By the timeZulma left—she graciously agreed to reschedule the remainder of Sawyer’s interview and didn’t even bother trying with Robbie, saying she’d call him to set something up—the three of them were a mess.
“I really,” Finn said, lying on the couch with a bag of peas on his face, “do not want to cook dinner.”
Sawyer gave a halfhearted cheer. “No green beans!” He was curled up in the oversize armchair across from Finn, limbs pulled up in his Oodie, hood up, only his face visible.
Robbie himself was flat on the floor, being crushed under the weight of his own guilt. He should’ve been here. Hewould’vebeen here, if he hadn’t picked the worst possible time to do something so selfish. “Guys… I’m so sorry this happened.”
“Did you invite them over?” Sawyer asked.
Robbie would’ve shot to his feet to defend himself, but God, what a day. “What? No, of course not.”
“Cool,” Sawyer said. “Not your fault, then. But like, you’re gonna have to get us dinner because Finn’s probably too concussed to drive.”
“I’m not concussed,” Finn protested. “I’ve been concussed.”
“Wait, seriously?” Robbie attempted to sit up. Nothing happened. He and the carpet were one organism now. “Why didn’t I know that? When? How?”
“How do you think?” Finn’s tone was half bitchy, half wry. “You’re not the only professional athlete in the room.”
True, but ice dancers didn’t do the same sorts of jumps figure skaters did, right? So how—
Finn sighed. “Paris got too close during a camel spin and it was lights out.”
A brief moment of blessedly uncharged silence.
Then a staticky noise as Sawyer tried to smother a laugh but it came out through his nose. “I’m sorry,” he said through the subsequent giggles, “I’m sorry, head injuries aren’t funny—”
“They’re a little funny,” Robbie interrupted, failing to bite down on his own smile. “Sometimes.” He could picture Paris in the ridiculous yet elegant looking move, poised on one leg, bent forward with her body and other thigh parallel to the ice, while she spun.
Finn huffed. “I’ll concede that it looked pretty funny.”
“It’s on video?” Sawyer demanded and Finn groaned.
“I’m not showing it to you.”
“Please!”
“No.”
“Pretty please with a cherry on top?”
“Nope. Don’t try those eyes on me, kid. I’m not your dad; I can resist them.”
Sawyer huffed back. “Doubtful.”
“Right,” Robbie said before things could devolve further. “What are we ordering for dinner?”
“Happy Meal with extra nuggets. And hot mustard dipping sauce. And a McFlurry. And a Big Mac with a large fry.”
Normally Robbie might try to get more veggies and fewer carbs in his kid, but fuck it, today he deserved to eat whatever he wanted.
Robbie pulled his phone from his pocket. Ordering food didn’t require him to stand up. “You got it. Finn, what about you?”
“You don’t think Sawyer ordered enough already?”
Robbie scoffed. “You think he’ll share?”
“I won’t,” Sawyer said. “Get your own fries. No taxes.”
