Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I tell him. As he gets closer, I can see more of his torso, emphasizing his ribcage. He whines and then pads almost right up to me, his nostrils flaring. “It’s okay. I’m a friend.”
Another whine, almost like a question. Really? He doesn’t believe anybody could be kind to him. He doesn’t think he could ever get a happily ever after. He’s been hurt too many times. I can feel the hunger—not just physical—radiating from the mongrel’s body.
“Easy, boy,” I say, softly smoothing my hand over his body. He moans and turns in a quick circle as though he’s been waiting a long time to experience this sort of closeness.
Finally, he walks right up to me until his body pushes against mine. He’s a brave dog, risking himself like this. Maybe he senses something in me. I slowly wrap my arms around him. He flinches as if getting ready to run but then settles down. I sit like this for a long time, alert to the surroundings, and then I stand, my hand on his head.
“Hungry, boy?”
He whines again, looking up at me with wide, disbelieving eyes as if he still thinks there’s a chance I’ll turn on him. Then he walks by my side. I only notice Emma is watching when I’m on the porch. Her eyes glisten from the front window, staring at me from the darkness.
Opening the front door, I let the pooch inside and walk into the kitchen, opening the fridge and taking out some survival-style tinned chicken. The dog sits, staring, drool coming from his mouth. Emma isn’t in here anymore. She must’ve ditched when she saw us coming.
The dog devours each small chicken piece I give him. He stares at the hunk in my hand as if wanting to obliterate the entire thing, but I’ll have to feed him slowly.
Emma walks in, holding a big bundle of blankets and a towel draped over her shoulder. “I thought we could warm him up.”
She looks somehow maternal in the semidarkness, wearing her hoodie and sweatpants. I’m unsure where that comes from, but it’s exactly how she seems as she cautiously carries the blankets to the dog.
He turns to her, showing none of the nervousness he did with me. He lets her kneel at his side and gently towel him down, and then Emma drapes a blanket over him. He whines and rests his beardy chin on his forepaws.
“I think he wants more chicken,” Emma says, smiling and looking at me.
Her words snap me from my trance. I feel like I’ve been lost in a dream, watching her under a spell. That’s a love song cliché, but somehow, with Emma, it feels like the truth.
“How could you tell?” I say with a smirk, tearing off another small hunk.
Kneeling, I give him another piece. Emma watches me with warmth in her eyes, with affection emanating from her. It’s a feeling that makes my reckless ride into the world of self-destruction seem even more selfish. We deserve this feeling, my woman and me. Shut up, shut up, shut up. The staccato words burst in my mind like machine gun fire.
“You were really good with him out there,” she says, gently stroking her hands over his head.
“I like dogs,” I tell her, “but I’m always on the move. It wouldn’t be convenient.”
“Have you ever thought about settling down?” she asks.
I laugh gruffly. “Is that a hint?”
She pouts at me, that sassy glint in her eyes. I’m breaking my own rules every time I see her, but when I’m here with her, it’s not like I even want to stop. “Ha, ha,” she says sarcastically. “I was just making conversation. It’s nothing…” She glances at the hallway, the lights off, Mike sleeping with no idea how badly I want to… “You know.”
“No,” I say, feeling like an ass, forcing myself to say it anyway. “I don’t know.”
She flinches as if I’ve just given her heart a microfracture, but if I’m going to end this, I must be decisive. I can’t keep making her believe there’s a chance or making myself believe. After this is over, I’ll go out on another operation and maybe never return. What would our military brothers say if they knew what I’ve done and what I want to do again? And again. And again.
“Yeah,” she says. “Me neither.”
I’m the one who started this game, and yet this hurts me somehow. It’s like I somehow don’t think she has the right to talk to me like that. Like I need to spank her, make her moan, and own her to teach her who’s in charge.
I go to the sink, fill a bowl with water, and set it near the dog.
“Does he have any tags?” Emma says.
“No. Not even a collar.”
“He looks like a stray.”