A dog barks from the farthest cage.
“What’s that?”
“That pen is reserved for the dog being prepped for euthanasia. He’s probably a bit anxious about being separated from everyone else.”
“You plan on killing him?
“We don’t have enough room or money to house all of them, so once they reach a certain amount of time pending adoption… You know.”
Jesus. I take a step toward the final cage. Two dark eyes look up at me, barely observable from behind a mop of white and gray hair covering him.
“What breed is this? Polar bear?”
She comes over and checks the nameplate. “They think he’s an Old English Sheepdog. Hard to tell without DNA testing.”
He looks old all right. Based on the card, his estimated date of birth was more than five years ago. That’s practically ancient in dog years.
“Can you let him out?”
“Are you sure? He’s a bit…restless.” With the way her eyes keep darting around the room, one would think she requires some kind of taser wand to handle a dog.
“Just open it up.”
She shrugs before unlocking the cage. The dog barrels out like a bullet before slamming into me. I try to catch myself but end up falling flat on my ass as the dog licks my entire face from chin to hairline. It’s absolutely repulsive, yet I can’t help laughing when he repeats the gesture on the other side of my face, leaving no area unlicked.
“This one is being put down tomorrow?”
“First thing in the morning.”
The dog whimpers as if he can understand the conversation. He takes a seat on my lap like a small dog, only to crush my cock beneath his weight.
I push him off me and stand. “No one wanted to adopt him?”
“Nope.” She reviews his card again. “Oh, look. He suffers from abandonment issues and doesn’t like being left alone for more than a few hours at a time. If he is, he might tear into your favorite couch or pee on your rug.”
Great. Mystery solved.
He blinks up at me like he silently promises to be on his best behavior. I’m having a hard time believing him based on the way he drools all over my shoes like he wants to make them his new favorite chew toy.
“I think that’s the closest thing I’m going to get to separation issues.”
“So, you’ll take him?”
“Sure. Get me the paperwork.”
I’m now the proud father of a clingy dog who will most likely destroy my home before Iris ever has a chance to come back to it.
Perfect. Just perfect.
The next day, I show up to work with the dog who has yet to be named. After he destroyed my favorite loafer while I was out on my evening run, he can’t be trusted around nice things. Bringing him to the office is a temporary solution. One I need to fix soon once I find the appropriate doggy day care to train him.
“What is that?” Cal stops by my office door.
“A dog.” I don’t look up from my computer.
The dog barks in reply. He tries to break free from his leash attached to my desk but fails.
“I see that, but why is it here? In your office?”
“He has attachment issues.”
The dog barks again in agreement.
“Is he yours?” Cal takes a hesitant step toward it.
“And Iris’s.”
“Tell me you didn’t get her a dog because you thought it would make her happy.”
“Okay. I won’t.”
He rubs his face. “Shit.”
“If you’re going to judge my plan, you might as well get back to work. I’m already stressed as it is.” Between fielding new temps for Iris’s position and sorting through the rest of my plan, I’m spread thin.
“What even is your plan?”
My eyes narrow. “Why do you care?”
“Because I’m your brother and I feel obligated to help you before you do something drastic.”
“Is there something considered more rash than adopting a dog?”
“I sure as hell don’t want to find out.” He pats the dog’s head.
I glare at him. “I thought you were angry with me.”
“I am, but I want what’s best for Iris, even if that happens to be you.”
“Thanks a lot for the backhanded compliment, asshole.”
He shrugs. “Like you need any more self-esteem boosting.”
“Seeing as my wife wants nothing to do with me, I could use all the help I can get.”
“Who knew you being in love would make you this pathetic?”
“If you think this is pathetic, wait until you see what I have planned next.”
1 Noun, German: Longing, desire, yearning, or craving.
47
IRIS
“Are we almost there?”
When Cal asked me to go on an errand with him, I thought he meant a quick trip to the grocery store. We have long passed the grocery store and any sign of civilization.
“Yes.” He taps the steering wheel to the beat of the music streaming from the radio.
“It feels like we’ve been going around in circles for hours.”
He laughs. “It’s been thirty minutes. Max.”
A lightning bolt cuts across the sky. “It’s about to rain.”
“How convenient,” he replies with a dry voice.
“Are you going to tell me what you have planned or are you sticking with the element of surprise on this one?”
“I’m not the one surprising you.”
“What?”
He pulls over and unlocks the doors. “Get out.”
“Are you joking?”
“Unfortunately not. Although I’m sure you wish I was.”
I don’t move a muscle. Cal hops out of the car and circles around the hood to open my door. “Come on.”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“Stop being dramatic. We passed a Starbucks ten minutes ago.”
“Why are we even here?” I’m too shocked to do anything but follow him out of the car.
“Just give him a second.”
“Tell me you didn’t set me up.” I look around, trying to find the him Cal speaks of.
My comment goes unanswered as Cal jumps into his car and does a dramatic U-turn away from me. His tires squeal as he accelerates down the road, leaving me choking on car exhaust.
“What the hell?” I grab my phone from my purse and dial his number.
The dick sends me straight to voicemail.
I start talking the moment it beeps to leave a message. “You better have a good reason for ditching me like this—”
My rant is cut off by a car driving down the road. I’ve seen enough crime documentaries to know nothing good comes from hitchhiking with a stranger. I search the perimeter for somewhere to hide, except I’m surrounded by flat land and a few pieces of garbage. “Fuck. Cal, I’m going to kill you tonight in your sleep. Dead or alive.”
As the car gets closer, I realize it isn’t a car at all, but a white minivan. One that looks awfully similar to those serial killer vans everyone warns women to stay away from. My heart pounds harder against my chest, fighting for a way to get out.