Page 68 of Play the Last Card
Mon, 23 Oct at 6:23 A.M.
Scott:Morning. Can I call you today? I have the day off practice so can talk whenever. Let me know. Have a good day x
Wed, 25 Oct at 3:33 P.M.
Scott:I’m heading out of town for a Thursday night game today. Just wanted to let you know. Will be in Florida. Call me or let me know when I can call you? We can just talk.
Tues, 31 Oct at 1:46 A.M.
Scott:Thinking about you, call me. Please?
Sat, 4 Nov at 9:23 A.M.
Scott:Heading to LA for a game. I’ll be back late Sunday night.
Sun, 12 Nov at 9:23 A.M.
Scott:Will be away for a Monday night game this week then have stretch at home. We’ll be in Denver.
Scott:Are you readyto talk yet?
Scott:Please Ivy, just call me.
“You can’t ignore himforever,” Katie says from her place on the couch.
I grit my teeth and turn my phone over so that the screen is face down on the table. I glance up at her from the stack of letter writing books I’m going through. “Why are you even here, again? This is like the third time in the last week.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t think you are. You’re ignoring a man that is obviously very much into you and the reason you’re ignoring said man is ridiculous, might I add.” She waves her wine glass around her head. “Are you delulu or something? Scott Harvey isfine.”
“You date him then,” I mutter, closing one of the kids’ books harder than necessary and tossing it onto my completed pile.
“I would, but I’m in love with Grant—” I make a gagging noise and I can practically feel her glare burning a hole in the side of my head. “Besides, Harvey is obviously in love with you. You should call him.”
“No. He lied.” The words feel like gravel pouring out my mouth. I pull the next book toward me, flipping to the pages where the child has been practicing theirJ’s.
“Barely a lie. He told you worked for the team, just didn’t say what he did for said team.”
“Still a lie.”
She sighs sitting forward and putting her glass into the coffee table next to my own.
“Ivy, if this is because he plays in the NFL … you know this isn’t the same situation as your dad. That had nothing to dowith foot—”
“If you aren’t going to be helpful then you should probably just go, I’m busy with this.” I bite out. She slides off the couch to sit next to me.
“I just think you’re being a little dramatic,” she tells me softly, a gentle hand coming to pat my arm. “It’s not the same.”
I slouch against the couch setting my pen down. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” She snakes an arm around my shoulders. “And you would too if you actually faced the reality of what happened and saw it for what it was.”
I shake her off, getting to my feet. “Do you want ice cream? I think I want ice cream.”
“Ivy, come on,” she pleads with me from her place on the floor.