Chapter 13 #2
The world saves me from having to figure it out, though, because Bear suddenly cusses and swerves, then pulls to the side and parks. I glance quickly at the road in front of us, trying to figure out what happened, and see a body lying in the middle of the street.
Not a human one.
A dog, and a large one at that.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, my heart somehow breaking and expanding at the same time in my chest. Ever since I was little, animals have had a hold on me.
I can’t see them without feeling as though they’re my twin spirits, almost a part of me, and that goes for all animals.
They’re pure, gentle souls, all of them, and the only creatures in the world that have never let me down.
Unconditional love like that deserves care from its human counterpart, and I’ve spent my life trying to live up to that. It’s why I collect injured birds like they’re candy.
It’s why I’m out of the car and running for the dog before I even check to make sure there are no other cars coming.
I fall to my knees next to him and quickly take in the facts.
Pit bull or something like it, probably at least 50 pounds, blue with a white face.
Male. I run my hands gently over him, searching for whatever is wrong, but can’t locate any actual wounds.
He was hit by a car, given his location, but it didn’t seem to break the skin, and I can’t find any broken bones.
He’s still alive, and that’s the most important part.
Suddenly there’s a body next to me and I look up to see Bear there, his face blank of any emotion.
“Is he alive? Is he hurt?”
“Alive and definitely hurt, but I can’t find where,” I say, matching his business-like tone. “No broken skin. No broken bones.”
“Maybe just stunned,” he answers. “Can we move him?”
I huff. “This dog probably weighs half as much as I do. I can’t. And you’re the adult, here. Why are you asking me?”
“Because you’re the animal-rescuing expert between the two of us.”
I slant a look at him, surprised. “Aren’t you, like, a trained soldier? Shouldn’t you know about things like saving lives?”
The look he shoots my way is dark, but he shutters his eyes so quickly I almost miss it. “Not when it comes to animals. Think we can move him?”
“Well, we can’t leave him here. Let’s get him to Marino’s.”
“The vet,” he says. “Good idea.”
He lifts the dog so easily that I actually gasp, and then clasps him to his chest like he’s a child, his hands so gentle, so sure, that I can’t stop staring at them.
Then, with a quick look at me, he walks back toward his car, his steps intent.
I run to get there before him and open the back door so he can lay the dog in the back seat.
We both pause for a moment, watching to make sure the dog is okay, and then run quickly for our own seats.
I don’t know what’s wrong with that dog, but he still hasn’t woken up, and that seems problematic.
We’re silent and intent as we drive the five blocks to Marino’s vet clinic, and by the time we get there I feel like I’ve aged ten years.
When I rescue birds, I’m the one in control and I almost always know ahead of time what I need to do to save them.
But right now, I’m in the dark about the dog, and even if I knew what was wrong with him, I wouldn’t have the right equipment to help him.
I hate not being in control. I despise not being able to save the life behind me.
Suddenly a hand comes down on my knee, solid and heavy. I look down, surprised, and then follow the arm up to Bear, who’s looking straight ahead at the road.
“What are you doing?”
“Your knee is jumping so hard you’re about to hit yourself in the face,” he says quietly. “Calm down. We’re almost there, and he’s going to be fine.”
And just like that, all the tension melts out of me.
Just because some man has told me that it’s going to be okay.
I want to hate that so, so badly... but the truth is, I don’t.
I don’t hate it at all.
Joseph, also known as Dr. Marino, takes the dog quickly into the back and runs blood tests, as well as several scans.
Bear and I follow him from machine to machine, watching processes we don’t understand and waiting desperately for news.
At one point, he turns to me with a smile caught in the corner of his mouth.
“We don’t even know this dog’s name and I feel like he’s my child.”
I laugh quickly, a thrill running through me at the statement. “I was just thinking the same thing.” I pause a beat, and then ask, “What do you suppose his name is?”
“Charlie,” he says immediately.
I jump and look up, surprised at how quickly he came up with that. “Charlie?”
He shrugs. “He looks like a Charlie, don’t you think?”
I hate the warm flush that runs through me at his words.
I hate that the man I want to hate is turning into a human that I actually like. I want to be so angry at Bear for everything he’s done to Cameron and Cameron’s mom. To my mom. To me.
But the longer I spend with him, the more I think he might not have meant to do any of that.
“He does,” I agree. “Where do you suppose he came from?”
He doesn’t answer, but I can see from the look on his face that he’s thinking something specific–and whatever it is, I’m starting to doubt that it falls within the lines of ‘acceptable.’
I kind of like that, too.
God dammit.
When Joseph comes out with his clipboard and no dog, my heart drops out of my body and hits the floor below me. No. No, no, no, no.
He looks up, though, his eyes smiling, and my heart jumps back into my body.
“He’s fine,” he says quickly. “Nothing broken, no bleeding. No wounds that I can find at all. As far as I can tell he wasn’t even hit. For all I know he laid down in the middle of the street for a nap, and scared the living daylights out of the two of you for no reason.”
Bear chuckles and then bumps my shoulder gently. “A nap in the middle of the road. That’s so Charlie.”
And I’m so surprised, so buoyed up by the fact that Charlie is okay and that we just saved a dog who didn’t even need saving, that I laugh out loud, the joy bubbling out of me like I just drank the best champagne in the world.
Beside me, Bear chuckles his deep, hot-chocolate-rich chuckle, and I have to admit that this man isn’t at all the man I thought he was.
He’s more than I ever gave him credit for.
So much so that when my phone buzzes with a message, and I glance down to see it’s not from Cameron, I turn my phone off and put it back in my pocket so I can continue to stare at Bear and discuss how long Charlie is going to stay at the vet before we can take him home.