Chapter Three #4
Jock knelt by the crate, his voice soft.
“Hey, boy.” Maynard pressed his nose to the bars, whining again, his blue and brown eyes wide with distress.
Jock opened the door carefully, reaching in to stroke the unburned fur between Maynard’s ears.
“I know it hurts. Kent warned the itching would be rough tonight.” The dog leaned into his touch, but another whine broke free, his body trembling.
Jock scooped him up gently, mindful of the wounds, and settled on the couch, pulling Maynard close.
Tank let out a low grumble of solidarity from his kennel, watching them.
Jock stretched out, and draped a blanket over them, Maynard curled against his side, still restless.
The whining softened but persisted, a raw reminder of the trauma etched into the dog’s skin.
Staring at the ceiling, Jock moved his hand in slow circles on Maynard’s back.
It took him back to those sleepless nights after Fallujah, when silence was a trap for ghosts.
You’re fucked in the head, Jake, the voices would hiss, leaving him pacing or staring at the stars, heart hammering like he’d been sprinting.
Pain wasn’t just physical; it burrowed deep, chaining you to the dark.
“I get it, boy,” he whispered. “Feels like forever, but it passes. One breath at a time.”
His phone buzzed on the coffee table, Silly’s name lighting up the screen.
*Can’t sleep. How’s our new boy holding up?*
Jock shifted Maynard slightly, the dog whining softly before settling again. He typed a reply, his fingers steady despite the fatigue.
*He’s hurting. Whining. I think the itching keeps starting up. Reminds me of my bad nights. Miss you here to help soothe him. And me.*
Silly’s response came fast, three dots dancing before her words appeared.
*Wish I was there too, big guy. Put the phone on speaker? Maybe my voice will help. Tell me about your bad nights. You don’t talk about them much. Maybe it’ll help both of us rest.*
Jock’s thumb hovered over the keys. Opening up wasn’t his strength.
He’d always seen it as a weakness. Those years in the Marines had taught him to bury the soft parts, cover them with grit and brotherhood.
But Silly had a way of prying him open, gentle yet relentless, like water carving stone.
He glanced at Maynard, who nosed his hand, seeking more comfort.
*They’re like this. Can’t shut off the noise in my head. Sand everywhere, voices blaming me. Wakes me up sweating, heart pounding. Therapy helps, but some nights...it’s all about getting through, and simply waiting for the light of dawn.*
Her reply was a voice note. Jock hit Play, keeping the volume low, and Silly’s voice rolled into the room, warm and soothing.
“Hey, Maynard, sweet boy. Shh, it’s okay.
Daddy’s got you.” Maynard’s ears twitched, his whine fading into a sigh.
Jock’s chest tightened as she continued, “And Jake...I love you for sharing that. You’re not alone in the dark anymore.
I’m right here, even if it’s through this stupid phone. ”
*Love you too, Silly. Your voice is magic. Scared sometimes I’ll drag you down with my shit. But you make me want to fight it.*
Silly’s words came back like a lifeline, steady and sure.
*You don’t drag me anywhere. You lift me up. We’re a team, remember? Even with a whiny pit bull in the mix. Try singing to him? Worked with Tank back in the day.*
Jock chuckled, the sound cutting through the quiet house.
He hummed a low tune, some old country song about lost dogs and found homes, his hand resuming its strokes on Maynard’s side.
The whining ebbed, replaced by shaky breaths.
But as the minutes dragged on, another wave hit, and Maynard shifted abruptly, crying out softly, his body stiff with pain.
Jock pulled him closer, murmuring, “Easy, boy. I’ve got nights like this too.
Feels like fire inside, huh? We’ll breathe through it.
” He saw the alley again, Maynard’s eyes locking onto his, trusting even in agony.
It echoed those therapy sessions, sitting with the hurt instead of running.
*How’s he now? And you?* Silly texted.
*Better for a bit, then back at it. Like my flashbacks. Comes in waves. Talking to you helps. Makes me feel...seen.*
Her response was a soft blow to his defenses.
*You are seen, Jake. All of you. The strong parts, the broken ones. I love every piece.*
They texted like that for a while, quiet confessions in the digital dark with Jock offering pieces of his raw edges, Silly meeting each of them with a depth of love that felt like her hands on his skin. No grand gestures, just truth weaving them tighter across the miles.
As the night stretched on, Maynard’s whines grew fainter, his body easing inch by inch.
Jock kept up the gentle pets, his own exhaustion settling in, tempered by a quiet calm.
Finally, the pit bull let out a deep sigh, shifting to press his head against Jock’s chest, right over his heart.
The trust in that act hit Jock like a wave—a dog who’d been burned and left to die, choosing him as his safe place.
It mirrored his own slow healing, the fragile faith that he could be someone’s anchor without breaking.
Jock texted Silly one last time. *He’s settling. Against me. Feels like progress*
*Just like us. Sleep now, big guy. I’ll be home soon.*
Jock set the phone down, his arm curling protectively around Maynard, Tank’s snores a distant lullaby from the kennel. The night wasn’t done, but for the first time in hours, the silence felt like a friend.