Chapter 6 #2
“Hey. We’ll figure this out.” Lydia sits beside me, pulling me in for a hug. “But I am curious . . . why did Theo bring him to you?”
“It’s complicated.” I shake my head into her hair. “I should’ve let Kyle's brother have him.”
“Wait.” She straightens, pulling back to look at me. “You saw Drew?”
I work my jaw, trying not to think about those green eyes—Kyle's eyes—flashing with so much malice. “He showed up at the airport trying to claim him, and you weren’t kidding about him being Mr. Personality. But get this—Kyle wrote a will and put in writing that he wanted me to have him.”
Lydia’s brow wrinkles, clearly perplexed. “I don’t understand. Like, no offense, but . . . did he know you at all?”
I huff, drawing my knees to my chest. “Congratulations. You’ve asked the fifty thousand dollar question.”
Her eyes drift away as she thinks back, processing memories, clearly trying to make this add up.
“I mean, Kyle was obsessed with dogs, like you.” I fold my arms. “I don’t know what it is about me that attracts you people.” My nose burns. “But dogs were part of the package if you loved him, and I accepted that. I would’ve lived with some dog, maybe even this one, if he hadn’t . . .”
My throat closes up, and Lydia squeezes my hand.
Rufus comes to sit in front of her, glancing at me, and my mood darkens. I cross the room to start bagging up pieces of my couch.
“Anyway, Drew seems to think I’m the last person who should have Rufus now, and he’s probably right.”
Neither of us says much for a while, so I assume she agrees. I fill my trash bag, then a second, and Lydia does the same. She sits quietly on the bed, scooping up pieces of fabric and destroyed pillow, while the dog just sits there, watching us clean up with the audacity to look curious.
“I think he’s wrong,” Lydia says after thirty minutes or so.
“Sorry, what?”
“Drew Forbes. He’s wrong. He doesn’t know you. But Kyle did.”
I set my ruined Louboutins on the counter. “What do you mean?”
She crosses the room, sinking heavily onto what’s left of my couch. It’s not even ten a.m. and she already looks tired. I go to the fridge and grab her a bottle of water.
“Look, I know Kyle had his demons . . .” Lydia says, taking a long drink. “But this dog was military, a fellow soldier. I’ve met a few like him, and they’re more than companions to their handlers. But all that aside, I can’t imagine leaving a beloved animal with anyone but the person I trust most.”
“Please.” I look at her dead-on. “Don’t leave me Heartthrob in your will.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m serious, Caprice. There has to be a reason Kyle chose you and not his brother.”
“Whatever. Maybe there is.” I toss up my hands. “But what if I don’t want him?”
She makes a show of covering Rufus’s ears like I might offend him. “I think you should give him a chance.”
I gesture around the room, incredulous. “What exactly would you call this?”
“A mistake. Your mistake,” she says firmly, looking at me. “Rufus clearly has some trauma. He needs someone who can help him work through it.”
I stare at her. “But you don’t think the ‘dog guru’ trainer would be a better fit?”
“Kyle didn’t.” She shrugs, patting the seat next to her, and Rufus immediately jumps up and starts licking her face.
I look away so she won’t see my horror. “Oh, you’re a kisser, are you?
” She laughs, reaching out to stroke the top of his head.
He quickly flops onto his side, letting her rub his belly.
“Oh my God. Caprice, he’s such a lover.”
“He’s free,” I say. “You want him?”
She shakes her head, resting one arm across her belly. “I wish I could. Heartthrob plays well with other dogs, and Rufus seems sweet. But we might find he has other issues. I can’t test new canine dynamics with an infant on the way.”
“It was worth a shot,” I say. She pulls more treats out of her apparently bottomless pockets, and Rufus stands at attention. I close my eyes, let out a long breath. “Give me one.”
She dumps the pile into my hand. “He likes those—they’re cheese. I’ll get you a whole bag.”
I hold one out tentatively, and he nearly takes off my fingers again. “Ouch, you asshole.”
“Try placing one flat on your palm and giving it to him that way,” Lydia says.
I follow her instruction, and to my surprise, he eats it more gently from the center of my hand.
The dog wags his tail, then politely sits and looks up at me.
We study each other for a moment, his golden eyes trained on mine.
And I can’t help wondering what Kyle thought about when he looked at him.
How he must’ve stared into these eyes . .
. and still made the decision to end his life.
I give Rufus one treat at a time until I run out, and then he nudges my hand with his nose and looks at me. But it doesn’t seem like he’s just looking for more to eat. It almost feels like he’s offering some sort of agreement.
“You can do this,” Lydia murmurs.
Ugh. Something deep inside me deflates. I stand up to wash my hands, then tie up another full trash bag and place it by the door with the others. “Well, what do people do about . . . separation anxiety?” I ask.
Lydia scrunches up her nose. “Work with a trainer?”