Chapter Sixteen Keely
Chapter Sixteen
Keely
Keely groaned into her pillow.
Her head pulsed, and she cursed her past self for never investing in blackout curtains because her “circadian rhythm worked better with the natural state of the sun.” She was rethinking that philosophy now.
She burrowed deeper under the covers to hide from the light, the world.
And then her scheduled alarm went off.
She blindly reached for her phone and grabbed—wet?
A full glass of water waited for her on the nightstand, dripping with condensation. It sat next to a bottle of headache relief medicine and half a sleeve of crackers. She blinked at them, unseeing.
Nothing made sense this morning. She blamed the keg.
Though she’d gone to parties before, she hardly drank and she never got drunk.
She didn’t know how she got back to her apartment or managed to fold herself into bed.
She hadn’t brushed her teeth or—she wiped a finger along her lash line—taken off her makeup, so she highly doubted she’d had the forethought to put Excedrin and crackers on the bedside table.
The last thing she remembered was spewing beer foam all over her top when someone had yelled something inappropriately funny about swallowing, and she’d looked behind her to see an upside-down Max Simmons, his gaze trained intently on her face.
Was he the one who—?
Nope. No way. Max would never bring her home. He didn’t even know where she lived.
But then why was she in her bed versus crashed out on a cheap secondhand futon, surrounded by strangers’ bodies and discarded cups?
It must have been her friends. She opened the group chat.
Keely
Thanks for bringing me home
last night. Killer headache and
the sun is the devil. Status
report for everyone else?
Jeremy
Bringing you home??? I can’t
even leave the bathroom. Literally
still at the party lol HELP
Maya
You are so dramatic. But
unfortunately telling the
truth. On Jeremy and Pepto
duty all night. Not me
Keely
@Sam that leaves you
She held her breath when typing bubbles appeared. Disappeared. Reappeared.
Sam
Wasn’t me. From what I could tell there was only one person allowed to go near you last night
Her head pounded with her exhale. Was she too young to vow to never drink again?
Hours later, she was less miserable. Marginally. The crackers helped.
Also marginally.
If asked, though, she would credit her lukewarm shower, non-sweat-and-beer-smelling clothes, and today’s freshly inked to-do list.
Which included a task she absolutely detested, but had to do, nonetheless. She wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight otherwise, and the Sunday Scaries were at their worst when she couldn’t sleep, anxiety and self-doubt creeping in to whisper her bedtime stories.
At the shelter for her Sunday shift, the growing sense of dread loomed over Keely like a raincloud.
Most of the dogs were in the open play area, so she and Max had been tasked with cleaning out the kennels, sweeping and mopping when necessary, refilling water and discarding ragged toys.
He hadn’t looked her way all morning, which made what she had to say only slightly more tolerable.
It still took her a few minutes to figure out the shape of the words.
“Erm, thank you,” she said. She didn’t need it hanging over her head any longer. That hurt enough all on its own. Every time a dog barked—so, constantly—she winced.
Max grunted. “For what?”
He didn’t even look hungover. How was that fair? His eyes were their normal shade of light brown, sans dark circles underneath. She’d had to use half a tube of concealer this morning.
“For getting me home last night. The water, the crackers, taking off my shoes. . .” She rested her hip against the kennel he was working on, ducked her head. “It was very thoughtful of you, Max.”
He still didn’t bother looking at her. Instead, he grunted and reached into Champ’s kennel. He pulled out a slimy blanket, shredded to pieces. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really?” Keely’s tone was flat, accusatory. She crossed her arms.
The blanket dropped into the garbage, and he shrugged. “Really. Not a clue. Wasn’t me.” But he still wasn’t meeting her gaze.
Something in her heart turned tender, throbbing in time with her temples, but the pain was sort of. . . sweet.
“Well.” She kicked off from the cage. “If you figure out who it was, let them know I said thank you.”
They worked with minimal noise, which was to her benefit. Even the sound of the broom on the floor was too much for her sensitive head.
“If I did know who it was,” Max murmured out of nowhere, so low Keely struggled to hear him. “They’d probably say you should consider electrolytes next time.” He coughed and scratched the back of his neck. “They’re good for hangovers.”
“I’ll take it under advisement. And thank you—”
He looked away. “I told you, it wasn’t—”
“To that person,” Keely finished. She rested her chin on the broom handle. “Whoever and wherever they are.”
They were wrapping up in the kennels when Tricia came through, a smiling Biscuit at her side. His tongue lolled from his mouth. Drool dripped onto the spot Keely had mopped five minutes prior.
“Biscuit needs a walk.” Tricia threw a flat look down at the dog, sitting happily on his hind. His tail moved faster than some windshield wipers. Certainly the ones on Keely’s car. “He’s amped up today. Think it’s the weather.”
This would be great for Keely’s essay, an example that showed exactly how passionate she was about volunteering. “I’ve got it.” Keely jolted forward, then swallowed down the stomach bile rising in her throat. She could use some fresh air.
“Are you sure?” Max stopped sweeping. “He’s a lot to handle sometimes. Especially if he sees—”
“Max,” Tricia said. Her tone was still neutral, but a warning lifted the edges.
Keely preened, following Tricia out through the side door.
She handed over the lead, a bone-shaped container of green waste bags hooked near the hand hold. “Usually we go to the end of the road and back a few times. You’ll know when he’s done.”
Biscuit tugged on the leash, straining toward the sidewalk he must have been familiar with. “Won’t one or two be enough?” Keely asked, tapping the waste bags.
Tricia shook her head. “You never know with him.”
That was mildly concerning.
Steeling her spine, Keely gave a nod and let Biscuit pull her down the sidewalk.
They fell into a pattern of stop-and-go, Biscuit-runs-and-Keely-follows-miserably. Every blink hurt out here in the sunlight, and with each jolt her stomach turned over.
Definitely never drinking again.
“Let’s stop here for a second,” she pleaded. She bent over, resting her hands on her knees. There was a very real possibility she was going to vomit.
And, with her luck, Biscuit would eat it and then also vomit.
As if in confirmation, he let out a loud howling bark. The fur on his neck stood at attention, which pricked her own in turn.
She saw it all in slow motion: a squirrel, running across the sidewalk, with an empty candy wrapper in its mouth. Biscuit, distracted by the shiny new object and bolting after it. The leash slipping from her hand, her only tether to the dog in her care.
Panic flooded her limbs and spiked in her chest as she raced after him, calling his name. Whenever she got close, he would change direction, go back the way he came, or slide right past Keely’s reach.
She was well off the path now, brambles and sticks shooting up from nowhere, scraping her legs and palms. Between her hoarse cries for him and the freshly blooming allergens being stirred by their chase, her throat was raw. Her breaths sawed in, in, in, but never out.
After the fifth near miss, Keely realized this wasn’t going to work. She had to get help. Someone who knew what to do in these emergency situations, because that surely wasn’t her.
Hangover or not, she sprinted back to the shelter. She could vomit later.
Though crying—she did that now.
She burst through the nearest door. “Help,” she wanted to scream, but it came out as a yelp instead.
“Is someone there?” a familiar voice called. Max.
Of course it would be him, the logical part of her brain whispered. It’s always him. It’s always going to be him who sees you at your most vulnerable, isn’t it?
Snippets of their conversation from the porch swing last night flooded back to her. God, she’d told him about her parents, hadn’t she? It wasn’t everything, but it was enough for him to use it against her, to dangle it in her face every time she let her guard down.
He rounded the corner. “Keely?” As he took her in, his jaw hardened. He picked up speed. “Are you—what happened?”
“Biscuit—he saw a squirrel—and it had—and he—took—” Her breaths were gasping, ineffective. Her words were no better.
Somehow, Max understood her anyway. “Hey, hey.” Max took her face between his hands. Her head pulsed again, that same sweet pain as earlier. “Slow down,” he continued. “Breathe. It’s alright, Keely. We’ll get him.” There was a weird light to his eyes that stirred up her barely settled stomach.
She tried to pull away, but his fingers were gentling along her cheekbones, and she was suddenly too weak to do anything but stand here and stare up at Max Simmons. “This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not joking.” He gulped, releasing her face. He rubbed his palms on the front of his jeans. “I’d never joke about this. I promise. We will find him.”
Keely nodded, wiping her tears with her hands. Max ducked into the back room and came out with another lead, a bag of treats, and a squeak toy.
They took off.
She led Max to where Biscuit had gone off leash, pointed out where she’d last seen him. Her throat quickly went hoarse from calling his name, but Max made up for her fatigue. He was louder, his voice carrying farther through the trees. He squeaked the toy in intervals.
Keely shook the bag of treats, hoping Biscuit had worked up an appetite with all his running. “Has this ever happened before?”
“At the shelter? No.”
Her lip trembled, and his eyes went wide.