Chapter 23
Katie
“Gym!”
“Can you stop yelling that at me and help me with this bucket?” I asked as I struggled to get the massive bucket of flowers inside the house. The vets had found a couple spare buckets for me to carry them home in.
“Jesus, who freaking died and bought you a whole florist…” My darling baby sister smiled then, not even having the good grace to look hungover after last night. “Who sent them?”
“I’m not sure?—”
“Who sent them?” She didn’t bother asking me again, snatching the bucket out of my arms and then plonking them on the kitchen counter before looking at one of the many cards.
“Mandie—”
“Rhys!” She bounced up and down. “I knew it. I bloody knew it. ‘Just gimme a chance?—’”
“Shut up,” I said, dumping my bag on the floor. “Just shut up.”
She grabbed my hands and started waltzing me around the lounge room.
“He wants to make you the hinge of his polycule!”
“He wants to do what now?” I asked, then shook my head. “Don’t answer that. Help me get the rest of the flowers from the car.”
“There’s more? Damn, this boy is keen. He must really like the idea of you being an apple turnover.” Her catlike smile made clear I did not want to know what that meant. I asked the question anyway. “Sweet and filled with cream?”
I went to punch my sister, because hey, Mum wasn’t here to arbitrate. She dodged expertly out of the way, dancing past to grab my keys and head for the door.
“So we bring the flowers up, put them in some water, and then?—”
“Not gym.” I made sure to inject all the sisterly authority I had into my voice. Trouble is, that wasn’t much. “Not unless it's a completely different gym.”
“Nope.” Suddenly she was serious, standing there with her hand on her hip. “Nuh uh. You only just signed up there.”
“And I’m sure Drew can organise a refund.” I walked into the kitchen, looking through the cupboards for a vase or something. Instead, I just found a whole lot of protein shakers and water bottles. I considered one then another but was fairly sure they’d just tip over if I loaded them up with flowers. “I’ll transfer to another gym?—”
“Hey.” Mandie was suddenly serious. “I picked that place for a reason. The guys are cool and make the place comfortable for women.” She looked meaningfully at me. “All women. Natasha was telling me about the horrendous experience she had at this other place.” I sucked in a breath to argue, but she continued. “Look, you either don’t give a shit about Rhys and his man harem, in which case you can politely say thanks, but no thanks and work out with me, or…?” Her smile was wicked. “Or you’re scared you’re gonna get a moisty, which will be really fucking awkward when I get you doing lunges.”
She gave me a couple of options to explain what was going on, but neither really encapsulated the slightly nauseating swirl in my guts. I didn’t know what to think, basically. The idea of them… And wanting… It was like my mind fought the idea, rejecting it as ridiculous before I even got to consider what I wanted.
Of course, Mandie thought the whole idea was hilarious. She’d been fighting off guys with a stick since she was thirteen, whereas I… I couldn’t even put down my lack of game to my size when there were goddesses like Natasha who still had guys falling all over themselves to get her attention. For whatever reason, I always had the finance guy or his high school equivalent doing everything he could not to engage with me as his best mates tried to chat up my friends or my sister.
As I went into my bedroom to change, I landed on this. New year, new me was the phrase that gave me hope as I was nursing a wounded ego after Dave’s bullshit. Well, new Katie could prioritise her wellbeing, not some guy’s. Or guys, I added. Wanting to feel stronger, that was always helpful, so I gave in and pulled on my new gym gear and met Mandie downstairs in the car park.
“So should we do some hip thrusts?” my sister cackled as we walked into the gym. “Maybe some squats.”
“Or you could…”
A familiar yelp had me turning around, only to find Bronson running towards me.
“Oh my god, Bronson!” He leapt at me, his impressive weight forcing me to stagger back as he jumped up. “What’re you doing here?”
He answered as best as he could in a series of high-pitched vocalisations, the whines becoming more and more frantic. I knelt down only to get a full face lick from the dog. Just like always, he stepped onto my leg and pressed his body into me, making it easier for me to cuddle him.
And see Rhys as he ran up.
That fucking smirk. He’d worn the exact same one during Smoothiegate and he looked just as self-satisfied now. Well, he wouldn’t be for long.
“Bronson…” He was making these long, drawn out sounds, a mix of misery and joy that broke my heart. “Hey, buddy…” I pulled away, grabbing his lead and then watched him plonk his butt down into a sit. “What the hell is the dog doing at the gym? Didn’t Jo tell you he needs a quiet, calm environment to facilitate the adjustment of moving out of the shelter?”
“Oh, I’m gonna leave you two to duke this out.” Mandie flicked a finger at each one of us before walking into the gym. “I’ll be warming up over there.”
I didn’t follow her direction, too pissed with Rhys right now.
“God, you’re so fucking beautiful when you’re mad.”
“What?” Had anyone ever said those words to me? If they had, I didn’t remember, and that just made me angrier. “Look, enough flirting?—”
“We’re flirting?” He sauntered closer, then dropped down to scratch at Bronson’s chest. “Good to know.”
“Garrett adopted Bronson.” I scanned the gym. “Where is he, by the way?”
“You want him in on this already?” His grin widened. “That’s a positive sign.”
“Rhys!” I snapped out his name way too loudly, something that had people passing by turning to stare, but it was his reaction that mattered. Bronson’s ears went flat against his skull and he let out an uneasy whine, his feet moving restlessly. “Shit, I’m sorry, boy.”
I gave him a reassuring pat before hissing at his owner.
“It’s really important that you acclimate Bronson slowly to a new environment,” I told him. “He’s been through a lot.”
“I know.” Finally, finally that smile faded, leaving just haunted grey eyes. “And I was doing everything you just said. We set him up in Garrett’s bedroom because he crawled under the bed the minute he got into the house.”
“A small, confined space.” I nodded in grudging approval. “With easy access to water?”
“And food.” He shrugged. “I sat down a small distance away and just… talked to him. About everything that’s been going on.” Those eyes seemed to stab straight into me now, seeing down into the depths of me. “I know he couldn’t understand any of it, but if he heard my voice, he might grow accustomed to it.” His smile was far gentler now. “Realise I wasn’t a threat.”
Who were we talking about now? I pulled away, but Bronson wasn’t having it, pressing into my legs.
“Drew got sick.” Rhys stood tall, reminding me of just how tall, how big, he was. “Him and Greg are always going to these weird places and eating seafood. If he doesn’t get gastro at least four times a year, I wonder if he’s even having fun. He said I had to come in right away and so I needed someone to look after Bronson.”
“You could’ve called me.” No, he couldn’t, I thought that as soon as the words came out. “I mean…” I swallowed hard. “I know the other night was weird.”
“Illuminating.” He made a show of considering his words. “Shocking.” Somehow I’d earned another crooked smile. “Tantalising, that’s how I saw it.”
“Right, so, whatever is going on with us, you should know that I will always put Bronson’s needs first.” I looked down and saw that the dog appeared to be hanging on my every word. The unconditional and complete love of dogs was a humbling thing that took my breath away. “You can always call me if you need help with him.”
“What about right now?” I looked up to see Rhys had edged closer. The lead had been picked up and he wrapped the loop around his wrist. “I’m just about to take him for a walk. It’s not exactly a treadmill, but…” He squinted at the sky. “Weather looks nice. We could head towards the beach and take him for a walk?”
I should’ve said no. That would be introducing a lot of new things to the dog, and yet when Bronson wagged his tail and then barked, as if to say, “Let’s go!” What else could I say but yes?
“OK, fine,” I grumbled, “but if Bronson gets scared?—”
Another couple of barks, as if the dog was assuring me that this could never happen.
“You’re in control.”
Rhys’ eyes twinkled as he handed over the leash.