”
