“Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.”
~ Roger Caras
What was I doing here?
Closure?
The need to face him and know – really know in my heart, in my soul – I was done with him? He’d been under my skin for so long, I’d craved his attention, his desire for so long, that I needed to know beyond doubt I was done with him.
I had to. For my own sanity. For my own future.
I sat behind the Speeding Dragon’s wheel, staring at Donald’s place. If I wasn’t already Hard of Hearing, I’d be deaf with the force of my heart thumping in my ears. It was a wonder the Volvo didn’t shudder to pieces around me.
Thankfully neither Mom nor Dad had been home when I snuck into the house. I hadn’t done that since I was a teenager. There was a note on the kitchen counter from Mom telling me if I was hungry there were leftovers in the refrigerator, and asking me to please send her a text because she was worried.
I read the note, tapped out a quick text on my cell (I’m okay, Mom. Stop worrying. xoxoxo C) and then ran upstairs to my room.
The snug white jeans, flip-flops, Star Wars T-shirt and beat-up leather bomber jacket weren’t overtly sexy, but it was the outfit I’d been wearing the first time Donald let me know he was interested in me as more than a student.
Let him make of that what he would.
I sat in the Speeding Dragon, in the dark, in the cold, and stared at his house. I could see him moving around inside, the muted light of his living room casting his shadow against the curtains.
My heart continued to do its best wrecking ball impersonation in my chest. My stomach decided to join in by pretending it was a washing machine, churning away …
Fuck. Closure was a scary.
Dragging my eyes from his fuzzy silhouette behind the curtains, I looked at my cell, gripped like a life preserver in my right hand.
I doubted there would be a text from Caden, but that didn’t stop me hoping. I’d sent him one over an hour ago. It had been a simple one. A lame one, to be honest.
I miss Doofus.
What I’d really wanted to say was I miss you. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a prickly pain in the ass. Instead I’d sent a text about the dog.
I’d sat with Amanda beside me, staring at the screen, waiting for Caden to answer. I don’t know what I wanted him to say, I just wanted him to make contact with me. I missed … contact with him. It had only been a few hours since I’d left him at the animal hospital, since I’d lost my temper with him in the parking lot, but I ached like a vital part of what made it possible to live had been torn from me.
“Maybe his phone isn’t working? Brendon mentioned he still hadn’t got a US SIM yet,” Amanda had suggested. “Want me to call Bren? He might already be in LA by now? Maybe he’s with Caden?”
I’d looked up at her, ready to say yes when my cell had vibrated into life in my lap.
Pink. Fucking Pink.
Please forgive me, babe. You know how good we are together. D.
I’d read Donald’s message five times. Five. Then, without hesitation, I got to my feet.
“What are you doing?” Amanda asked, jumping to hers just as quickly as I hurried away from her.
“Going.”
“Where?” she shouted, loud enough for me to hear.
I scooped up my keys and handbag, and strode to the door without looking at her. “To get some fucking closure.”
She didn’t come after me. She knows me. It would have been a waste of her time and breath.
Now here I was at Donald’s place, watching him move about in his living room, preparing for my arrival. And waiting on a text from Caden that wasn’t coming.
“And so it begins,” I said to the empty interior of the Speeding Dragon.
I shoved my phone into my bag, opened the door and climbed out of the car. It took me fifteen steps to get to Donald’s front door.
He opened it seconds after I rang the doorbell. “Chase,” he said, his smile knowing.
A wave of cologne hit me. It’s true your other senses become heightened when you lose one. My sense of smell was good. Sensitive. Donald’s cologne wafted from him, reaching for me, slipping into my breath. It was the same cologne he’d worn when we were together, although I was beginning to question if the word together was an accurate descriptor. It stirred memories of hurried sessions in his office, of frantic making out in his car. I stood on the top step, waiting for those memories to affect me, to tighten my belly and my core.
Before they did, he said, “Come in.”
Mouth dry, I crossed the threshold into Donald’s home. The last time I was here we’d screwed like rabbits on the dining table, and then he’d told me I wasn’t invited to the art gallery opening.
His hand moved to the small of my back, his fingertips resting on the uppermost curve of my ass, as though it was his to grab. A ripple of something I couldn’t identify crept up my spine and I squirmed.
This was not how I expected to feel … And yet, it was exactly what I needed to feel.
Three steps into his living room, Donald grabbed my upper arm, yanked me around to face him and then drove me against the back of the sofa, his hands pawing at my clothes, his lips crushing mine, his tongue—
Oh God, oh God, this was … this was …
“I knew the chase wouldn’t last long,” he groaned against my mouth, one hand closing over my breast, the other grabbing my butt. “The moment I saw you in the airport, I knew you still wanted me.”
I froze. I wasn’t really engaged in the wild groping, but at his words every molecule in my body recoiled. Flattening my hands to his chest, I shoved. He didn’t move that far backward, but he did move. Enough for me to see the indignant confusion on his face as he stared at me. How had I been sucked in by him again? Where was my brain? What was I thinking?
Oh God, what was I—
“What’s going on, Chase?” he asked, pulling his familiar composure around him.
I frowned. In my chest, my heart fluttered faster than a hummingbird’s wings. “I was thinking we could go to the opening of the new exhibition at the San Diego Museum of Art tomorrow night?”
Donald regarded me, his eyes narrowing. “That’s not what I’m thinking about at the moment.”
I raised my eyebrows. “No?”
He studied me a fraction of a second longer and then smoothed his hands over my hips and pressed his body against mine once more, rubbing his crotch against the curve of mine. “We can talk about it later though.”
“Later?”
“After,” he said, lowering his head to close his lips on the side of my throat.
My stomach rolled. I turned my head away and pushed at his chest again. Again, he barely moved backwards, just enough for his groin to break contact with mine. Who would have thought that sensation would feel so right?
“Donald,” I said, holding his stare. Oh, he was getting frustrated. Angry. “Why did you first call me, after we ran into each other at LAX?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Because seeing you made me realize how much I miss you. Made me realize how much I want you in my future. Seeing you made me think about marriage. About what we had. How much I fucked up letting you go.”
“Letting me go?” A throb in my temple intensified. I drew in a deep, slow breath, tainted now by Donald’s cloying cologne. “Letting me go is a rather peculiar way of putting it. More like dumped me because I was defective. And marriage? The man who wouldn’t even wear the signet ring I bought him, is now thinking about marriage? Really?”
“Chase,” he crooned, sidling back against my body, a cajoling smile splitting his face. “Baby. I made a mistake. I messed up. I messed us up. But you know how much I—”
“Want me?” I interjected. “Or is it how much you don’t want someone else to have me? You’ve become very determined to restart us since LAX, given we’d had no contact for weeks before that.”
His hand on my hip grew tight, his fingers becoming hard points digging into my muscle. “I think you need to be quiet and let me remind you what we had, what we have, and get these silly ideas out of your pretty head that I’m just jealous of the Australian.”
I burst out laughing.
Seriously, I laughed so hard I almost doubled over. My ribs began to hurt, as did my cheeks, and a part of me recognized the anger boiling in Donald’s face, but the rest of me was lost to my laughter. Cathartic, soul-deep laughter.
Donald grabbed at my upper arms as he staggered back a step. “What the fuck, Chase?”
Even with my crappy hearing I couldn’t miss the incensed confusion in his exclamation. Shaking my head, I waved a hand at him to wait. I had no chance of talking yet. Not while I was laughing so much.
His fingers dug deeper into my arms. He tried to make me stand up. “What’s so funny?”
I stumbled a step to the side, still laughing. Finally, after Donald released my arms, I righted myself and wiped at my eyes. I was crying. “Oh man,” I said, the words part chuckle, part breathless pant, “did I fuck up so bad.”
Donald’s eyes narrowed again. He studied me, clearly completely disconcerted by what was going on.
I leaned against the wall behind me and met his mystified – and suspicious – stare. “You really are a Grade-A jerk, aren’t you?”
His mouth fell open. “I think you’ve got the wrong idea, Chase,” he declared.
“You’re right,” I said. “Of course you’re right. You don’t just want me because someone else does, you want me because I’m incredible, right? Because you enjoy talking to me. Because you enjoy doing things with me. You want to marry me, right? Is that why you were at my parents’ place today? To ask Dad for my hand in marriage?”
Something flickered in his eyes. He shook his head. “No. Your father doesn’t …” He stopped, his Adam’s apple jerking up and down his throat as he swallowed. “No one knows about us, but I’m ready to come out.”
“Out?” I raised my eyebrows. “You and me? Together? Out in public? Right?”
“Right,” he replied, closing the distance between us again, his hands finding my hips. He smiled, a wide triumphant smile. “Doing things with you is what I enjoy the most.”
Let’s go get some ice cream, I signed, watching his face. And then go to a movie. The new Captain America movie is still in theatres.
Puzzled frustration flashed in his eyes. Discontent twisted his lips. “You know I don’t understand when you do that, Chase.”
I drew in a breath, my own smile curling my lips. “No, you don’t. Why not? If you can’t stop thinking about me, if you can’t bear not to be with me, if you are contemplating marriage whenever the mere thought of me pops into your head, why haven’t you learned to sign?”
He blinked. And then gave me another one of those smug, supremely confident smirks. “We speak another language,” he said, tugging my hips to his. His erection was nowhere near as hard as it had been when he first pinned me to the wall. Funny, that. “It’s the only language that matters for us.”
I laughed again. “Oh God, were you always this clichéd?”
Venomous anger flashed in his eyes. “I’m not sure what you think you’re doing but—”
“I’m over you,” I said, pushing away from the wall. “Once and for all. And I’m going. That’s what I’m doing.”
He grabbed my arm as I tried to walk past him. Grabbed it hard.
I shook it off with a laugh. “Seriously, Donald. The alpha male act does not fit well on you.”
“What is your problem?” he snarled. Although to be fair it was less a snarl and more a petulant whine. “I thought you wanted us to happen again. I’m willing to marry you, for Pete’s sake. I thought you came here so I could—”
“Fuck me?” I finished for him.
He sneered. An honest to goodness sneer. Wow. Where was the poised, cool – in both senses of the word – Art History professor who’d seduced me with his suave charm? I will freely admit I’ve got some Daddy issues, but was this really the guy I’d tried to sort them out with?
What the hell had been wrong with me?
“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” he shot back. “For me to fuck you? I mean, it’s not like I wasn’t getting any without you. And you were all over me back at LAX. I figured you needed a good fuck.”
“I was all over you?” I burst out laughing again.
You know that sensation you get when you’ve spent the day bent over a desk, working or studying, and you stop and look up for some reason? That ethereal, indescribable sensation that the world is suddenly lighter, that with every little crack of the bones in your spine as you straighten in your chair, the fog falls from you and you can breathe?
That. I was experiencing that.
Right there, I got it. I understood it. Donald had been my poison. My fog. The pressure on my back as I bent at the desk, and the goddamn midterm paper sucking at my soul.
All those things, wrapped up in a package that had awed me, left me star-struck and flattered to be the focus of his attention.
I’d been greedy for that, craved it, but what I’d really craved was attention, the kind that validated who I really was. The kind a father gave his daughter. Dad hadn’t given me that, and I’d gone searching for it elsewhere. I’d gone searching for the kind of attention that said it was okay to be different, witty, sarcastic. The kind that said just because I couldn’t hear, didn’t mean I didn’t feel.
Every time Donald screwed me in his car, every time he felt me up between classes, telling me how hot I was, how sexy, I’d been amazed anyone could think that of me. But what I should have been asking myself was, when had I decided hot and sexy was enough?
It wasn’t. I was more than a walking pair of tits and a pussy. I was more than a desperate defective person just needing someone to take pity on me.
I was Chase Sinclair. I was smart. I was talented. I was creative. And I didn’t need to be reduced to my body parts – those that worked and those that didn’t – to be Chase Sinclair.
Throwing back my head, I laughed again. “Y’know,” I said, looking at Donald as I wiped at my wet cheeks, “this has been the most enlightening night of my life. I’m so glad I came here. But now I have to go.”
Donald ran a slow gaze over me. Uncertainty lurked in his eyes like a sludge of oil. “Go where?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I started for the door again.
“If I’d know you were going to be like this when I followed you to—”
He stopped, his angry snarl dead.
I turned. Stared at him. “Followed me to where, Donald?”
My body thrummed. My stomach clenched. Had he just admitted what I thought he’d admitted?
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stared like a deer caught in headlights.
“Followed me to where?” I repeated. “To LA? We didn’t just happen to bump into each other at LAX, did we?”
His Adam’s apple jerked up and down his throat.
I frowned. “And you didn’t just happen to think about going to Disneyland with me for no reason, did you? You were there. When Caden and I were. You were following me.”
Disgust mingled with contempt in my stomach, before an emotion far stronger swelled through me: pity. Not for me, but for him.
“Goodbye, Donald,” I said. “It’s been … fun.”
I turned for the door, but once more he grabbed my upper arm. “Babe,” he crooned when I swung back to him. “This hasn’t gone the way I wanted. This is not … I mean …” He stepped closer, snaking his hand up the side of my face, to my ear.
I knew his fingertips had encountered my hearing aid when he stiffened and jerked his hand away.
I grinned. Donald had always hated my hearing aid. Whenever I wore it when we were together (huh!), he complained how unsexy it was, how it marred my beauty. By the time he dumped me, I was ashamed of the damn thing. Hated it.
I don’t know why I’d put it on before coming here tonight, but perhaps on a subconscious level I was reclaiming the Chase I’d lost to his emotional and sexual manipulation of me. Maybe I was saying to the world, I remember who I am.
Or maybe the real me knew it was going to piss him off.
Maybe both.
“Oh Donny,” I said, melodramatic sympathy lacing my voice. “Did you have trouble hearing me earlier?”
He blinked.
I smiled. I’m over you, I signed, moving my hands as slowly and obviously as I could.
And with that, I walked past him.
“What?” he called. “What?”
I didn’t stop or turn back to him. I left his house, strode to the Speeding Dragon and dropped into the driver’s seat. He yelled things at me the whole way. Things I’m pretty certain I would have found hilarious if I could hear them.
Starting the car, I reached up to my ear, removed my hearing aid and tossed it onto the passenger seat beside me. The battery was dead. Had been for the last three months.
But damn, it had been the perfect piece of costume jewelry tonight.
Ignoring the sight of Professor Douchebag’s silhouette in his open front door, I threw the car into gear and drove away. It would take me roughly ninety minutes to get to LA. I’d need to get gas on the way (the Dragon was thirsty) and swing by Amanda’s place first to tell her what was going on. As much as I am the annoying, irritating little sister, I’m not so horrible as to not fill her in on the awesomeness of what just happened.
So a quick conversation with Amanda, a hug with Tanner, a pee break, and then on to LA.
I was at the end of Donald’s street when it occurred to me I had no idea where Caden was. Was he still at the motel near Disneyland? Or would he have thought to relocate to a motel closer to the animal hospital? I would have. Damn it.
Digging in my bag for my cell, I checked it for incoming messages. Nada.
My stomach twisted. Surely he’d got a US SIM by now? So why hadn’t he texted? Was he pissed at me?
If he was, why wasn’t I getting his patented I’m-a-smartass-joker responses? The kind that drove me mental but, strangely, made me want to smile at the same time?
If he wasn’t texting me back, was it because he’d given up on me? On us?
I couldn’t believe that. Caden didn’t do giving up. He’d told me as such. Of course, that was before I’d told him I didn’t need him, or want him, and abandoned him in LA all alone with a dying dog.
A raw sob tore at the back of my throat and I pressed my hand to my tummy. Oh fuck, I’d messed up.
I’d messed up and I didn’t know what to do about it.
How would I live without any more of his sock puppets? How would I function without his jokes and sense of humor and … and …
A loud car horn blasting behind me made me jump. Shit, I’d stopped completely in the middle of the road. Face flooding with heat, I let out a yelp and slammed my foot to the pedal.
It didn’t take me as long as it legally should have to get back to Amanda’s place. Brendon and Tanner had returned, and my family was sitting down eating supper when I barged into their apartment using my spare key.
“Aunny Chase!” Tanner cheered as I sprinted across the living room to the dining table.
I scooped him up from his booster-seat and squeezed him in a hug. “Hey, Superman,” I greeted him, jiggling him on my hip with a wide grin. “How’s dinner?”
“Yummy,” he declared, whacking me on the head with his fork. Something warm dropped onto my cheek. Yep. Mashed potato.
Chuckling, I replaced him in his seat, wiped the mash from my cheek and then sucked my finger clean. “Oh, it is,” I said, smacking my lips.
“Ice cream is better,” Tanner declared.
I nodded. “Agreed.”
Something small struck the side of my head. I turned to find Amanda and Brendon regarding me. In Amanda’s hand, pinched loosely between forefinger and thumb, was a green pea, primed and ready to fly.
“Ahem?” she said.
I dragged my hands through my hair and sighed.
“Oh, stop being a drama queen,” she reproached. “I know you told Professor Perry to take a hike.”
I raised my eyebrows. “How do you know that?”
She grinned. “You get that exact same look on your face when you tell Dad he’s being an idiot.”
“What look is that?” I asked, returning my attention to Amanda.
She pulled a face at me. Part vindictive grin, part triumphant smirk. On her it looked ridiculous. Amanda is the nice Sinclair girl. On me, I bet it looks incredible. It felt incredible.
What also felt incredible was seeing pride and happiness in her eyes as she smiled at me. My big sister was proud of me. Do you know what that feels like?
Let me tell you, it feels like nothing else in this life.
I crossed to where she sat on the other side of the table, dropped to a crouch and wrapped my arms around her. “I love you, Mandy.”
Her chuckled hum vibrated through her chest into my cheek. That felt equally as incredible. “Love you too, Chase.”
I’m not sure how long we stayed that way, but when I pulled away her eyes glistened with shimmering tears.
“I’m quite fond of you myself,” Brendon declared. After launching a tiny green missile from his plate that completely missed me and landed in Amanda’s hair.
I rolled my eyes at him and then grinned. “Thank you, oh Benign One. Now, is there any chance you could tell me where Caden is staying in LA and how I might go about making him talk to me?”
*
I can’t believe not a single Telco in LA had a 24-hour shopfront that I could stride into and buy a local SIM. Not one.
I found a shop where I could get it changed tomorrow morning, although I was of the opinion its 10am opening time was a deliberate attempt to really push what little patience I had left. But patience was all I had. That and Buckley’s of finding a store to get a SIM before 10am. (Translation for the non-Aussies: “Buckley’s” means zero chance of it happening.)
Instead of going back to my motel room, a depressing and frustrating thought even with the tropical pool and obscenely large bath and pristinely clean kitchenette, I walked the few blocks to the animal hospital to check on Doofus. I’d received an iMessage from Dr. Adams while I was still at Denny’s, to say Doofus was slowly – almost stubbornly – improving. He still wasn’t out of the woods yet, and his kidneys were still not functioning the way they were meant to, but the antibiotics finally seemed to be taking serious effect. I took that as a good sign.
I also took it as an omen for my relationship with Chase. Lame, yes? But a bloke’s got to hang on to whatever hope he can. Until I had a bloody US SIM in my phone I couldn’t call her, text her …
Fuck. I could message her on Facebook. Damn it, why hadn’t I thought of that before?
I yanked my phone from my back pocket and checked the Wi-Fi indicator at the top of the screen. It was gray. I had no net access, unless I could hop onto someone’s unsecure network. Shit.
Okay, maybe I could sweet talk whoever was on duty at the animal hospital into giving me the password again for their network? Who could refuse a charming, cheeky Aussie like me?
Dr. Randolf Simmons, that’s who.
When I got to Laguna Niguel, the last veterinarian on day shift was leaving. I’d met her earlier – a really nice woman who originally hailed from the UK. She let me in the building, told me Dr. Simmons was the vet on duty for the night, hollered out to an unseen Randolf that she’d let me in and that I was checking up on the Doberman-cross in recovery, and then stepped out the door.
Randolf had appeared a few moments after that, just as I was heading around the empty reception counter. Our eyes met.
“G’day,” I said, giving him a friendly nod and a smile. “I’m Caden O’Dae.”
Randolf could have been Hagrid’s twin, from Harry Potter – sans beard and sunny disposition. He’d looked me over from head to toe, and then grunted and stomped his way to the bathroom.
That was it. Nothing else was said to me. No other form of interaction.
I watched the door swing shut behind his cliff-face back. “I’ll just go see Doofus, shall I?”
Accompanied by the sounds of the menagerie, I made my way to Doofus’s cage, preparing myself for whatever I found.
His ears pricked as I approached. A good sign.
“G’day, mate,” I said, keeping my voice low and soothing and calm.
I didn’t even get the chance to say How you going? before Doofus not only raised his head but stood in his cage.
Stood.
Sure, it was a wobbly stand, what with the plaster cast on his front right leg and shoulder, and his deformed back left leg, and it only lasted a couple of seconds before he laid back down again. But in those few seconds he’d looked at me, tongue lolling out in what could only be described as a happy doggy grin, tail wagging with equal canine happiness.
Elation swept through me in a warm wave. A smile spread over my face. A big one.
“That good, eh?” I murmured, unlatching his cage with gentle, slow movements.
He barked at me, a low conversational woof. One of the best freaking sounds I’ve ever heard, trust me. He stretched his neck as I reached in to give him a pat, meeting my head with his muzzle. He licked my wrist, tail wagging faster, his tongue warm and wet. A happy tongue, to go with his happy tail and happy woof. A healthy tongue. Joy rushed through me, not a wave but a tsunami.
I continued to pat and stroke his head, giving him a gentle scratch every now and again, checking out his stitches and wounds. The intravenous antibiotic drip, I noticed, was gone. An awesome sign, to be sure. Doofus kept wagging his tail, trying his best to inch as close to me as he could, giving another conversational woof as he did.
“I reckon you’re going to be okay, mate,” I told him, kneading his ears as I examined the cast on his front leg. “Reckon we’ll be playing fetch before you know it.”
He gave me another happy bark. His tail was wagging with such gusto now his whole body was wobbling. You know a dog is happy when the whole-body wags are happening.
I let out a low chuckle, rubbing my forehead to his. “Chase is going to be so happy to see you like this.”
He woofed. I chuckled again. “Yeah, she’s a prickly one, I know, but she’s deadset in love with you. Reckon that might be the way to get her to Australia. Tell her we need to do joint custody, and seeing as you’re coming back to Oz with me, she’ll have to come as well. What do you think? Plan?”
Doofus woofed. His tail whacked the sides of his cage.
“Plan,” I agreed.
He strained his neck so he could lick my face. I laughed. And then jumped about twenty feet in the air, letting out a startled “shit” when a voice behind me said, “You know you shouldn’t let dogs lick your face.”
I turned to see Randolf watching us. “Yeah. But this guy’s worth it.”
He regarded me without expression before shrugging those massive shoulders of his. “Your funeral,” he muttered, pivoting on his heel and making his way through the recovery area.
I watched him shuffle around, checking on the other animals in their cages – muttering the whole way about idiot Australians. If it weren’t plainly obvious he was tender and concerned about his charges, if it weren’t for the fact he lingered with each one longer than required, his voice as low and soft as he was hulking and imposing, I would have wondered what the hell he was doing here.
I stayed with Doofus at his cage, talking to him, massaging his ears, long enough my feet and lower back began to ache from standing. I told Doofus of all the incredible hiking trails we were going to do together back in Australia. Filled him in on all the games of rugby we were going to play in my mum’s backyard. Described in detail the expanse of Brighton Beach on the Victoria coastline, and how we’d leave our footprints and paw prints on its pristine white sand as we jogged along its length.
By the time I realized I needed to go to the loo, I’d decided Doofus was going to be a permanent fixture in my own vet practice when I established it. After we returned to Australia and his stint in quarantine, he’d join me in my internship at Dr. Phillips’ clinic.
He’d start out as a regular guest on her television show, no doubt wooing the audience with his doggy awesomeness and plucky nature, before his fame became too big for her show to contain. Then, with his Twitter followers numbering in the millions, he’d become the face of Dr. Caden O’Dae, Animal Doctor, a practice that would specialize in caring for rescued animals.
Doofus listened to my grand plans as I relayed them to him, his head tilted, his ears pricked, the occasional encouraging woof thrown into the conversation, his tail wagging.
“Of course,” I chuckled, giving the side of his neck a scratch, “Chase will no doubt feature you in all her art works. So you’ll be famous that way as well. Hey, maybe yours will be the first dog portrait to win the Archibald prize?”
Doofus woofed, gaze fixed firmly on me.
It was a moment of fantasy, my conversation, but it calmed me. I had no idea if I would be able to get Doofus into Australia. Our quarantine laws were infamously strict, even with domestic animals. I also had no idea if Chase would be remotely interested in moving there, even if we did get our … relationship sorted out. But sometimes a guy’s got to allow himself a fantasy, for his sanity’s sake. Or at least, for the sake of making it through the next few hours.
“Okay,” I said, giving him one final neck scratch before closing the cage, “I gotta go take a leak.”
His ears drooped. His wagging tail did the same.
“Ah, don’t make me feel bad,” I scolded gently. “I’ll be back. Promise,” I added, before turning and heading for the door.
His answering woof told me in no uncertain terms to hurry the fuck up.
I crossed the empty waiting room to the bathroom. I felt good. Like I’d been mainlining whatever it was Brendon was on to be so positive. Now, if only it would hurry up and be 10 am so I could get my butt into the Telco shop, get a US SIM and get Chase on the phone. I could have called her on the clinic’s phone, I know, but it was late now and I didn’t want to wake her if she was asleep.
Pushing open the bathroom door, it occurred to me I could probably just ask Brendon to get her to call or text me on his phone. As awkward as that would be, at least we could communicate. The first step.
I pulled my phone from my back pocket and quickly tapped out a message to Brendon: Sorry for texting so late, but when you see or speak to Chase next, can you get her to text or call me on your phone? Even if it’s tonight. I can’t get a US SIM until tomorrow morning. Thanks, dude.
Feeling like I was thrumming, I slipped my phone into my pocket. And then jerked my head around at the soft tap of knuckles on glass.
My throat seized up.
Chase stood on the other side of the main entry door, looking at me.
For a moment – just a moment, but a bloody stupid moment – I didn’t move. Stood rooted to the spot, staring at her. The exterior lights played with her hair, turning it to a halo of vivid cyan blue that was almost surreal.
I blinked. Was she really there?
Let me in, you overprotective moron, she signed, lips curling into a devilish smile.
A short, startled laugh burst from me. Well, if you’re going to be that way … I signed back, staying exactly where I was.
Well, most of me was staying exactly where I was. My heart was well and truly on its way to thumping itself out of my chest.
If you don’t let me in I can’t show you how sorry I am for being a moron myself, she signed.
Sorry, I signed back, forcing my expression to be serious and aloof. But the only people allowed in here this time of night are those coming to see their animals.
Her eyes narrowed.
Their not-dying animals, I continued. I know I stumbled over the word dying. For some reason my hands were shaking. Maybe because I was on the verge of bursting into song and dancing around with sheer joy. Mind you, I’m not that good a dancer. If I had done that, Chase might very well have bolted.
She frowned. And then the frown turned into an expression of hesitant hope. Her hands moved: Do you mean …
Yep.
“Fuck yeah!” her muffled shout came through the glass. What wasn’t muffled was the sheer delight in her voice.
I grinned.
She grinned back. And then a heartbeat later, signed, Well? Are you going to let me in?
I ran to the door, unlocked it and yanked it open. Before she could ask or say whatever her mouth was opening to ask or say, I hauled her to my body and kissed her. It might have been a tad presumptuous, but fuck it. She was here, not with Donald the Dude, and I was going to kiss her.
The heavy glass entry door whacked into my back, knocking us both off balance. Laughing, still holding each other, we moved away from the door. It took a second for us to regain balance, another second to stare into each other’s eyes, and a third to return to our kiss.
And holy hell, did we kiss each other. Our tongues and lips and teeth spoke of every desire and passion and need we had. I completely lost myself to the wonder of her lips on mine, far more potent because I had spent a great deal of the day thinking it was never going to happen again.
When we finally tore apart, the separation lasted barely a second before I cupped her face and kissed her again. And again. Over and over. I couldn’t get enough of her lips, of her smell, her taste.
Finally, all too aware that if we didn’t stop we’d end up breaking the laws of decency right there in front of the animal hospital, under the glaring entry lights, I dragged my mouth from hers.
“So …” I said, catching my breath. “That just happened.”
Chase laughed. Raking her fingers through my beard, she closed her eyes and smiled. “Yes, it did. And it was wow. So much wow.”
“Wow is an understatement.” I wanted to ask her what had happened between her and the douchebag. The need to do so itched at the back of my skull like a hive of ants. I ignored it. Just. She may have just made fun of my overprotectiveness, but I wasn’t prepared to push the point. Not yet, at least. Not until I finished basking in the fact she was here with me now.
I smoothed my hands up and down her back and waited for her to look up at me. “How did you know I was here?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I didn’t. My plan was to drive to the last place I saw you, then ring Brendon and have him tell me where you were.”
I chuckled. “I love your impulsiveness.”
“And my sarcasm?” she asked. “I think I just sarcasmed my way out of ever being a student at SDSU again.”
A hot lump filled my throat but I smiled all the same. “I love your sarcasm.”
She chewed her lip, a hesitant uncertainty falling over her face. “Do you?”
“I do.” I searched her eyes. “And your courage and your independence and your strength.”
“Independence?” she repeated, her voice catching. “You know that’s a big one for me, don’t you? I mean, I’m not a little girl who can’t look after herself. I’m allowed to make my own decisions. And I’m definitely allowed to run across a busy road if I want, and you’re not allowed to freak out and try to protect me.”
“You know I’m likely to do just that,” I countered. “And it has nothing to do with your hearing and everything to do with me being terrified you might get hurt. Hell, I’d freak out if Brendon tried to sprint across that road you took on. Might not shout at him though. More likely to punch the bastard in the jaw for freaking me out.”
She watched me. I could see her mind working.
“You know,” she went on, the words slow, considered, “if someone is being horrible to me, I’m perfectly okay with taking care of it.”
Donald the Dude. We were talking about Donald the Dude. His name didn’t need to be mentioned to know that.
Anger and jealousy threaded through my happiness. I swallowed. The need to be flippant, to toss out a joke instead of address those emotions, crushed down on me. “And if I want to take care of it?” I finally said. “If someone is being a dick to the woman I love, I’m allowed to let them know, right? And to tell them to fuck off? Or is that being too protective as well, because if it is, Chase, I …” I stopped, shaking my head. My pulse thumped in my ear, a cannon of drilling volume.
“I should have told you sooner I answered Perry’s call,” I said, stepping back from her and rubbing at the back of my neck. “It was wrong of me not to.”
She caught her bottom lip again. “It was.”
Dragging my hand up into my hair, I clawed at my scalp.
It’s okay to get angry, Brendon had said. You don’t have to smother everything in a joke. But a lifetime of suppressing any agitation I experienced, of keeping my calm and not getting ruffled … it was hard to not fall back on that. Especially when I suspected things needed to be said that would hurt. Both her and me.
“Why did you answer his call, Cade?” she asked, her stare holding mine. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t you just tell him it was over, Chase?” The question – the accusation – burst from me before I could stop it, or cut it off with a self-deprecating joke. “Why did you go to his place? After everything we’ve … Fuck, I don’t … I don’t know … You …” I broke off again, jerking my gaze everywhere around us but to where Chase stood, watching me. “After everything that happened between us, why did you go to his house?”
“I had to,” she said, the words husky.
Hot disappointment sheared through me. I finally looked at her. “And?”
“And I’m here, aren’t I?” she said. “I’m here with you. Not there with him.”
Here with you. A rush of concentrated relief and joy at those words flowed through me. Followed by an undeniable need for clarification. “You told him it was over? To stop calling you. You told him you’re done with him?”
She nodded. “Yes. Quite emphatically, in fact. There was shoving involved.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, my fists balling. “He shoved you?”
“No, I shoved him.” A frown knitted her eyebrows. There and gone just as quickly. “For a while he didn’t want to take the hint. And then I laughed at him.”
I should have been listening to her. I should have focused on the “laughed at him” part of her declaration. Instead, I was seeing red, and there wasn’t a joke or witty comment to be had. “He touched you? Tried to … to what? Force you?” Rage turned my blood hot. I ground my teeth. “I should have dealt with the prick when I was on the phone with him.”
Chase’s jaw clenched. Dark tension flared in her eyes. “Why? Because I wasn’t capable?”
“No,” I almost shouted. “Because I love you. Don’t you get that? I love you and I hate the idea of anyone, anyone, upsetting you or hurting you. I hate it. I hate that I did it, I hate that Perry did it, I hate that your father does it. The whole point of being in love with someone is to make sure their life is the best life it can be. It’s not about being selfish. It’s not about how great that person makes your life, it’s about making their life wonderful. And I couldn’t do that. I didn’t do that for you. I yelled at you and I betrayed you and I made jokes when I really wanted to scream.”
Chase stepped toward me. I fisted my hands in my hair, watching her.
“I’ve loved you from the second I saw you, Chase,” I said. When had someone lined my throat with hot sandpaper? “It’s lame and corny and you can roll your eyes all you like, but it’s true. And I know I’m probably going to piss you off a lot because I will try and protect you when you don’t want me to, but I can’t help that. Just like I can’t help being in love with you.”
I stopped. My breath squeezed from my lungs in shallow breaths. I felt giddy.
“And I swear,” I croaked, my voice little more than a scratch, “if Donald the Dude calls or texts you one more time I will find out where he lives and shove his phone up his arse.”
“I don’t need you to protect me, Caden,” she said, looking up at me. I can only assume she’d read my lips because there wasn’t a hope in hell she could have heard me. “But I think …” She touched her fingers to my chest. “But I think I’m going to like that you want to.”
I swallowed.
A smile curled her lips, small, almost shy, but a smile. “I’m going to tell you that I love you now, Caden O’Dae. Promise you won’t freak out? Or make a lame joke?”
My pulse detonated in my throat. “Promise.”
Happiness danced in her eyes. “I love you.”
Drawing in a steady breath, I smoothed my hands over her hips. My heart pounded in my throat, my ears. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“If you don’t,” she said, “I may have to beat you.”
I kissed her. Quite a bit.
When our lips finally separated, I cupped her face in my palms and smiled down at her. “We can make this work.”
She smiled back. “We can.”
Releasing a ragged breath, I smoothed my hands up her back. “So, want to go in and say g’day to Doofus?”
Hesitation fell over her face. “Is he okay? Really okay? Or ‘vet boyfriend who doesn’t want to upset his girlfriend’ okay?”
Boyfriend.
Girlfriend.
Do you have any idea how I felt hearing those words? I don’t think I’ve got a hope of describing it, to be honest.
“Really really okay,” I answered. “He’s still got some recovering to do, but he’s going to make it.”
“Yes!” She launched herself from the ground, wrapped her legs around my hips, and her arms around my shoulders, and kissed me again. This kiss fell somewhere between we’re-going-to-be-arrested, and stolen-but-meaningful. Plus it had the added advantage of Chase’s sex being very close to my groin. Those kinds of kisses are bloody awesome.
When it ended, I threaded my fingers through hers and grinned. “Let’s get in there,” I said as I turned to open the door.
Only to find it locked.
“Shit,” I muttered, a second before Chase chuckled and tapped me on the shoulder.
I looked up from the door handle and burst out laughing. There, on the other side of the glass, perched on the reception counter watching us, was Dr. Randolf Simmons. And sitting beside him, grinning at us in interminable doggy happiness, a plastic protective cone around his neck to stop him messing up his stitches, and a new bright blue collar, was Doofus.
Randolf regarded us, expression completely serious, and then his wide face broke into a wide smile and he lifted his hand and gave us a thumbs up.
Veterinarians. We’re a very special breed.