Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
boston
“You know, my life was much more peaceful when you’d run back to California during the off-season.”
Forker, who is sitting at my dining room table, beams up at me like that was a compliment. He brings the cup of espresso I just made him to his lips, leaning back in his chair to cross his ankle over his knee. He’s lounging in my kitchen like he owns it.
“Peaceful is boring, Boston,” he says, resting his arm around the back of his chair. “You can thank Arden for this magnificent change in your life. I refuse to leave her for an entire summer and she can’t get the time off work.”
I’m not complaining, even though I pretend like I am.
Having Fork in town is an asset for me. It means we can practice together throughout the summer months, which will only strengthen our on-ice dynamic.
The Dangeous Duo is already a force to be reckoned with, but a whole summer dedicated to our game will make us unstoppable.
“I’ll write her a card,” I mumble, dropping into the seat across from him with my own cup. I meet those stupid blue eyes that always spell trouble. “I’ll also ask her to remind you of your manners. Maybe then, you’ll stop walking into people’s houses at the ass crack of dawn without knocking.”
Forker’s grin turns blinding. “I knew you’d be awake.”
I give him a stern look. “And the not knocking part?”
“Keeping you on your toes.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. There’s no changing Carter Forkerro. “Are you here to kidnap Wanton for a few days?”
He has the gall to look offended, but after a second, he gives up his performance and nods. “Red has a couple of days off. Work has been rough. I figured a Wanton sleepover is what the doctor ordered.”
Wanton is the dog I adopted last season for Forker’s girlfriend, but he lives with me.
I know, it's confusing. He was a troubled little guy who spent way too long in the animal shelter, and after one look at him, I knew he was coming home with me. It took about one month for him to turn into a completely different dog. He’s now my token goon, just like Forker is.
He runs around the farm creating chaos and destruction with his tongue hanging out of his mouth.
He’s a happy little shit stirrer.
It also turns out that he loves men once he trusts them.
Not as much as women, but he wasn’t the lost cause that they painted him out to be.
Carter and Arden steal him about once a month, and I’m okay with it.
It was a part of the original deal, and I think the other dogs enjoy the break from his personal brand of crazy, too. Beneficial for everyone involved.
“Yeah, of course. He’d love that. But…you do know we have plans on Saturday, right?” I ask, studying his face.
He narrows his eyes. “I’m not stupid. God, you fuck up one time—”
“What are you going to do with him?” Because he’s not taking my dog unless he’s figured out how to work around his plans while he has him.
Wanton regresses in kennels. He isn’t getting shoved back into one, and if they haven’t tried him alone in their condo—Saturday isn’t the day to start testing him.
“I’m going to borrow him until Saturday morning. I’ll bring him back bright and early. I might even knock.”
He grins at the glare I shoot his way. When I move to stand, he quickly downs his espresso and hisses when it burns his tongue.
I pause. “I’m just going to grab him and his stuff.”
“I’ll come out back with you. Oh, and don’t worry about food anymore. Red keeps the pantry stocked for him.”
I huff a laugh. We’re coparents to a fucking dog.
Arden adores Wanton, and I promised her she can take him whenever she wants.
Even if she wanted him for a month—I’d let her.
I trust her, and Wanton absolutely adores her.
She makes me keep her updated on his vet appointments, on any food changes, and on any abnormalities.
I once got yelled at because I failed to mention he got stung by a bee.
I’m not surprised Wanton has his own pantry at their place.
Forker and I enter The Penthouse, which he named the sunroom I renovated for the dogs.
Toke and Clover both raise their heads from their nap, glance at us, and then immediately go back to sleep.
Those two are retired sled-dogs and seem to have completely refuted that lifestyle.
They will choose naps any day of the week.
I half expect to see Wanton lounging on the chaise, but he’s outside with the rest of the dogs.
“I still don’t know how you do it,” Carter says as we make our way onto my land.
The sounds of my own little world take over.
Cows grumbling about one thing or another, the dogs barking, chickens clucking, and ruffling their feathers.
Carter glances down at the coop. “This is so much work. And it smells like fucking shit.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. Fork isn’t one to get his hands dirty, unless it’s to scrap. I couldn’t imagine him tossing a bale of hay or cleaning up shit of any kind. Even owning one dog full-time would probably send him into a spiral.
I bring my fingers to my lips and whistle as we trudge into the field. We slow to a stop at the door of the dog run. It’s really more of a yard. It’s where they can go to play in peace without bothering the other animals. With Wanton in the mix, separation is needed.
You know how much it costs to fence a yard this big? Tens of thousands. It was worth it.
I throw my arm over the door of the gate, watching the border collies chase each other methodically. A certain, crazy mutt is trying to run faster than all of them. They do this to him. Constantly. He’s become their sheep. Poor guy doesn’t even realize he’s being herded.
All four of them freeze and glance our way at my whistle.
A smile pulls at my lips. They’re good dogs.
“The triplets and the imposter.” Forker laughs, shaking his head at the look of Wanton between them.
He’s truly the best dog. When he’s with the border collies, he thinks he’s a working dog; when he’s with the cows, he thinks he’s able to produce a glass of milk at a moment’s notice.
He’s my little cameleon. Bad at transforming, but he tries.
“Come on now!” I shout.
Immediately, the triplets take off toward us.
Daphne, Dingo, and Dune. They run with purpose, because I gave an order, and their favourite thing in the world is working.
Wanton, on the other hand, chases his tail for a few more seconds before realizing his friends are leaving him behind.
He jumps into action, running almost crookedly, snapping at Dingo’s tail to try and catch it as he does.
The triplets stop at the gate and all promptly sit. Wanton smashes right into it. When he shakes his head and jumps back, his eyes land on Fork, and he lights the hell up.
Forker breaks into a smile, glancing down at him. “Hey, Cujo! How’s my boy?”
Wanton shakes his ass, tongue hanging out, and starts jumping at the fence, trying to climb it, whining at the top of his lungs. The border collies stay seated, eyes on me, being the little angels that they are.
I slide the gate open and Wanton storms through.
Fork drops to his knees and lets the fiend jump all over him, licking his face and crying with excitement.
While Wanton is distracted, I toss a few treats at the triplets, then make a clicking noise that tells them to go back to their business. In a second, they’re taking off again.
I look down at Forker, who is laughing and scratching Wanton’s short fur, hugging him to his chest without ever being able to really capture him and keep him still.
“His harness is by the door. No letting him walk anywhere beyond this property without it. Got it?”
Forker glares up at me. “It’s almost like you say that to me every single time I take him. I’m aware of the rules, Boss. No harness? No walks.”
“Not even to—”
“Get to the car. I know,” he says, rising to his feet.
Wanton takes off toward the house, knowing he’s about to go see his favourite redhead.
“That dude is all wheels and no GPS. He’ll take off and get lost. He doesn’t have the best survival instincts.
Blah, blah, blah. Between you and Arden, I swear you both think I am incapable of listening. ”
We start toward the house, and I look sideways at him. “You did miss Lowesy’s poker night.”
Fork throws his head back, groaning at the sky. “It was one time!”