"Don't worry about your dad. I'll take good care of him."
"Thank you." Inhaling and exhaling slowly didn't help as much as she'd always hoped it would. She grabbed her jacket and keys and dropped her phone in her bag. "I have to go. My dad needs me."
"I'm coming too. I overheard your conversation." Dylan laced his fingers through hers. Tears threatened at the strength and support he'd given without hesitation, but she blinked them away.
"Thank you." Ignoring the gaping expressions on the lingering equipment staff, she squeezed Dylan's hand and stopped by the training table where Peter sorted through files. "I'm heading out. Dad's having a moment again."
"That hasn't happened in a little while. Are you good?"
Nodding, she headed for the door.
Dylan stopped her in the middle of the parking lot. "Do you want me to drive?"
"That would be really nice." One less thing to have to concentrate on doing. His sleek black car smelled of leather and newness. She leaned against the headrest as Dylan eased his car onto the street. "This isn't the first time something like this has happened. My dad will plan to go somewhere, leave the house and then halfway there, forgets where he was going. Or he'll get confused as to why he went there."
"Ben's a good guy. He'll take care of him."
"He said he would. Most people are nice when it happens. And if I can't get to him, if we're at a game or on the road, his brother will pick him up and bring him home."
Dylan accelerated and pulled onto the highway. "You mentioned before that he's seen a doctor for this, right?"
"Yes. He has medications that can help but he doesn't always remember to take them, even with setting reminders in his phone, alarm clocks at home. So I call or text him a reminder every day too. Some days, he's great. Other days, he's moody and snaps at me that he's not a baby. It's incredibly frustrating."
"I'm sorry." His hand gave her thigh a gentle squeeze.
"He has mood swings and depression. When things first started happening years ago, he'd deny his symptoms or try to hide them from my mom and me. He was always big on not showing weakness. I can't help thinking that things wouldn't have progressed to this level if he'd sought help a lot earlier or if he'd stopped playing a lot sooner."
He didn't say anything for a while. Then he sighed. "I'm sure coming to terms with everything on his own was pretty damn hard. I can understand how he wouldn't want to worry his family. I don't either."
She twisted to face him. "You didn't try to hide things, did you?"
"I can't lie. The temptation is there. That's why you hear about guys deliberately messing up their baseline testing at the beginning of the season. They think they can get back in the game faster."
They pulled into the coffee shop parking lot. As soon as the car was in park, she gripped his hand. "Please don't. It's not worth it."
His gaze softened and he stroked her cheek. "That's why we need people like you—the trainers and the doctors—to save players like me from themselves."
Leaning into his palm, she smiled. "I'll save you anytime."
"Right back at you." He leaned in and touched his lips to hers. The pressure stayed light and soft, seducing her with sweetness. She bit her lip when he eased away. "Let's get your dad."
The coffee shop was a mix of wonderful scents and warm shades of brown and cream. Ben rounded the counter and greeted them with a smile. "Guy is in the back corner booth. He seems fine now."
Her dad sat with a cup of coffee and a half-eaten sandwich, reading a newspaper. Blair placed her hand on Ben's arm. "Thank you for helping him. How much do I owe you?"
"No charge."
"I can't let you do that."
Dylan handed him a folded bill. "Then we'll take two coffees for us."
Ben smiled. "I'll bring them over."
Frustration, helplessness, and gratitude braided together as Blair walked toward her dad. She reached for Dylan's hand. Solid and strong, it closed over hers.
Her father glanced up as they arrived, and Blair bent and kissed his head.
"Hey, Dad."
"Thank you for coming, sweetheart." He squeezed her hand and then squinted at Dylan through his glasses. "And I know you... Fraser. Number eleven. You resemble your old man."
Dylan shook his hand. "It's been a long time since I last saw you, sir."
"Dad, what happened today?" Blair lowered her voice and slid into the booth.
The slight trembling in his hand was more prominent when he pointed to the window. "The damn bank moved."
"No. It's still on Cherry Street. We drove past it on the way here."
"Oh." His brow wrinkled. "Right. That's right."
She squeezed Dylan's thigh under the table. "Can you check on the coffees?"
"Sure." He swung his gaze from her to her dad and back again.
When he left, she leaned in closer to her dad. "Don't get mad, but did you take your pills today?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
His gaze darted to the left side of the table. "I don't know."
Leaning back in the booth, she fought the urge to scream. "Maybe we should do a video chat every day so I can see you take them. My texts and calls aren't enough."
He shook his head. "I'm not a child."
No matter what items, errands, appointments, or memories he forgot, his argument never seemed to slip his mind. It was always at the ready. "All right. Fine."
She'd have to call her uncle later and see if he could convince her dad or if he could stop by a few mornings a week for a visit that included making sure her father took his medicine.
Dylan returned with the coffees. He slid into the booth and wrapped his arm around her shoulder and then
