Chapter 43

The afternoon was almost done. Rock had left, and day one of the renos had officially started.

After they’d scoped everything out, Rock had snagged a six-pack of beer from his truck, and they’d sat on the floor, tossed a couple back. Soon he’d left on another errand for Parker, who was still in touch while off on military duty. Dude had his fingers in a few pies while he was away, mainly stuff to do with the native animals in the area he was always somehow involved with, it seemed. Made sense for someone working in animal control, at any rate.

Nathan unlatched Ryker’s crate, left the door open so the puppy could come out when he woke. Then he wandered over to his sleeping bag, lay down on it, arms folded behind his head, and thought.

It had been all kinds of crazy leaving the cabin. He’d believed he hated the place, but it wasn’t hate he’d felt when he’d seen the marks on the door jamb, some in pencil, some in pen, showing his and his siblings’ heights as they grew. A crazy kind of nostalgia had spun through him. A momentary thing, but he’d been surprised.

He didn’t want to live there. But it still mattered, if even for the memories. Good things had taken place there once. And he felt a strong need to honor that. To try to bring some sense of respect back to the family name. It was important.

He heard the noise of laughter outside the door. Townies passing by. Whoever it was stopped, and he heard bits and pieces of the conversation, saw their shadows through the paper on the front as they congregated in a throng and gabbed. A few words came through here and there, and then he heard Amy’s name, he was sure of it. And his.

He winced.

That, there was the real problem. The people. It had been the problem, way back when he was a kid, after his uncles came, and things had darkened. And it still was.

Small towns were deadly for hanging on to stuff, and not judging you fairly. They’d misjudged him before, and it was obvious, every day, they still were.

And all because of his family.

He huffed out a snort of air in the darkened storeroom. Maybe all those townspeople just had good sense. Was the mental illness that had hit his father something he had too? Just waiting to reach out and strike him, obliterate anything he might design in his life, grow?

And was the universe just super smart by ensuring none of his relationships ever continued past the time his heart opened and acquiesced? By ensuring he never, ever had any dependents at all?

In the long run, his dad couldn’t be counted on. He’d turned unreliable, despite years of good sense.

And now he was smeared with the same brush and he couldn’t shake the thought.

They were right. They were all right.

And suddenly, the idea of jumping in his car and leaving for good seemed like the only possible out.

It had worked for Eli Austin, right? One of his best friends back in high school, the guy was a total tech geek. They’d entered the military, served together, then were buddies in Delta North, too. They’d counted on each other during basic training, then the more specialized training they all went through. They’d been a team, along with the others from Jack’s Bay, a couple of the guys from out west—Sven and Christian—as well as Og, from the States.

Then Eli had left Delta, stayed as reserve, and one day, abruptly, was gone. Completely. It had been terrifying—he’d vanished into the wind. No-one had heard from him since. He’d left it all behind.

It had scared the hell out of Nathan, and the others, and when his PTSD was bad, he still had nightmares about losing Eli. He hoped like hell they guy was alive somewhere—maybe on a tropical beach, drinking Mai Tais.

He could do that too, right?

Even if he wasn’t cursed with the crazy gene, Jack’s Bay would never let him be someone else. Small towns, for all their supposed magic, had long memories.

His cell phone sounded, broke the ruminations, and he checked the text. His eyes widened.

Holy hell. A job offer.

Steady work. Mid-level pay, Toronto. He could afford to discharge his normal bills, depending on the place he rented. Maybe he’d bunk in with Rand, look him up. Another Jack’s Bay boy, he was there, working as a machinist now. He kept scrolling.

The hours were fine for a single man, someone who had no responsibilities. And certainly not a diabetic dog to care for.

Well. If he wanted to leave, he could.

A curious type of energy twisted through him. He had his out. He could do whatever he wanted, and no one could blame him. Or would blame him.

He turned his head, and there stood Ryker.

* * *

The eyes steady, scrutinizing him. Calm. Waiting.

“What do you want, dog?”

Ryker stared, then laid down beside him.

He reached out his hand, winced. Closed his eyes involuntarily, getting ready for the bite. There’d been so many. But instead…a wet, raspy tongue gave him a soft lick.

Then more licks. More. A whole suite of them as his heart dizzied. It seemed Ryker had made his decision.

His eyes snagged on the pile of stuff Amy had left in the corner. Her bulletin board, the boxes of pamphlets, the stuff she’d made up to serve Jack’s Bay. Her dreams. The ones he’d promised to help her with.

Where would he be, come tomorrow morning? Here, or on the open road?

But Amy’s words came to him, in the darkness. Exercise him. Feed him. Remember? Don’t forget.

None of it would wait while he made his decision. He went to the door, called the puppy. Ryker roused himself, padded over. Nathan fished the lead out of the bag Amy had left for him.

It was pink.

Damn woman. But he smiled as he attached the lead to Ryker’s collar. “We’ll get her trained, okay, buddy?” He opened the door, gave the appropriate command Amy had taught him. “Let’s go.”

Tremors quivered through the dog’s body and his little paws looked as if they were glued to the stoop. Seemed the anxiety was back full force.

“Come on boy,” He crooned. “I’ll take care of you.” Tugged the lead gently, tried to get him to step over the stoop onto the sidewalk.

But the dog wouldn’t budge, and he watched his black eyes take it all in.

Sidewalk. Pedestrians. Laughter. Talking.

Cars, trucks. Motion.

All of it bombarded the little dog.

DANGER.

And suddenly, he understood. He and the dog were the same. Sure, he could deal with those things.

But so much more was lost to him, and it was going to take a hell of a lot to fix it, to heal it. If he chose to. Work, and pain and determination.

Accepting the flinch, working with it. Believing the rewards on the other side were worth it.

And the rewards were, for Ryker, though he didn’t know it yet. That it literally meant his life.

Across the street, then down the other road t-boning this one, was where the town had one of its many peripheral parks. A bit of mowed greenery for kids to play, folks to sit and talk, with the forest, the Jack pines, immediately adjacent, watching over it all.

But Ryker wouldn’t budge. He was too scared.

And if Jack’s Bay saw him doing what he was thinking of doing…

…he’d be done. He’d lose all credibility, as a man. As ex-military.

See the guy that can’t get his life together? Guess what.

Still can’t. Look at the dog he has.

He scrutinized Ryker, saw the tail wagging, anxious to get out. But he still couldn’t push down that canine fear. And he looked up at Nathan, as if to say…I don’t know what the hell to do. Do you?

It suddenly clicked into place.

Yeah. He did.

He bent, picked the pup up. Whispered to that furry, little, quivering lump, all fearful. Then cradling him to his chest, he stepped out the door, stood on the stoop. Looked into the sun, so brilliant, he blinked.

It still hurt his eyes after so long in the dark, but damn it all. He was up for it. He could do this.

Striking out with the pup in his arms and the pink lead dangling, he marched across the street.

“Young man, what do you think you’re doing with that dog?” The old lady in the floral dress—he was sure he’d seen her earlier. She’d given him that disapproving look times ten. It had made him shrivel into his jacket.

But now, it didn’t. “He needs his exercise, and he’s scared. I’m going to take him over there, see if I can get him to run or walk a bit. Not sure what will happen, but we’ve got to try, haven’t we?”

The old lady looked taken aback, so much so, that she stopped in the middle of the street. Fortunately, there wasn’t any traffic at the moment. “Well, yes. Dogs need exercise. Good idea.” He saw the second she came fully on board. “You watch him, and take good care of him, you hear?”

“I will.” He smiled at her, watched the begrudging smile cover her soft face, and then all he saw were the twinkles in her blue eyes as the brows in the middle eased. “Now be off, young man. To the park!” She pointed, her arm ramrod straight.

He’d gotten his marching orders.

And so he walked down the street, carrying the puppy that was still a puppy, but still too big to be carried. Ryker’s head bobbed with his steps, but his eyes glistened, as he took in all the sights. And if someone gave them a look, he just raised his chin a bit higher.

By the end of the street, it was pretty high.

And Ryker nabbed a few treats along the way. One man shared his sausage with him, tickled him gruffly under the chin with work-hardened fingers. “Good score,” he’d whispered into Ryker’s ears as they left that particular stretch of sidewalk.

He strode into the park, felt the little dog’s terror at the kids playing ball, so instead of letting him down, he continued to carry him to where the forest encroached. He deposited Ryker on the stubby grass and threw the little football, pink again, that Amy had tossed into the goodie bag. Grinned.

That girl had a pink fetish, and him and Ryker were going to have to snag themselves some manly props to dude-play with, no matter what she thought.

Ryker stood on legs still unsteady, stared after the football and took a few tentative steps. Then he ran after it on wobbly legs. Grabbed the ball, barely fitting it into his mouth, brought it back. Chased it a second round, freer this time.

And when a couple of kids came over to watch, and crouched as Ryker came running back with the pink football between his teeth and opened their hands, palm up, to receive it, Ryker was having none of it. Even though his tail was wagging, he gripped the football tightly. Nathan was the only one he allowed to take it from him.

He straightened, watched as Ryker ran off again to get the ball yet another time, and gently held the children back from running after him. “He’s just been sick, guys. We’ll let him take things a bit slow. But come back tomorrow, and we’ll try again, okay?”

The kids nodded, wide-eyed, as Ryker grabbed the ball once again and started back on his journey to him.

He straightened, hands in his pockets, felt the wind from the pines blow the scent of a thousand primordial evergreens toward him. Jack’s Bay, and life.

Looked like Ryker had chosen himself an owner, he thought. But more importantly…

Looked like he’d found himself a dog.