DREW
He let himself in the door quietly, guiltily, as if he was slinking home after a one-night stand.
Except that’s not what happened at all.
If his brother meant so little to her, why did she have that picture at all?
“Just come back to Colorado and recuperate for a while. I’m already building the business. You can step in whenever you’re feeling better.”
“I feel fine,” Kyle said in a voice so flat it was an obvious lie.
“Of course you do.” Drew masked his concern. “But, you know, it seems like the perfect time.”
The shadows on Kyle’s face made it look like his eyes were sinking into his head. “Yeah. Medical retirement. Just what I’ve been waiting for.”
It was a struggle, but Drew managed to keep his expression neutral. “Look, I know this wasn’t part of your plan—”
“What are you trying to accomplish, Doctor Forbes?” Kyle asked.
“I told you, I’m done with medicine,” Drew whispered. “You and me—we’re going to chase our dream.”
For a second, it looked like Kyle considered it. Then he shook his head and limped to the window. No specialist had been able to explain the limp, not medically. But it was there, nonetheless, every time he moved. “No, thanks.”
“Why?” Drew’s voice came out harsher than he intended. His eyes followed Kyle’s to a photograph on an otherwise bare shelf. “Because you don’t want to be near her?”
“No.” Kyle’s voice was far away. Across the room, his recently retired military working dog, a handsome Belgian Malinois named Rufus, lifted his head, keying in on his tone. Or maybe his respiration. Or some pheromone in the air.
Drew waited for his brother to say more, but when he didn’t, he just shrugged. “Maybe she’s one thing Mom and Dad were right about.”
Kyle’s head snapped up, nostrils flaring. “Caprice was the best fucking thing that ever happened to me.”
“Then why isn’t she here with you?” Drew snapped, losing out to frustration. “Why would she let you live through the worst time of your life alone?”
Kyle pressed his lips together but directed his gaze back out the window. The dog got up and crossed the room, laid his chin in his lap, and looked doubtfully at Drew.
“Look, I even have plenty of room for this guy.” Drew took a gentler tone, gripping his brother’s shoulder. He leaned down and gave Rufus an affectionate pat. “Just come stay with me. We’ll figure out the rest.”
“I’m staying here.” Kyle’s hollow, stubborn voice set Drew’s skin prickling.
“Why?” Drew looked around the tiny, barely furnished apartment. “There’s no reason to stay here. You don’t even have a job.”
“Maybe I’ll greet people at Walmart.”
“There’s a Walmart back home.”
“Maybe I don’t want to go home,” Kyle snarled. “Or be anywhere near you, or Mom, or Dad.”
Drew flinched, his mouth hardening into a line. But he couldn’t help feeling some relief at his brother’s ire. At least when Kyle got angry, he seemed alive.
“Look, I’m just thinking about what your doctors said—”
“Believe me,” Kyle spat. “I heard it.”
Drew watched the shadows creep back over his brother’s face.
His physical wounds had mostly healed, but PTSD and a traumatic brain injury had left him unable to carry out his duties—or do much of anything aside from sitting around this apartment.
The neurologists suggested he could heal with time and support, but they couldn’t make him want to.
The one thing that gave Drew hope was that Kyle had Rufus, whose own discharge for canine PTSD felt like some unfortunate consolation prize after what they’d been through.
But if they could somehow heal together, Drew was confident he could get his brother back on his feet.
“Okay, look. I have to get back to Denver for the training facility opening—I thought you’d be coming with me.
But I’ll be back in a couple of weeks. Just think about it, Kyle.
” He put a hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“You’re going to get through this. And when you do, we’ll run the business together . . . like we always said we would.”
Kyle didn’t respond. Didn’t even look at him. He just sat there with one hand on the dog.
There was nothing left for Drew to do but give Rufus a last pat and head for the door, holding on to the hope that the dog would be enough. That if Kyle did nothing else, he’d take care of himself for Rufus’s sake.
He’d been wrong. So incredibly wrong.
Eight days later, Kyle had left Rufus with someone who ran a rescue for retired military working dogs.
Then he’d gone home, dialed a number four times from his cell phone, but never actually called.
Instead of leaving a voicemail, he left a legally binding will and instructions on how to find and care for his dog.
And then, he was gone.