7. Grier
Grier
Laughing, I glanced around for Waffles. “He loves attention. Waffles!”
He wasn’t anywhere that I could see him. Whistling, I expected to hear his hooves on the sidewalk immediately. When I didn’t, I waited for a few moments and then whistled again, louder.
Nothing.
A small ball of anxiety began to bounce around in my stomach. Pushing it aside, I whistled for a third time, fingers to my lips, the level so intense Margo flinched and placed her free hand on her ear.
“Waffles!” I called. “Waffles, come on, baby boy. Time to go home.”
More nothing.
The door to the Ink Shoppe opened, Uncle Lyric stepping out of his tattoo parlor. “Hey, Baby Shaw. I saw your boy walking toward Main Street about ten minutes ago. Fifteen, tops. Figured he was going to the rec center.”
“Thanks, Uncle Lyric.”
That ball of anxiety didn’t loosen for some reason. Waffles must have thought I went out the back exit and walked to the rec center, which had happened a few times. I taught yoga on Saturdays, but not always. We had other instructors who covered when I was busy on the farm.
“Want to walk with me?” I asked Margo. “It’s not too far from here.”
“Absolutely. Let me drop this in my trunk really fast.”
It took less than sixty seconds for her to stow her case and shut the door to her car.
Once she had rejoined me, I started to speed walk.
Each block that I didn’t see Waffles only made my unease deepen.
Dread slithered beneath my skin, that unsettling sensation of approaching doom gripping at my throat until I was gasping for air and all-out running.
That was when I heard it, that high-pitched bray that I could pick out in a barn full of other animals. It had a note to it that caused my heart to clench and my hands to sweat.
“Waffles?” My voice wavered, a sob already building despite how suffocated I felt from the panic.
Cars passed on the street, people honking in greetings that I didn’t hear. Another block passed, and then I came to a dead stop, Margo no longer beside me. I wasn’t sure when I’d lost her, but I figured it was when I’d started sprinting like an Olympian.
Those brays got louder, more pitiful. I noticed a few cars slowing, heard the sound of doors slamming shut, more than one voice shouting for assistance.
All I could see was my Waffles, lying on the grass in front of the floral shop. Foam and blood and something that looked like sludgy coffee were coming from his mouth.
And then he saw me, his bray changing, his beautiful eyes pleading with me to help him.
Time slowed down and yet somehow sped by in the blink of an eye.
One of the bystanders who had stopped to check on Waffles carried him to his truck.
I jumped up into the bed beside my boy, murmuring soothingly to him while doing a quick inspection of what else might be wrong.
He had no visible signs that suggested someone had hit him with a car.
Or a bike. I didn’t see any lacerations, nothing that screamed broken bones.
Just that foam mixed with blood and coffee-like sludge.
While the man drove, I called Leo and was barely able to get the words out to explain the situation.
“We will be ready when you get here. Bring him straight to the lab, G. Every minute counts.”
“Wh-what do you think is wrong with him?” I cried, trying to stay strong while overwhelming fear rushed through me.
“I won’t know until I do tests. But, G…” His tone was enough to make my stomach heave. “It sounds like poison. Most likely, some kind of rat poison.”
“No, no, that’s not possible,” I vehemently denied, shaking my head, as if that would make what was happening less true. “No one is allowed to use that in town. Not even for actual rats. I mean… Oh God, no, Leo.”
“If we can get him treated within a certain window, I can save him. I swear to you, Grier. I’ll do everything I can. Just get here.”
The gates were already open for us. Leo, Cody, Phil, my dad, and—I sobbed when I saw him—Finn.
Leo and Cody had a cart for Waffles. They were already moving him before I could jump down. I rushed to follow them but stumbled, my knees going weak.
Strong arms caught me, holding me up, Finn molding my body against his harder one. And I finally lost control. There, in his arms, with my entire world in limbo, I felt him cup the back of my head and let me break. My loud, gut-churning sobs were muffled against his chest.
“He’s in good hands, baby,” Finn soothed, kissing the top of my head.
“He’s dying!” I screamed into his shirt, my fingers twisting in the material. “He’s dying!”
Finn didn’t contradict me, didn’t say Waffles was going to be okay. “Leo knows what he’s doing.”
Most of the Helping Hands were gone by now, leaving just the staff and a few of the older teens. Phil and Dad were talking, but I was crying too hard to make out more than a few words.
A bottle of water appeared in Finn’s hand. He put it to my lips, coaxing me to take a few sips.
“Where was he found?” Finn asked, and I blinked. He was using his official sheriff tone. The one I rolled my eyes at and pretended didn’t turn me on in a major way.
He wasn’t speaking to me, though, but the bystander who had driven us back to the farm. I hadn’t given the man a first look, let alone a second, too focused on Waffles at the time. Now, I was finally looking, and I recognized him.
Reid Barker, Finn’s cousin. Reid and Finn had the same color eyes, the same dark hair, similar facial bone structure.
Although Reid was not in law enforcement, he helped serve and protect the community as an Angel’s Halo patched member.
He was a member of one of the legacy families, co-owned the local construction company that had built every building on my farm, and handled all the remodeling at the recreation center.
“Right in front of the florist. Already called your mom and Raven. Max is on scene. So is your dad. Probably a few deputies by now too. They can give you more intel than I have. All I saw was the sick animal and then Grier.”
With a jolt, I remembered seeing Waffles. Lying on the ground. Foam bubbling from his little mouth. The blood. The sludge. Hearing his agonized, whimper-like braying.
Every single second of it played in my mind on an endless loop. Guilt flooded me. I should have made him stay home. I never should have let him come with me. If he had been back at the farm, in the barn with the staff and the Helping Hands, he would have been safe.
But…
He never would have stayed. Even if I’d left without him, my boy would have followed me into town. He would have gone straight to the rec center without checking at WomanLand. He still would have walked past the florist and pruned the rosebush and…
The florist.
Those stupid roses.
Would Hilary have done such a terrible thing?
Even as the thought entered my mind, I crushed it down. No. She was awful in a lot of ways, but capable of that kind of cruelty? Intentionally harming a living creature? No.
I couldn’t think about what had happened. Or the how. And I definitely couldn’t think of the who. That could all come later. For the moment, I needed to know my boy was okay.
Another sob escaped, my legs feeling more like gelatin than bone.
Because if I did think about the what and the how and the fucking who, I wouldn’t be able to stop what happened next.