10. Nine - Izzy

Someone was watching him.

Izzy tried to decide whether he cared. He was hot—the body behind him might as well be a furnace—and his head throbbed in a way he hadn’t experienced since his last birthday.

Fuck it , he decided, dragging a pillow over his head. They could enjoy the show.

Someone was watching him.

Ughhh.

No.

Someone was watching him.

He should probably do something about that. Izzy shoved the pillow off his sweaty face and sucked in cooler air.

There was a lump behind him in the big bed, breathing deep and even, a heavy arm and a leg draped over Izzy. That wasn’t who was staring at him. Izzy peered across the gloomy, unfamiliar room, trying to find the source.

His gaze met unblinking golden-brown eyes. His breath caught, and his blood ran cold. What the fuck?

It was a wolf.

A fucking wolf was watching him. It was massive—easily twice the size of a normal dog. The dim light spilling from the hallway cast shadows against its thick gray-and-tan coat. It had long legs, pointed ears, and eyes that Izzy could swear were staring into his soul.

It was between the bed and the door, blocking the escape route, though Izzy was sure it could be anywhere and still catch him before he made it out.

Out of where was also an issue he needed to deal with sooner rather than later. The man behind him was still sound asleep. Izzy took stock. He was hungover, mostly naked, and a little bit sticky. But his ass was unfucked, and his bed partner was wearing boxers over his soft-but-generously-proportioned cock.

So he didn’t get laid. Unfortunate.

He tried to think past the cotton filling his head. He knew it would all come back to him—it almost always did. He just needed a minute to… Fuck.

Keegan fucking Reid.

Izzy shut his eyes, his focus flying to the hand that was suddenly burning-hot against his hip as his hangover-brain begrudgingly supplied him with memories of the day before.

Fuuuuuck.

Maybe he should let the wolf eat him after all.

Someone heaved a sigh, but it wasn’t Keegan. Izzy lifted his head and met sleepy eyes. Apparently, the weight across his legs wasn’t Keegan either. It belonged to a large, blue-eyed white dog.

She let out a yawn that flashed her fangs and ended in a whine, then smacked her lips. She was deaf, Izzy remembered.

He pressed a finger to his lips, surprised when she quieted down, her alert eyes fixed on him. She must know some hand signals. Useful.

Izzy moved his legs, nudging her until she shifted over, freeing him. Then he inched his way out from under Keegan’s hand, replacing his body with a pillow. His boxers were around his thighs, so he pulled them back into place and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

The wolf watched him, statue-still and eerily silent. Was it even real? Or just an elaborate prank? Izzy glanced back at Keegan, but he didn’t look like he was faking sleep. He eyed the wolf again. Now that he was slightly more coherent, maybe it was a dog after all? It was still massive. The white shepherd—Riley, his sobering brain supplied—had to be seventy pounds, and she looked small next to it.

What had Keegan called his dogs? Riley and… Riley, Lucky, and… Chance. His name was Chance.

Izzy eased his feet onto the floor and stood, not taking his eyes off Chance and getting the same laser focus in return. He tried to keep his breathing deep and even, hoping his heart rate wouldn’t give his nerves away. You weren’t supposed to show a wild animal fear, right?

“Hey there, buddy,” he said under his breath. He took a step toward the door, some of his tension loosening when Chance didn’t so much as twitch. “Let’s not wake up your dad, okay?” He kept his voice low and even as he picked his way across the room, swinging wide around the wolf-dog as unblinking golden eyes tracked him.

When he reached the hallway, his breath left him in a whoosh. He spotted the open door to the bathroom and hurried across, shutting it behind him and collapsing back against the wood, a hand pressed to his pounding heart.

He wasn’t usually afraid of animals, but that had been freaking nerve-racking. When Keegan woke up, they were going to have words.

Or not. Because he had no intention of still being there when Keegan woke.

The adrenaline had cleared up his lingering headache, but it also, unfortunately, cleared up his memories of the previous night. What the hell had he been thinking, coming here and throwing himself at Keegan? His stomach rolled, and it wasn’t from the alcohol. Some of the shit he’d said—accusing Keegan of ruining his night, calling him a kidnapper, and then begging for sex that Keegan had already declined. Where was some convenient drunken amnesia when he needed it?

Oh god. Had he actually jerked himself off in Keegan’s bed like a desperate slut? Izzy wanted to rip the memory from his brain and stomp it into the floorboards. Where had all of his resolve gone? He was supposed to find someone to fuck Keegan Reid out of his system, not throw himself at the man himself and beg for scraps of attention.

Izzy turned on the shower and cranked it as hot as he could stand before stripping off his boxers and stepping under the spray. He hissed at the scalding temperature but didn’t adjust it. He needed to burn away the last twenty-four hours.

When he got back out after stealing Keegan’s shampoo and body wash, he located a towel on the back of the door and was relieved to see his discarded clothes still in a pile on the floor. He wrinkled his nose at wearing day-old socks and boxers, but it was better than nothing. Commando, he could handle, but boots with no socks? Fuck off.

He wasn’t sure what had happened to his tee, but he still had jeans and a flannel button-up. It was more than he could say for some morning-afters.

Not that this was a morning-after—god, no—he told his racing heart. He’d crashed at Keegan’s, and it had just happened to be in his bed. Nothing more. Anything he said or did while he was there could be blamed on alcohol and—if he needed to—the weather.

Izzy opened the bathroom door, letting out a cloud of steam, and came face-to-face with the wolf-dog again. He racked his brain for anything he knew about wolves and only came up with keeping his posture nonthreatening and maintaining eye contact. Or was it avoiding eye contact? Awesome. That was going to be super helpful. With “nonthreatening” firm in his mind, he headed for the front of the house, where he would hopefully find his boots and his coat.

His coat was easy enough. It was in a damp pile next to the front door. His boots were harder. As he searched the living room, he dug out his phone and powered it on. He remembered sitting on the floor to take them off, but not where.

His phone buzzed to let him know it was starting. Then it buzzed more and kept buzzing. Izzy slowed to a stop, cringing as notification after notification popped up on the screen. He had missed calls and texts, emails, app notifications—the list went on. His stomach churned.

Sure, he’d maybe-kinda walked out of work without telling anyone where he was going—but it wasn’t like he’d been difficult to find. A text to Eli or Hunter would have solved the mystery. Unfortunately, his messages went way beyond the usual suspects. He had a missed call from his dad and a text from his mom. His mom never texted. She claimed she didn’t understand how it worked, which Izzy thought was bullshit. She was able to post on social media from her phone, so there was no reason she couldn’t answer a text.

It didn’t stop there. He had missed DMs from people he hadn’t spoken to in years. Not since the accident.

He knew Emma’s statement would be a big deal in one little corner of the horse world, but this was out of control. Didn’t people have anything better to do with their time?

The answer was no. They didn’t. Social media was a dumpster fire, and people loved to watch things burn.

He swiped the notifications away, refusing to think about them. He had bigger problems right now. Like figuring out how he was going to get out of here before Keegan woke up. He needed a ride.

As always, Archer picked up on the first ring. “Hey. Glad you’re not dead.”

Izzy winced. “Yeah. Sorry. It was… It was a day yesterday.” Understatement. “Um… I’m at Keegan’s. Can you guys swing by and get me?”

There was a long pause, then Archer said, “No.”

Izzy’s stomach dropped, and he wrapped an arm around himself to stop its fall. “What?” He coughed. Archer had never said no before. Not even the time Izzy had ended up an hour away in the city by mistake. “Why not? What’s wrong?”

Archer sighed into the phone. “Nothing’s wrong, Iz. But I’m not coming to get you. I’ve been at work for an hour already, and the roads are shitty. I’m not going to risk driving more than I need to.”

“But…” Izzy floundered. “What the fuck am I supposed to do, then? Walk?” His eyes burned, and his breathing sped up as he paced across the kitchen.

“Izzy,” Archer said, patient in that way he got when Alice was having a hard time understanding something. “You’re at Keegan’s house—which I’m not going to ask about because it’s not my business. Get him to drive you.”

Izzy was already shaking his head, even though Archer couldn’t see him. “Yeah, no. That’s not going to work.” His chest was getting tight. He shut his eyes, trying to focus. “Please, Arch. I’ll-I’ll do all your stalls this week. And I’ll buy you those new boots you’ve been eyeing.”

“Man… You hate stalls, and those boots are three hundred bucks. What the fuck did you do that you’d rather spend three hundred dollars than sit in a car with Keegan?”

“Does it m-matter?” Izzy asked, his voice cracking. He clenched his jaw. He couldn’t catch his breath. “Fuck,” he bit out. “Never mind. I’ll fig-figure it out.” He ended the call and dropped into a crouch, back against a kitchen cabinet. He pressed the edge of the phone to his forehead, gripping it hard enough that his fingers ached.

Fuck. Fuck. His chest hurt, and his pulse was pounding in his ears. He swallowed repeatedly against the bile burning its way up the back of his throat. He couldn’t breathe. His head screamed, and his leg ached something fierce. The room started to spin.

Just when he was sure he had no choice but to pass out, something bumped his arm. He tried to turn away but was followed by a warm, canine nose, then a wet tongue, swiping over his cheek. The weight of a furry body leaned into his side, heavy enough that he was forced to sit, then lie back as the dog—he wasn’t sure which one—crawled on top of him and stretched out, pinning him down.

Instead of feeling trapped, it was like having his own personal weighted blanket. Izzy dropped his phone, not worried about where it landed, and sank his fingers into warm, soft fur.

In response, he got an enthusiastic lick to the face that made him sputter and choke on a painful, wheezing laugh. Dammit, why did everything hurt so much? Was he having a panic attack or a heart attack?

He got another doggie kiss and was curious enough about which dog was loving on him that he pried open his eyes.

Everything was foggy until he blinked a few times and realized it wasn’t fog, but fur. Riley was sprawled on top of him, her white muzzle inches from his face, her blue eyes focused intently.

Izzy stroked a gentle finger over her soft ear. Her steady breathing was gusting against his face, and he did his best to match it. The vise around his lungs released in increments, eventually letting him suck in a full breath for the first time in what felt like hours.

“Good girl,” he murmured, despite the fact that she couldn’t hear him. He needed to say it. He’d never been so grateful to an animal before. Sometimes at the ranch, Ryan’s dog Milo would hang out with Izzy when he was having a bad day, but he’d never been so insistent about getting in Izzy’s space, and he’d never pulled Izzy from a full-on panic attack.

Izzy kept petting her, knowing he should get up and figure his shit out, but unable to convince himself to let go of the comfort. He’d only just managed to sit, leaning against the cabinets, when Keegan walked in, barefoot and yawning.

He stopped, looked at Izzy, then at his dog, then back to Izzy. “You know I have chairs, right?” he asked, bemused.

Izzy dropped his gaze to Riley. She turned her head and licked his wrist again in what felt like encouragement. “She didn’t give me much choice.”

Keegan paused, seconds ticking by, before asking, “Are you okay?”

Izzy shrugged. Then his phone, which had landed several feet away, began to buzz against the floor. He flinched.

Before he could decide what to do about it, Keegan scooped it up, glanced at the screen, then held it out to him.

Izzy stared at it. He’d rather Keegan have handed him a live snake—and he wasn’t a big fan of anything that didn’t have eyelids.

“What’s wrong?” Keegan asked again, more firmly this time.

Izzy swallowed, then shook his head. “It’s nothing.” He reached for the phone, but Keegan lifted it away, thumbing the screen to drag down the notifications as it buzzed yet again. “Keegan,” Izzy snapped, anxiety tightening in his gut.

“Just a text in your group chat,” Keegan said as he gave it back. “I didn’t read it.” Then he bent farther to give Riley a pat. “I won’t push,” he said, not meeting Izzy’s eyes. “But whatever it is, I hope you’ll let me help.”

Izzy stared at the side of his head. He didn’t know what to do with that. This wasn’t what they did. They snarked and snapped at each other. And okay, apparently they fucked sometimes too, but they didn’t offer support.

Keegan straightened while Izzy was still reeling. He set his hands on his hips and arched his back until it popped, then stretched his arms over his head with a grunt. “Fuckin’ forty,” he muttered.

Izzy’s eyes caught on the strip of skin revealed by his lifted T-shirt hem, the delicious vee of his abs, and the reddish-blond happy trail that disappeared into his low-slung gray sweats. His gaze dipped. Keegan wasn’t wearing anything under those. Izzy’s mouth watered. How easy would it be to tug them down and get his mouth on Keegan’s perfect cock?

“Over easy or scrambled?”

Izzy froze, his dirty mind glitching as he tried to make sense of the question. Riley licking his hand brought him out of his daze. “What?” he croaked, then cleared his throat self-consciously.

Keegan looked like he was trying not to smile. He walked to the fridge and started pulling things out. “Your eggs. How do you like them? I suppose I could do poached as well. Sorry, I don’t have the ingredients for omelets. I didn’t manage a grocery run yesterday.”

Izzy stayed on the floor, stroking Riley, as Keegan pulled out a cast-iron skillet and turned on the flame. “Scrambled?” he said, hating that it came out as a question.

Keegan nodded. “And your coffee?”

Izzy wasn’t going to have another panic attack over Keegan making him breakfast. He wasn’t. He breathed deeply and focused on Riley’s grounding weight.

“I might have tea somewhere if you’d prefer,” Keegan continued, apparently mistaking Izzy’s silence.

“Black’s fine,” Izzy finally managed. “As long as it’s decent. If not, all the cream and sugar.”

Keegan chuckled. “I might not be as much of a snob as Nick, but I don’t think mine’s half bad.”

Izzy could name a few other things about him that weren’t half bad.

Once he had food cooking and coffee brewing, Keegan pulled a large Tupperware container from the fridge. Riley lifted her head, her ears perking, but she didn’t get up, even when Keegan started dishing food into three large dog bowls.

“I let the boys out the front,” Keegan explained. “They’ll be back in a minute. I wanted to warn you about Chance first.”

Izzy choked on a laugh that had Keegan shooting him a concerned frown. “The wolf? I met him.”

Keegan had the decency to look contrite. “Half wolf, actually,” he admitted. “He was a rescue from a backyard breeder who got a little more than he bargained for from his backyard.” Something scratched at the door, followed by a single bark. Keegan sighed. “You might want to move to the table. They get excited about breakfast, and you’ll end up trampled down there.”

Izzy stroked Riley’s head a final time, tempted to argue that the sweetest girl would protect him, but instead, he gave her a nudge. She scrambled to her feet and licked Izzy’s cheek before trotting over to meet Keegan at the door.

Izzy pushed himself up and waited until he was sure his legs were going to hold him, then moved to the table. He paused when he noticed his boots tucked neatly beneath it. He was hit again with the urge to run.

Fuck. He was giving himself whiplash.

Before he could act on the desire, Keegan set a steaming mug of coffee in front of him, along with some toast. Izzy stared at it.

Was he just supposed to sit here, eat the breakfast Keegan made him, and pretend this was normal? Pretend he hadn’t blurted out all kinds of things last night that never should have been said. Especially not to Keegan. Izzy couldn’t do it. He couldn’t—

“Isaac.”

Izzy jumped, then scowled at Keegan for startling him.

Keegan locked eyes with him, asking “Well?” with a raised eyebrow.

The faucet dripped into a water-filled bowl, the sound deafening in the silent kitchen. Why was it so quiet? Izzy looked for the dogs, only to find them sitting in front of their full bowls, also staring at Keegan.

“They have to wait until we sit down,” Keegan said. He pulled out a chair and gestured to it.

Izzy sat, the alternate-reality feeling continuing.

Keegan came back with two plates, one with a more than decent serving of bacon and eggs, the other with a bowl of fruit. Izzy stared. No way had he cooked Izzy a breakfast that he himself wasn’t going to eat. Who did that?

“Fruit?” he blurted.

Keegan huffed a laugh as he rounded the table. “Just wait until you turn forty.” He patted his belly. “Everything ends up right here.”

Izzy scoffed. Keegan didn’t need to worry about that. He looked fantastic, strong and solid.

“You don’t believe me?” Keegan asked with an eyebrow lifted.

Izzy shook his head. “No, I believe you. I just don’t think you need to worry.”

Keegan raised a closed hand.

Izzy frowned. What?

Keegan gave a slight smile at his obvious confusion, then opened his fingers.

There was a clatter that made Izzy jump as the dogs dove for their breakfast. The sounds of three very large animals chowing down made Izzy chuckle. Oh. That was the release signal.

Keegan sat across from him. “In that case…” Keegan snagged a crisp slice of bacon from Izzy’s plate and bit into it.

Izzy made a mock-outraged sound and curled a protective arm around his food, but he was laughing too, and Keegan grinned back, bacon grease putting a shine on his lower lip that Izzy wanted to lick off. Izzy’s face went warm at the thought. Stupid, broken libido. He distracted himself with a big bite of eggs.

“I actually got Riley last, but Chance and Lucky are smart. They picked up her sign language within a few weeks,” Keegan told him as Izzy tried not to inhale his food like one of the dogs—the eggs were amazing . It had only taken a few minutes for them to finish, and now Riley was back, lying next to Izzy’s chair. Lucky was near Keegan, and Chance the wolf-dog was sitting at one end of the table, which was freaking hilarious. He was so tall he could easily rest his chin on the wooden surface. It felt like having a third person with them.

Izzy lowered a hand for Riley—definitely not the one with bacon grease on the fingers—and got some doggie kisses. “Are they all rescues?”

Keegan nodded. “I told you about Chance and the backyard breeder. He was supposed to go to a sanctuary, but he got away from them and showed up back here a month later.” Keegan shook his head at the memory. “I figured he’d made his choice and I shouldn’t fight him on it."

“Lucky was a surrender to the clinic.” He smiled down at the animal at his side, the only one that looked like a classic German shepherd. “He had some expensive but treatable medical issues as a puppy that his previous owner couldn’t afford to fix. The guy was trying to put him down, so we worked out a deal. Instead of euthanasia, the owner signed him over to me. I took care of his medical needs, and thankfully, he’s in perfect health now.”

“And Riley?”

“She was found wandering on a dirt road in Florida after a hurricane. George, the owner of the rescue I volunteer with, drove a truck down for her and a bunch of other unclaimed dogs.” He sighed. “George does her best to locate their owners, but a lot of animals are just never claimed after these storms. There’s no way to know what happened. Sometimes the owner was a casualty. Others lose their home and can’t care for their pets anymore. And sometimes they just leave the area and don’t come back. It’s hard enough to find homes at the best of times, so George helps bring them to areas where they have a better chance.”

Izzy clutched Riley’s scruff. Poor girl. He didn’t want to think about what she’d been through. “Do you think they left her ’cause she’s deaf?”

Keegan shook his head. “No, actually. I have to believe her owner was a casualty. She was in a remote area that was flattened by the storm. And I can’t imagine someone abandoning an animal with the amount of training she’s had.”

“You think she was some kind of service dog?” Izzy asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Keegan shrugged and stole another strip of Izzy’s bacon, making him scowl. “We think it’s possible. She wasn’t microchipped or tattooed, so there’s no way to know for sure. We tried to find someone to adopt her and finish her training, but her deafness made her less desirable. Since she’d bonded with my two, George and I decided she would be happiest if I kept her.”

Izzy finished his breakfast with a protective hand on Riley’s back and Riley’s chin on his knee. He ignored the little voice in the back of his mind wondering if Keegan had room for one more, not-quite-perfect stray.