Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
That’s the difference between him and me. I try to remind myself of that. I do the right thing even if it’s hard. Don’t I?
“I don’t think of it as me choosing to do this. Some dogs need help. It’s in my blood to help them.”
“How noble,” he says in a board tone. “What a hero you are.”
“Fuck your sarcasm. It’s the truth. But why don’t you ask me what you want to—what you really meant?”
“You’re something else, T, always have been. Remember when we were kids? Remember Death Valley?” That was the name for a dirt jump near our neighborhood. “Nobody else would even try it but Tristan Greene. Everybody knew he was tough enough. Just don’t get too tough for your own good.”
“Is that a riddle?” I snap. “We both know what you were getting at, asking me about the home. Don’t take it there.”
Saying it would be like tempting it. Ugly flames flash across my mind, the yaps, bringing me back to the other time with my dog. My stomach tightens. Suddenly, it’s like I want to fight, to bleed. It’s a primal and fucked-up and unwelcome feeling.
“Relax.” Raffie sighs. “Yeah, you’re right. People need to know why you’ve got it, our kind of people.”
“Oh, so you want a story,” I say. “How about this? I’m a mean, tough bastard who takes in some of the scariest dogs in the city. Nobody else can handle them. Nobody else can inspire that loyalty, but I can because I’m like them—an animal.”
“Yeah, that works,” Raffie says with a laugh. “See you soon, big man.”
He hangs up, leaving me to boil over his words. We agreed I’d be completely separate from the Mob crap, but that’s on me, too. I should’ve left that bastard alone.
But Maya …
Hell, I’m keeping her waiting now. Pushing away from my desk, I open the office door and find her sitting on the couch outside. She’s got her hands clasped in her lap and is staring off into the distance.
“Maya?” I say.
When she jumps, I feel like the biggest asshole. She looks up at me with a small smile, but she can’t hide the way her eyes glisten or the tightness when she forces a smile. I know her real ones from her fake ones already.
Standing quickly, she says, “Mr. Greene.”
I smile tightly. She’s looked me up, then, or the home, at least. “You can call me Tristan,” I tell her.
I’m not usually bothered when people call me by my surname. A lot of people prefer it. I’ve met men who wouldn’t call me anything else. Yet I don’t know about Maya; it doesn’t feel right.
In the office, I walk right to the desk, but she pauses and looks at the photos on the wall. There’s me with Odin, my service dog.
“He was yours?” she says, looking over at me. “He looks so clever.”
“He was. Even smarter than Loki, but don’t tell him I told you that.”
“What was his name?” she asks, seeming genuinely interested.
“Odin.”
“Like the Norse god?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Just like Loki.” Her smile falters. She seems on edge, on the verge of running away. “Can I ask how you two bonded if that’s okay?”
This catches me off guard. “It’s … it’s a long story.”
She looks at me closely. “He must have been pretty special.”
Something’s eating her up. I can tell she’s upset. Her eyes are a bit red and slightly watery. Has she been crying?
I sigh. “All right, well, we met during training. He was smart and tough as nails. At first, he didn’t trust anyone, not even me.”
“How did you change that?
“Patience. I spent hours every day working with him—training, playing, just being there. One night, during active duty, we got into a bad spot: mayhem, chaos, just bad stuff.”
I don’t know why I’m opening up like this. I’m speaking so casually, and there’s something about how she looks at me, with no expectation at all, that makes me think I can talk about this.
“That’s intense,” she says. “What did Odin do?”
“What he always did. He stayed by my side and kept the enemies at bay until help arrived. He saved my life that night and a lot more.”
My voice has gotten husky. I gesture to the chair opposite me, though a big part of me wants to walk over and wrap my arms around her. I ignore the insane, out-of-place instinct.
“Are you still interested in the job?” I say, changing the subject.
She laughs strangely. “Very interested.”
“You said you needed flexible hours?”
“Not anymore.”
“Wait, you lost your job?” That would explain the tears. “When?”
“Just now,” she says in a numb voice that has me feeling pissed. The world’s a damn cruel place, and I usually don’t let my heart bleed for every suffering person. Yet, I find myself wanting to make life easier for Maya. “Literally before I came here.”