Текст книги "The Play"

Автор книги: Karina Halle

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

But for once in my life, I keep quiet.

He runs his thumb over my bottom lip.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says.

Oh Jesus, is this happening? I’m not going to survive this.

“Please tell me you’re not joking,” I whisper.

His fingers grip my chin tighter and he lowers those gorgeous lips toward mine, his expression still caught in that frown, as if he can’t quite believe it himself.

“I’ve never been more serious,” he says.

Coming from a man like him, I know that’s saying a lot.

I close my eyes and there’s a delicious, aching second before his lips meet mine. Soft, unbearably soft, and I’m sinking into them, falling down, down, down into a rabbit hole.

The kiss is sweet, slow, gentle. The kiss is like lingering in satin sheets with sun streaming on your skin. The kiss is soothing but it does nothing to soothe me.

It only stirs up those butterflies. It lets loose the birds from the cage. It makes my mouth open against his, suddenly insatiable, hungry, desperate for everything he can possibly give me.

He responds in kind. He groans into my mouth which shoots fire down my spine, incinerating my nerves. His lips are wet and wanting, enveloping mine with softness, with wildness, with desire that I can taste.

His hands bury themselves in my hair, holding me, his body twisting against mine to get closer. I grab him tighter, pulling him toward me, then let my hands roam up and down his sides, feeling the taut muscle underneath. I slip my fingers underneath his shirt, his skin soft and warm beneath my caress.

The tip of his tongue touches mine and I am lost to him. Whatever armor I had over my black, bitter heart is being chipped away with each passionate kiss, each deep, slow pull of my mouth to his.

I feel like I’m being kissed for the first time. This kiss is erasing every single man that has ever crossed my path. It’s a restart button being pushed.

It’s the best kiss I’ve ever had.

And it doesn’t seem fair that the finest lips to ever grace mine are leaving in a week.

He pulls away¸ just briefly, his lips sliding away from my open mouth and slowly moving down my jawbone, nipping, sucking, tasting. His rough beard tickles my skin, inflaming my desire. His grip around my head tightens, containing me, and his mouth is hot against my neck as he lets out a ragged breath.

I moan, unable to help myself, pressing against him, wanting him to devour me. There is so much heat, so much built up tension between us, I don’t know how I can ever extract myself from him. I’ve wanted him so badly and now that his lips are kissing my neck and he’s holding me, so tight, and I can feel his own lust for me, I’m not sure if I can ever stop.

A rustle sounds from the bushes beside us, bringing me back to a hazy reality.

Lachlan pulls away, breathing hard with my face in his hands, his eyes searching mine. He slowly turns his head and looks to the side of us. I suck in my breath, my lips still throbbing from his kiss, and follow his gaze.

Eyes stare at us from the bushes. I freeze up but Lachlan whispers in a raspy voice, “Shh, shhh, it’s okay.” He slowly moves into a crouch and I shuffle over to give him room. He turns and faces the eyes in the bushes—which I hope are the dogs—and takes something out of his pocket.

“Did you like that?” he asks them gently. “Here.”

He tosses something into the bushes.

The eyes come closer, the wet snap of jowls, eating whatever it was.

“Do you just carry dog food with you everywhere?” I whisper, but he doesn’t answer me.

He coos at the dogs, tosses them something again, and slowly moves toward them, keeping his hulking frame as low as possible.

I squint, trying to watch him in the dark. I’m a bit worried that the dogs might attack him. At the same time, I’m cursing them for being cockblockers.

“Easy now,” he says, taking off his belt. “Easy.”

Is he going to use his belt as a leash? What kind of dog superhero is this guy?

A bunch of shuffling follows, then more hushed, calming words from Lachlan until finally he stands up slowly.

“Okay,” he says to me. “I’ve got one of them.”

I get to my feet, dusting off the dirt from my ass, and peer at him. At his side is the shadow of a dog, his belt looped around its neck. Though the dog is tense, straining slightly at the makeshift leash, it amazes me that he’s not fighting, not trying to run.

“How did you do that?” I ask in awe.

“Used my belt. It’s a little too big for me anyway.”

“No,” I say, “I mean the whole thing. How did you lure them here?”

He gently taps his cargo pants pocket and the dog looks there. It’s then that I notice the other stray slowly coming forward, also drawn by the noise.

Lachlan reaches in and pulls out what looks like beef jerky. “I always carry some sort of food on me, just in case.”

“Wherever you go? Just in case you find a stray dog?”

“Aye,” he says calmly, as if it’s totally normal.

I gesture to the other dog. “What about that one?”

He glances at the scruffy mutt now standing beside the leashed pit bull. He hands both dogs more jerky and they take it, eager and wary at the same time. “This one will follow the alpha.”

“Aren’t you the alpha?” I ask.

“I will be by the time the night is over.”

God, he can alpha me anytime he wants. Even with the dogs here now, I’m having a hard time forgetting that just moments ago my lips were locked with his and I was lost in all he was giving me. I need more of it. That kiss can’t be it.

But now he’s preoccupied. A cold, wet breeze laced with fog washes over me and I fold my arms across my chest. “The fog is rolling in again.”

“We’ll get going,” he says.

“Where? To the pound?”

“Fuck no,” he says sharply. “These dogs will be put down in a few days if I do that.”

I obviously have a lot to learn about all of this. “Really, why?”

“Because the pound is overwhelmed with dogs, as are most shelters in any given city. There just isn’t any room for them, and these two are shy. Being a pit doesn’t help either. They won’t get adopted. They won’t get rehomed. They’ll be killed.”

I swallow uneasily. “That’s horrible. I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

“Most people don’t,” he says, staring down at the dogs. “So I’m taking them home.”

“Home? To Scotland?”

“I’ll take them to my flat here first and try to find homes for them this week. If I can’t, they’ll fly back with me.”

Jesus. I’m floored by the size of this man’s heart.

“Who are you?” I can’t help but whisper.

“Just a man,” he replies. “Come on.”

He turns and walks off through the darkness, the pit bull pulling on the belt but reluctantly following, limping as he goes. The scruffy dog is right on his tail.

“Is he going to be okay?” I ask.

Lachlan eyes the dog. “Seems minor. I’ll get him to a vet tomorrow.”

I walk beside Lachlan on the other side, careful not to vibe out the dogs since they seem so taken with him. Hell, I can’t blame them. I’d also follow him anywhere, whether he had food or not. I mean, I guess I did just that when he ran off into the forest.

He keeps talking to them in his low voice, and my brain is going wild. It’s hard to know what time it is or even what direction we’re going along the path now. I wonder how the hell he’s going to get home, let alone me. I wonder if I should bring up the fact that we made out, just in case he’s already forgotten. Cuz I sure as hell have not.

Finally we see the trees thin out and the rise of buildings and lights. The road, Lincoln Way, cuts along the edge of the park, and there are still a handful of concertgoers straggling along the sidewalk.

“This seems busy enough,” Lachlan says as we come to a stop a few yards from the road. “You can hail a cab from here. Do you need any money?”

I stare at him blankly. “No. Where are you going?”

He gestures with his head down the street, where it disappears into the heart of the city. “Cabs don’t let you take dogs.”

“An Uber might.”

He raises his brow. “This Uber thing, you need a phone for that, aye?”

“So you’re just going to walk?” I ask, incredulous. “That’s like miles and miles from here. That’s the whole freaking city. It will take hours.”

He shrugs. “That’s fine. Will give me time to get to know the dogs better. If the pit’s leg gets worse, I’ll carry him. If he lets me.”

I know I’m staring at him like he’s crazy, but I can’t help it. “It’s not safe to walk the streets this late at night,” I tell him.

He rubs at his beard and gives me a small smile. “Listen, love, I can handle it.” He gazes down at the dogs. “Plus, I have a pit bull now. I’m sure I’ll be given a wide berth.”

The fact is, anyone looking for trouble would give him a wide berth anyway. Those mountainous traps and shoulders, those hard, wild eyes, they warn everyone to stay away.

Everyone but me.

“I’ll go with you,” I tell him.

He shakes his head. “You just said yourself that it’s a long walk.”

I cross my arms and attempt a commanding stance. “That’s true, but you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

In the distance, a siren wails. Lachlan looks off, chewing on his lower lip, that lip I’d give anything to chew on again. Finally his eyes slide to mine, amused and kind. “All right,” he says. “If that’s what you want.”

“Yup.”

“You really are something aren’t you?” He takes a step closer to me. “Stubborn as shit.”

I grin at him and my grin widens when he reaches out and grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Shall we?” he asks.

I squeeze right back, my palm pressed against his, skin on skin, electricity buzzing up my arm. I don’t know when I of all people started finding kissing and hand-holding to be insanely erotic, but I did. All because of him.

Hand in hand, we head off across the city.

I talk the entire time.

About my mother.

My brothers.

My father.

My ex-fiancé.

My job.

He listens intently to every single word that comes out of my mouth. It’s an amazing feeling to actually be heard. More than that, he seems to understand.

We pass sketchy characters, but all Lachlan has to do is look at them and they shrink away. We pass parks where he spots other stray dogs, and it breaks his heart—and mine—that he can’t save them all. We walk through blocks and blocks of harsh city life, and Lachlan seems more at ease than ever. He’s alert but comfortable, even as we pass the fringes of the dangerous Tenderloin district. And I never feel unsafe.

The dogs stay by our side the whole time, with Lachlan feeding them from another packet of beef jerky that I ran into a 7-11 to get. They seem more comfortable, and Lachlan tells me that he can tell they both had homes at one point, which will make it easier for them to get adopted.

When we get to his apartment building, my feet are burning and the sky seems to be growing lighter in the east, and I hope it’s a trick of my eyes because I still have to go to work when day breaks.

I hope the dawn never comes.

I want the night to go on forever.

It’s a bit of a struggle to get the scruffy dog inside, especially as we’re trying not to attract attention to ourselves—Lachlan’s not sure about the building’s pet policy. Finally he takes off his Henley shirt and wraps one of the long sleeves around the dog’s neck until we get him in the door.

At least I think that’s what he does because I’m staring at his shirtless body with my mouth open. I don’t even have the decency to look away. I’m tired and sleep-deprived and sore, and the sight of all those muscles, all those tattoos, lifts me up like a tonic.

But if Lachlan can tell I’m staring deliriously at him, he doesn’t show it. We eventually get up the elevator, the dogs freaking out now, and into his apartment. He immediately gets a bowl of water for them while they wander around the place sniffing everything. He puts his shirt back on—dammit—and starts rummaging through his kitchen.

“Can I help with anything?” I ask him.

He shakes his head and takes some raw ground beef out of the fridge. “It’s lucky I eat a lot of protein,” he says, putting the meat into two bowls and setting them down. “This should do.”

The dogs sniff it warily then launch into it, devouring it quickly.

I watch Lachlan as he stares down at them, arms folded across his wide chest, a quiet smile on his lips. His eyes are lit up, the corners of them crinkling slightly. The way he looks at the dogs is completely different from the way he looks at anyone else, myself included. There’s real love there.

That’s a look I’d die to have.

Take it easy, crazy pants, I quickly admonish myself. One kiss and a night of hand-holding and you’d think you were going to marry the guy.

I don’t even have to remind myself that he’s leaving next week.

As if sensing the finality of it all, Lachlan looks at me. “I guess I should call you a cab.”

“Oh, okay.” I look around for the time and spy the clock on his wall. It’s fucking 4:05 a.m. “Holy shit. I have to be up for work in three hours.”

He looks apologetic and unplugs his cell that was charging on the wall. “Time flies when you’re walking across San Francisco.”

He makes the call and tells me a cab is on the way.

I gesture to the dogs who are sniffing in the kitchen. “Are you going to be okay with these guys?”

“Aye, we’ll be fine. Come, let me walk you downstairs.”

He opens the door for me and we head down the hall. Once in the elevator, it’s awkward without the dogs there. We aren’t speaking and I’m not sure what we should be saying. There’s a lot I want to say to him. There’s even more that I want to do.

So many, many things.

But as we stand outside the building, I keep my eyes on the street, scanning for the cab. I want to stare at him. I want to take him in like a cool glass of water. It’s just that I’m so wired and tired that I’m afraid I’ll do something stupid.

“Thank you,” he says to me, and at that I finally meet his eyes.

“For what?”

“For being there,” he says. “Tonight. It was nice to not have to do it alone.” He pauses, licking his lips. “Sometimes…solitude can be blinding.”

God. I know this. I feel those words in my soul. My throat closes up with some flash of strange emotion.

He reaches for my face with his hand, grazes my cheekbone with his rough fingers. His brows knit together and his mouth opens like he wants to say something. I hold my breath, waiting, wondering, wanting.

The cab pulls up and honks, making me jump. Lachlan’s hand drops away.

I give the cabbie my death stare, sighing in frustration.

Rude.

I look back at Lachlan, wishing I could have those seconds back.

“So…” I say, fumbling for words.

“So,” he says. “We should get coffee this week. If you want, that is.”

“Coffee would be great,” I say.

Dick would be better, though.

He leans forward and kisses me softly on the lips. “See you soon, love.”

Fucking. Swoon.

When the cab finally drops me off at home, I stagger over to my bed and collapse on it, remembering at the last moment to set my alarm. I’m going to feel like absolute shit in the morning. I didn’t even get laid.

But, god, it was absolutely worth it.

I know I fall asleep with a smile on my face, because when the alarm rings a few hours later, blaring and unwelcoming in the dawn, I’m still smiling.

CHAPTER TEN

Lachlan

In the dream I’m five years old again. Walking down Princess Street in Edinburgh, alone, naked in the falling snow. Everything is the same and everything is different. The junkies I pass on the street are my friends. I see Eddie with his fingerless gloves, nails thick and yellow with nicotine. I see Thomas and his sobriety bracelets he never takes off, even though he’s too drunk to stand. I see Jenny with her peeling skin and matted hair held back with a plaid headband.

And they see me. But they don’t wave, they don’t smile. They scream as I pass them, until the noise is too loud, until their screams wrap their hands around my head and squeeze.

“Where’s Charlie?” Eddie yells, spit flying out of his decaying mouth. “Where is he? What did you do to him?”

I don’t answer. I run through the snow and then I’m back at the old flat.

I’m no longer five.

I’m thirteen. Tall, skinny, underdeveloped. My anger has just started to eat at me, and the world is poison. Mr. Arnold has me cornered in my mother’s old bedroom. She’s lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling like I’m not there.

She didn’t save me when I was five. She wouldn’t save me now.

I face the wall, too afraid, too disgusted to look at my foster parent as he approaches with greedy hands.

“Don’t tell Pamela,” he says to me, voice dripping with lust. “It’s our secret.”

His hands close over my throat but I don’t turn around.

I cry.

I haven’t learned to hit back yet.

When I do learn, he’s sent to the hospital.

His wife Pamela says I’m a black seed. That I made her husband do it to me.

And I’m sent away again.

Now I’m at the Hillside Orphanage.

I’m twenty years old.

My bony arms are covered with scratches.

I scratch them some more.

I’m dying on the inside.

My teeth are being ground away, falling out of my mouth like sugar.

In front of me, at the headmaster’s desk, sits Charlie.

His back is to me.

He’s not twitching.

He is deadly still.

Charlie is never ever still.

“Charlie,” I hiss at him. “Charlie, do you have any?”

But Charlie doesn’t move.

I step toward him, my limbs jerking, uncontrollable.

Charlie has what I need to make it stop.

The craving.

The ache.

The emptiness.

Everything that resides deep in my bones.

I put my hand—ghostly white and peppered with bruises—on his shoulder and spin him around in the chair.

He stares at me with dead, glassy eyes, blood running from his nose.

It drips onto the stuffed lion he holds in his hand.

In a flash, he moves. Charlie is in my face. Empty eyes. Bared, rotting teeth.

“You’re not just going to leave me here,” he utters, sounding like a child. “You cannae do that, Lachlan.”

The next moment I’m lying in an alley.

Charlie is crumpled beside me. One of the dogs is sniffing his face. Gives him a tentative lick. Charlie doesn’t stir.

Charlie is dead.

I close my eyes.

And I am dead too.

***

When I wake up, I’m drenched in sweat and clawing at my sheets. My breathing is shallow, and I’m hungry and desperate for air, as if it could clean out all the dirt inside.

I smell urine. For a moment I think I’ve pissed myself—how about that for regression—but then I remember the dogs. I remember last night. I remember where I am.

Who I am.

I sit up and try to get a hold of myself. I haven’t dreamed like that for months and its return unhinges me.

Inhaling deeply, I swing my feet out of bed and wince when they land in something wet. I groan and look down to see a faint yellow puddle. I wonder which one of them did it. I’d told Kayla that they must have had homes at some point, but that doesn’t mean they are housebroken.

“Hello,” I call out softly, walking to the door and peering out into the living room. There’s a pile of shit on the carpet and another in the kitchen.

Both dogs are sleeping on the couch, entwined with each other. That sight alone makes up for the fact that I’m going to be in shit myself if I continue to let them destroy the place.

I put on a pot of coffee and absently scratch at my arm, a bad leftover from the dream. I pull my hand away and force my brain into a better place. I saved those dogs last night. There is hope for them, hope that I’ve given them.

But, of course, that’s not the only thing that happened last night.

Kayla.

That tiny sprite.

I kissed her.

I fought and I fought and I fought against it.

But there was nothing I could do.

She’s a riptide.

I’m just a man without oars.

And she…bloody hell, she had started to get under my skin far before last night. I’ve been thinking about her ever since the impromptu rugby match, ever since she left my flat in my clothes, ever since I saw her at the bar. The way she looks at me…it’s not just that she wants me, because I know she does. It’s that…I feel she might see me, too. Beneath the layers.

Not that she ever could, ever would, see all. But just to have someone scratch the surface—to want to see me for more than me, is enough.

Scary as fuck. But enough.

Then there’s the fact that she’s this gorgeous wild little thing. Those eyes that implore me to tell her all my secrets, that beg me to have my way with her. Those eyes that promise I’ll never forget her, if I just give her a second, give her a chance.

I gave her a chance last night.

But I didn’t do it for her.

I did it for me.

Because I fucking needed it. I needed that touch, that comfort.

Hope. Somewhere in there was hope.

I felt it when I put my arm around her, like I was containing it against me.

Hope before death.

It’s tattooed on my side.

I got that a few years after Charlie, to remind me of why I cleaned up and how I moved on.

Or, at least, tried to.

Kayla felt like that hope, even though I know how foolish it is to even think like that over a girl I barely know. But just for that moment, it felt good to have even a glimpse of it.

Of course, when that damn song came on, it threw me back into reality. Of who I was and the parts that made me. The events. The battles. The ugly fucking truth.

That didn’t mesh very well with the here and now.

I panicked. I got up and left—to escape the song, escape the past that liked to show itself on lonely nights. Which is every night. But it had no place right then, not with her there.

I had no idea she would follow me, and when I first heard her call my name, my stomach did a backflip. And then she was there, by my side, her hair messy from running through the crowds, face beautifully flushed.

She came after me.

She worried about me.

I can’t remember the last time someone worried about me. Everyone by now knows not to bother, knows not to ask. Lachlan is a lone soldier, they say. He’s survived. He’ll be fine.

But this girl, this woman with the smiling eyes and the teasing lips, she knew I wasn’t fine.

And when she wanted to come with me, after the dogs, into the dark woods, well fuck. She wasn’t afraid of anything. We share the same tenacity.

And with that same resolve, I could have kissed her all night. Her lips, her mouth, the warmth of her tongue—we fit together like a lock and key. I wanted nothing more than to lay her on her back in the dirt and leaves, explore her body with my hands, my teeth, my tongue, and feel all of her in the dark. Her body promised to take me far away. I wanted to fuck the war out of me.

I had to admit that I wanted Kayla more than anything.

Naturally that didn’t happen. I can’t say I’m disappointed, because in the end I saved the dogs. And I almost got the girl. The peace. And there’s still time. Less than a week now until I’m flying back to Edinburgh, ready to jump into training, ready to shift my whole life to rugby.

There’s still time.

Isn’t there?

By the time the dogs stir, I’ve cleaned up their piss and shit and put defrosted ground beef down for them. I have some collars in my dresser —I know Kayla thought it was strange to be so prepared, but I’ve never not found a stray—so I put them on the dogs and make leashes out of rope.

We go for a quick walk. The pit bull is still headstrong under the leash and seems to shy away from loud noises and quick movements. But with some love and obedience training, he’ll be a good pet for someone. I can tell by the eyes. A dog’s eyes don’t lie. A dog doesn’t lie. If you see the good in them, there is good in them. Last night when I was cleaning his paw, finding the debris imbedded in a cut, the cause of the limping, he looked at me with thanks. I felt that deep, deep inside.

The smaller mutt, the terrier mix, is more fragile. She clings to the pit bull’s side and still doesn’t trust me too much. She may in time, but I have a feeling she’ll be coming back to Edinbugh with me. I’ve seen so many dogs like her, which are dogs like me. She needs someone like Lionel to bring her back around. Lionel will show her the ropes; he always does.

I put them back in the flat and then head out to the nearest pet store. It’s strangely chilly today, the weather here even worse than Scotland’s in the summer, and I shove my hands into my jacket pockets, turning up my collar and keeping my shoulders hunched against the fog as I move through rough neighborhoods.

I never feel fear, or disgust, or pity for these people—the homeless, the addicted, the forgotten. I was them. I know what it’s like. I know too well. All I feel is hope and hopelessness, a stunning combination. Hope that they’ll one day come to that point, that road, that branch, and decide for themselves to get up, to grow, to live.

But the hopelessness, that lies in myself. Because there’s nothing I can do for them. Every decision to better your life has to come from within, not from anyone else.

And then there’s that bitter, hard truth that grows in you, in your darkness, like mold. The truth that you’ll never be free. You’ll never forget that sweet song that pulled you under and brought you to your knees. That once you’ve seen how far you can sink, you know exactly how far you can fall. That truth tethers you. It lurks behind every thought, every action.

Sometimes, the slide backward into who you once were seems inevitable.

When I return back home, arms crammed with dog food, treats, and leashes, I look up a local vet and make an appointment for them tomorrow. The pit bull needs his paw properly looked at—he’s also not neutered, and I’m unsure if the terrier is spayed. Both of those things need to happen before they’re given homes.

I settle down on the ground and spend a good hour at their level, just observing them, until my phone rings. I roll the Kong toy I bought them back toward them, the pit going for it with gusto, then I get up to answer it.

It’s Bram.

“Aye?” I say into the phone.

“What the hell happened to you last night?” Bram asks. “You just took off and we couldn’t find you. We couldn’t find Kayla either.”

“I went for a walk.”

“You’re always going for a walk,” he says. He’s right about that. Jessica—my adopted mother and Bram’s aunt—always say I have too much troubled energy and I need to keep walking it off.

“Has Nicola spoken to Kayla?” I ask. I haven’t texted her yet. I’ve been debating it all morning.

“Yes, she’s texted her. Kayla said you found some dogs and took them home?”

“Aye. I’m looking at them right now.” I clear my throat. “Look, sorry, I left my phone at home and hers died so we couldn’t get in contact.”

Bram sighs. “Okay. Well…you missed the end of a great concert.”

I suppose that was a jab over the VIP ticket. “The day was fantastic. Thank you, mate.”

“Don’t take this wrong way, Lachlan,” he says, “but…”

I exhale heavily. “What?”

“I worry about you. When you do stuff like that. When you just leave.”

My jaw tenses at that admission. “What are you worried about, exactly?”

He pauses. “You know,” he says quietly. “I feel responsible for you while you’re here.”

I grip the phone tightly, feeling a burst of anger radiate through me, molten and hot. “I’m fucking thirty-two years old, Bram. I’m here to help your arse, not to be babysat. You might think you bloody know me, but you don’t.”

“I know, I know,” he says quickly. “Sorry. Okay? Sorry.”

“That’s fine,” I mutter. “I better go.”

“Wait,” he says. “Just reminding you about tonight.”

I frown. “Tonight?”

“With Justine.”

“Oh, Jesus fucking hell.” I press my fist into my forehead. “That’s tonight?”

“It’s Monday, and it’s the only chance we have, Lachlan. Please do not back out. There’s no way that Nicola will let me take your place and I’m pretty sure Justine won’t want me there either. It’s all you.”

Kayla. I’m thinking of Kayla. Will she care? Is it even worth mentioning?

“I really don’t feel like dealing with people today,” I say, even though I know that it’s futile. “Especially people like that.”

“Lachlan,” Bram says. “You’re leaving next week. Just go, have a few drinks, meet the father and tell him everything. That’s all you can do and it’s our last shot.”

“What about…” I trail off, wiping at my nose.

“What about what?”

“Nothing,” I tell him. “All right, I’ll do it. I’ll go. But as soon as I think it’s done, I’m out of there.”

“Good,” he says. “We’ll be at the Lion so you can come right there afterward.”

“Of course you will.”

I hang up.

And with that troubled energy, I take the dogs for a walk.

I sit by the Giants’ Promenade and watch the boats in the marina, one dog on the bench beside me, the other at my feet. I decide to give them names. The pit bull is Ed. The terrier is Emily. I like giving human names to dogs. It’s more respectable that way. It tells them they’re one of us and reminds us of the same.

I take my phone out of my jacket many times, look at it many times. I think about contacting Kayla. Asking how she is. If she’s okay. I want to mention that I’m going to a function with Justine, that it doesn’t mean anything.

But I don’t. Because I’m afraid her response will be, “So, you can go out with anyone,” or, “It’s fine, you don’t owe me an explanation” or even the biting, “Why are you telling me this?” I want to do right, I do, but I’m not built for this. I’m not even with Kayla and I’m already acting like I am. Not the right trap to fall into right now. Or at any time.

Eventually the dogs and I head back to the flat. I keep busy. I go for a run. I lift at the gym downstairs. I spend time scouring the internet, trying to find rescue agencies in town that might be able to find a foster for Ed.

And I check on my plans with Justine. They’re on. She’ll swing by with a Town Car at seven o’clock. So I shower. Trim my beard down to the bare minimum, slick my hair back, put on a black suit and tie. It feels utterly unnatural, and it’s only the glimpse of a tattoo at my collarbone—nunquam iterum—that reminds me that I’m still me. A big bad wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Thankfully, the evening isn’t as horrendous as I envisioned. I’m still out of my element. I hate socializing with these people, the ones who sit at the top and throw stones down below. But I can have a good poker face from time to time. I make nice. With Justine. With her father’s cronies. With her father himself. In the suit and tie I look just respectable enough to fool them all, and when I talk about Bram’s project, Bram’s vision, it’s convincing. I’m pulling from in deep and it’s working. Because I believe in it, and I want them to believe in it.