22. Leash Laws

twenty-two

Violet

From the moment we left Pine Paws Animal Sanctuary, I haven't been able to get rid of the sinking feeling in my gut. I'd expected it to go away after a good night's sleep, but it was still there the next morning. And today, I woke up feeling so queasy I had to sprint to the bathroom just in case.

Luckily, I didn't throw up. But the feeling is still there, digging deeper and deeper into my body. I've been trying to distract myself with work, focusing on scrubbing all the little things that get peed on most consistently. Posts, shelves, the wall where all the leashes hang, for some reason.

I'm having trouble pinpointing exactly what it is that's bothering me. Westley? Cody? Cam's reaction to Cody?

I want to say it's Westley. Pine Paws is an amazing facility, widely funded and expertly staffed. It's probably more of a resort than Furry Friends, since everyone that works there is doing so out of love and not because there are bills to pay. But something about him has my heart in a grip. How scared he was to let us in, but how effortlessly he did when he realized that we were there to help.

I feel like I'm wading in a lake, stepping further and further until the waterline reaches my throat. Like any second now, the guilt is going to wash over me.

Drown me.

But I'd be lying if I said it was that entirely.

Something about Cody irked me in a way I've never been irked before. It's hard to pinpoint and harder to describe. He's just off in some way. And even though she seemed seriously upset when he said he was moving, it was almost like Cam was scared of him, which I hate in a way words cannot explain.

It doesn't make things easier that Ruthie called me this morning to let me know my parents will be out of rehab in time for Christmas. I tried so hard not to cave, but I can't listen to her voice break and do nothing about it. So, I sent the last chunk of my savings to her, and she got them both admitted to the facility in Seattle.

I slide my phone out of my pocket and click on my now most frequent contact. I need to be thinking about literally anything else, and I need something stronger than dog piss to distract me.

My place or yours tonight?

This isn't technically violating the contract because it's texting. I watch three gray dots dance across the screen.

Can't, sorry

Something came up

I frown reading the messages.

Tomorrow?

The dots reappear, waving in a line in the little gray bubble, but disappear after a moment. I wait for them to come back, but they don't.

Look, I know I shouldn't go peek in on her, but maybe she isn't responding because she needs help. I peer through the salon window inconspicuously. Cam is standing there, staring at her phone. I pull mine out and text her again.

I'm free Saturday too.

I watch as Cam lets out a heavy sigh, her eyes scanning the screen before she puts her phone back down. My brows press together.

Why is she ignoring me?

"Hey." I pop my head through the door. "I'm just checking in. You good?"

"I'm busy," she says shortly, her clippers working tediously between a fur-covered paw pad.

I frown. "Do you need help?"

I don't know the first thing about dog grooming, but if Cam needs help, I'll try my damnedest.

Cam shakes her head.

I look around, making sure nobody is in hearing range before speaking again.

"Got any fun plans for the weekend?" I ask. It's a completely innocent question with absolutely no innuendos. Finally, Cam looks up at me. She sighs, then turns her clippers off. Without the soft buzz of them, the room grows quiet. Cam seems to like the silence, on account of how often I find myself sitting in it with her. I swallow.

"I'm hanging out with Hayden and Adrian," she says. Then, she adds, "And Avery."

I nod, shifting my weight onto my toes, then back down to my heels.

"Okay," I shrug. "Cool."

Cam's gaze shifts around, until she reluctantly meets my eye.

Usually, Cam says exactly what's on her mind.

And when she doesn't, I can see it, flickering in her eyes or dancing across her face. But this is different. 15I can't tell if, when she says she's busy, she means now or forever.

And I'm not exactly in the position to ask. There's a term for that. Workplace harassment?

I clear my throat.

"So, see you tomorrow then? Here, I mean?" Cam nods.

"Yeah," she says. "Here."

There are other distractions, other vices than sex. None, in my opinion, are quite as fun or quite as effective, but some, at least, are close.

The Morgan Trails is one of my favorite hiking spots in Greenrock, and I think Reese likes it too. Even with the fresh snow on the ground, which he isn't a fan of, he's trotting next to me with his tail wagging and head held high. My favorite part about the trail is the overlook. About halfway through the loop, there's a clearing on the cliff that reveals a view of beautiful snow-capped mountains and people's million-dollar houses shrinking below. It's gorgeous, particularly at sunset, because the mountains glow with a pinkish orange hue, making everything around look like something out of a fairytale.

The bronze rocks shimmer in the dusk, turning my intended distraction into a reminder. A reminder that shouldn't be uncomfortable, but for some reason, still is. A reminder of what was expected, yet still felt abrupt, bringing me here to this stunning view in the hopes of forgetting.

I wonder what did it. If it was the fight we had in the salon or Cody making his appearance at the shelter. Or maybe, it had been coming, the inevitable end of that stupid contract. I thought I'd know when the time was near. But I guess, you can't really know anything. You can't always predict when someone will change their mind, and you can't know their ex will appear right in front of them, luring them back in.

I want to know if she called him. I want to know what they said. But instead of filling my brain with "what if"s, I force myself to remember the good things.

Things that choose to stay.

The trees come and go, the clouds and snow too, but the mountains are always there. I love this view because you don't quite know what you're going to get, but you know it will be there waiting. Like its sole intention is to be there for you to admire it.

But staring into the beautiful brown rocks, watching as the sun shines over each ridge and bump, I'm reminded of brown agate. I'm reminded of Cam's stupid eyes.

Balancing energies, by the way. That's what brown agate is supposed to do. The website mentioned something about calming too, but I disregarded that because Cam is definitelynot calming. Quite the opposite, actually. I didn't know someone could get on my nerves so badly. She knows what makes me tick, and she takes complete advantage of it.

Took. She took complete advantage of it. So if it's over the way it feels like it is, I should be relieved, for a multitude of reasons. One being that I'll no longer have someone to get under my skin, to press me to say things I never would otherwise. And another being that, now, I don't have to go through the trouble of ending it myself. It was only a matter of time before we got here.

Still, I can't stop thinking about that look she gave me. Those big, round eyes. The fact that I could tell something was off. That Cam didn't really seem like she wanted to end things at all.

But the contract has nothing to do with reading her mind. It doesn't matter if I can pick up on her mannerisms, if I can tell when something is off. It doesn't matter if I accidentally let details slip about my personal life. Because those things are strings. Strong, tiny threads that weave you together.

And this was supposed to be a no-strings situation.*

I turn forward, facing the remainder of the trail now. It's getting dark, but that's never stopped me before.

The snow crunches beneath my spiked boots, Reese's own boots strolling next to mine.

"Here."

His head tilts, and I toss him a piece of dehydrated chicken. He catches it, jowls loose and swaying.

"Coco! No!" a high-pitched voice screams, the woman's tone shrill and panicked. "She's friendly! She's—"

I whip around, just as a large brown dog rushes up to us, a pink collar loose around her neck. Before I even have the chance to react, the dog pounces, and Reese lets out a high-pitched yelp.

My stomach drops as he flails underneath her, lips raised and teeth flying. Loud growls rumble from the pair of them, and I instinctually grab the dog's hind legs just as a pair of large white canines sink into Reese's leg, another piercing shriek emitting from his throat.

I tug her backward harshly, prying her off. The dog screeches, her head whipping around to snap at me. I don't care. All I care about is Reese. All I care about is getting this damn dog off of him.

"Shit! I'm sorry! She's not—" The woman finally runs up to us, her eyes wide but her body motionless. The dog is flailing in my arms, panicking from the restraint. Reese lays almost motionless next to us, blood staining his white coat.

"This is a leash-only area," I say, snatching the leash from the woman's hand. My heart pounds so rapidly I can hear it, and I force myself to take a slow deep breath.

In. Hold. Out.

The dog snaps at me when I attach it to her collar, but I am unfazed.

"I know, I'm sorry. She's really friendly, I don't know—"

I shake my head and scoop Reese into my arms.

My knees buckle for a moment with his full weight, but I gain my footing. I feel his heartbeat against my arms, his pulse thready. The woman's face grows pale as she stares at him, her dog sitting next to her, now decidedly tranquil.

"Can I do anything? Can I—"

I push past them, my legs shaking. I don't know if it's from his motionless weight, or from the feeling that my heart has sunk into my feet. "You've done enough."

I move quickly now, as quickly as I can down the trail. Blood soaks into my jacket, but I don't know where it's all coming from. It's all over him. His neck, his ear, his ribcage, his legs. My boots shuffle through the snow as I try not to slip on the slight decline. I don't know how long it takes to get to my car, but it feels like eternity.

Reese whimpers when I set him down on the back seat, and I realize, looking at him now, it's even worse than I thought. Bruises have already started to peek through his thin white coat, and blood has drenched him almost entirely.

I barge into the Greenrock Valley Vet like a force to be reckoned with. The drive from the trail should have been ten minutes, but I made it in four.

I bang on the glass door rapidly but continue to take slow, steady breaths.

In. Hold. Out.

I knock again, my knuckles turning white as they hit the cold glass.

Please, let us in.

A short man with fluffy brown hair spots us from behind the desk. His brows raise with concern as he jogs to the door, pushing it open.

"Our lobby is actually closed. But—"

I stagger into him, Reese held tight in my arms. He whimpers as he breathes, like the movement of inhaling is painful. The man looks down, his eyes widening when they land on Reese's blood-soaked body.

"Please," I plead firmly. "Please help him."

The man nods, using his back to hold the door open. He reaches his hands out, trying to take Reese from my arms. My grip tightens at first, for some reason, but then I let him. It's the smart thing to do. It's why I'm here.

"Hey! We got an emergency!" he yells out, disappearing into a hall, Reese draped over his arms. My chest tightens, and just as I begin to follow him, he returns, empty-handed. Red stains seep into the fabric of his uniform, and he slips back behind the desk, quickly pulling out a form.

"Do you know what happened?" he asks, a crease forming on his forehead. My muscles tense, forcing my body to go still. I swallow.

"Dog attack," I say, grabbing a pen out of the glass jar next to me. I begin to scribble my information down, the ink leaking messily over the page. The man nods.

"We figured. Did you know the dog?"

I shake my head. The man stays silent for a moment, and my gaze shoots up to him, my brows pressing together.

"What?" I ask.

He takes a slow breath.

"They aren't sure yet, but they think he may have punctured a lung. If so, he'll have to have surgery, but—" He shakes his head. "It doesn't look good."

For a second, everything washes over me. Fear. Guilt. Anger. The words repeat inside of my mind.

It doesn't look good.

My throat begins to close, and just when I think I'm going to stop breathing, it all washes out. Every thought, every emotion, evaporates into the air. A sinkhole forms in my chest where my heart should be, and I blink blankly at the man.

"Can I stay here, at least?" I ask, my tone flat and void. His eyes drop down to the floor, a mournful expression sewn into his face.

"Unfortunately," he says, regret ringing in his voice. "The lobby is closed. If I could let you stay, I would but..."

I shake my head, still staring at him, yet also staring at nothing at all. I slide the form to him, a corpse-like feeling taking over me.

"Call me," I say. "When you know something."

The man nods and hands me a business card before I walk out the door.