I hadn't become dog-crazy after Lockjaw, like I thought I might, wanting to go back to the shelter and getting a second baby within half a year. I was happy with the cutie I had. And I never looked at a dog and felt the same instantaneous connection like I'd felt with Lock.
Until now.
Just as the words left my lips, the man holding her turned.
And there was Crosby.
Really, I should have known it was him sooner, but I was so in puppy-love that I hadn't even noticed the familiar haircut, body shape, even the ugly sweater he'd worn on our first Christmas "date."
"No way," I said, mouth falling open.
"I know," he said, shaking his head. "I just saw him, and I knew. And Lillybean ran right up to him like he was some long-lost friend. I didn't know you wanted him, Dea," he said, looking apologetic.
"I... I didn't either. I just saw him and knew," I said, walking closer, reaching out to pet his big head that was resting on Crosby's strong shoulder.
"His name is Dasher."
"It is not," I said, smiling.
"It is. The staff named the whole litter after reindeer. He's the only one left," Crosby told me, leaning his head into Dasher's back.
"Well, if someone had to steal him from me, I guess it's good that it's you. At least I can spend some time with him," I said, rubbing Dasher's soft ears.
"We can co-parent him," Crosby suggested. "We already practically do that with Lock and Lillybean," he added.
He wasn't wrong. Anytime one of us had plans that would keep us away from the house for any length of time, our first call or text was the other, so that we could organize dog-sitting, so our babies weren't home alone.
It wouldn't be the same as coming home to Dasher every day like I did with Lock, to see two little butt wiggles, two smiling faces, and two buddies to go to sleep with at night. But it was something.
"True," I agreed, only feeling marginally less disappointed. "Can I take him to meet Lock while you finish the forms?" I asked, already reaching to pry the puppy from Crosby's shoulder, putting him up on my own.
"I'll meet you out there when I'm all done here," Crosby said, giving me a smile.
As expected—since Lockjaw enthusiastically loved all animals—Lock and Dasher were fast friends, immediately dropping down on their front legs with butts high in the air for a second, then taking off for a game of chase.
"Makes you want to move out of the city to give them a yard to play in, doesn't it?" Crosby asked, coming up at my side.
"You know, I read an article that said people in our generation are buying homes with big yards not to have children, but a lot of running room for their dogs. I totally get that."
"Maybe one day I can get wealthy enough to own a brownstone with a garden out back," Crosby suggested.
"Now that's the dream. Getting to stay in the city, but also having a little yard. I don't think I will ever get wealthy enough for a brownstone, though," I said, shrugging. "That's the slight downfall to working at a non-profit I am passionate about."
Crosby was oddly silent for a moment as Lillybean moved into the space, finding Lock and Dasher immediately, and acting wholly disinterested—as was her nature—for a long moment before joining in with their antics.
"You said you knew it the moment you saw him, right?" Crosby asked, voice sounding a bit, I don't know, distant.
"Dasher?" I asked, looking over at Crosby, brows drawn together.
"Yeah," he said, hands tucking into his front pockets, causing him to scrunch forward a bit, making him seem unsure, insecure, a look that didn't seem like it fit on him.
"I, ah, yeah. I saw him, and I just kind of knew I needed him in my life."
"Hm," he said, looking straight ahead, his face closed down, showing me nothing.
"Hey, are you alright?" I asked, nudging him with my hip.
Crosby wasn't prone to dark moods. I mean, we all had off days, but he'd never been closed off and distant with me before.
"Yeah, fine," he said, moving forward to play with the dogs, keeping his back to me.
I'd never felt quite so dismissed before.
Pride more bruised than I cared to admit, I turned away too, patting my leg until Lock followed me, going back inside to play with some of the dogs they didn't trust in the back with all the other dogs.
A couple hours later, covered in hair and slobber, I walked through the rescue, looking for Crosby, Lillybean, and Dasher, wanting to ask if they wanted to come back to my place for some dinner.
But I found no one.
"Hey, have you seen Crosby?" I asked Lynn when we made it back to the front.
"They just left a minute ago," she told me, trying to wrangle an enthusiastic shepherd mix into the back.
He left?
Without saying something?
What was going on?
Crosby always told me when he was heading out, demanding that I text him when I got home, so he knew I was safe.
"What is going on with Crosby, huh, bud?" I asked, hooking Lock's leash on before saying our goodbyes and heading out, taking the long way home to walk off those extra treats Lockjaw had conned me into giving him earlier, even if I was sure he'd already done enough running around to offset them.
To be honest, I just wanted the walk, wanted the time and space to work through my swirling thoughts.
"What would Crosby do in this situation, huh?" I asked Lock, looking down to find him staring up at me with loving eyes. "Right. You're right."
Whenever Crosby had figured out that I was having a crummy day for some reason or another, he always showed up at my door, surprising me with food and a new comfy blanket, some coffee, and the perfect movie for us to watch together.
He'd even shown up when I'd been in bed with a wicked case of the flu, body racked with shivers, so exhausted that I could barely make it to the bathroom. He'd worn a mask, and he'd made me soup, he forced me to keep hydrated, he took care of Lock for me, cleaned my apartment, washed my sweaty sheets when the fever spiked, got vitamins in me, put essential oils in my humidifier to help my congestion.
He'd always been the perfect friend; he always knew exactly what to do.
And, to be completely honest, he made me often feel like a shitty one for not always being so damn perfect.
But, I had a chance to fix that, didn't I?
I could figure out the perfect movie, get some food, his favorite coffee order, and even a nice big blanket for us to curl under to watch our show.
Oh, and chews for the dogs, so they stayed occupied.
So that was exactly what I did, feeling oddly bubbly inside at the chance to be the good friend for a change.
"Dea?" Crosby asked, brows knitted, when he answered the door. "What are you doing here?"
"I am being the good friend for a change!" I declared, giving him a big smile as I pushed past him, and moved inside. "Lock and I noticed you seemed a little sad today, so we got some Chinese and some coffee and a big, fluffy blanket to curl under, and, of course, the best distraction movie," I told him, putting the food and coffee tray on the kitchen counter.
"What do you mean 'for a change'?" he asked, locking the door, then turning to walk toward me.
"Well, while I was walking, I was thinking about how you've always been such a good friend. Whenever I haven't been feeling well, or just wasn't having a good day, you know, and you always show up and make it infinitely better. And I just... I haven't been good like that. I know you seemed a little off earlier, so I figured I had the chance to be the good friend for a change. Come on, have some coffee. You know you wanna," I said, picking it up, and wiggling it in his face.
"Dea..." he said, shaking his head, that sad look on his face again.
"Come on, Crosby. Cheer up! It's almost Christmas! And we have yummy food to eat and a movie to watch. Come on, let me be the good friend. Even if I don't actually make you feel better," I demanded, giving him a pout.
"You always make me feel better, Dea," he told m
e, taking the coffee, but there was that sad edge to his words still. And a small part of me was starting to wonder if maybe his sadness actually had something to do with me.
As I pulled out the cartons, arranged them on the coffee table, then took the DVD over to the player since I couldn't find it to buy digitally anywhere, and put the disc in, I racked my brain, trying to figure out if there was anything I had said or done that had set him off, but I came up with nothing.
"Ugh, I can't get it," I grumbled, trying to rip the plastic wrap off the blanket. "Use our big, strong, manly muscles please," I demanded, handing it to Crosby as I offered the dogs their treats, then dropped down on the sofa.
"Alright. Arms up, weakling," he said, words light, even if the tone was still strangely heavy. As soon as my arms were up, he whipped the blanket over me, handed me my Lo Mein, grabbed his own food, then sat on top of the other side of the blanket.
On top of it.
He didn't even want to get inside the blanket with me.
What the hell was going on?
"Alright, so tell me about this movie. Sell it to me," he demanded as the home screen popped up.
"Okay. So, it is a movie about a prep school that gets overtaken by terrorists and a group of kids trying to survive. It is all the right level of cheesy and amazing. The perfect way to escape the real world for a bit."
"Is it romantic?"
"It's an all-boys prep school and, you know, back before they were really doing male-male romances. So, not one drop of it actually," I told him, starting to regret my decision, knowing Crosby did actually like romance subplots in movies.
"Sounds perfect. Let's give it a go," he said, hitting the play button before I could ask again if he was alright.
I couldn't focus on the movie.
I couldn't even focus on watching Crosby watch the movie like I sometimes did with favorites I really hoped he enjoyed as well.
I just sat there zoned out with my gaze on the TV, but not actually watching it, trying to figure out how I had screwed up. And, normally, I would be able to pinpoint some minor thing I said or did that could be a trigger for the upset. But that was with other people. Crosby never took offense to little things. Or, at least, he never had before.
So did that mean I had somehow done or said something big without realizing? Had I hurt his feelings or offended him in some way?
Just the idea of that made my stomach tighten so much that I had to put down my food, all thoughts of binge-eating forgotten. Crosby, too, seemed to just be pushing his food around for a long while before discarding it entirely.
Seeming to sense my mood, Lock moved across the floor to sit down on my feet, keeping me warm, keeping me company.
By the time the credits rolled, I was no closer to any conclusions about what had led to Crosby's strange mood than I had been when the movie started.
"That was good," he declared, hopping out of his seat, immediately starting to clean up the food we'd barely touched. "Are you crashing in the guest room?" he asked with the same enthusiasm he might express when making a dental appointment.
"I, ah, no. Lock and I are going to get going. Let you guys and Dasher get used to each other," I said, knowing I should confront him, be an adult and ask what I had done wrong, ask for him to accept my apology because no matter what it was, I was genuinely sorry to have ever upset him in any way. But I couldn't seem to find the courage to bring it up, not when he couldn't even seem to look at me.
So I helped him clean up.
Then I got Lock on his leash, grabbed my purse, and we made our way to the door.
"Hey, Dea," Crosby called as we got into the hall, making me turn back to find him leaning in the doorway, forearm resting on the door jamb.
"Yeah?" I asked, heart skipping, hoping he was going to tell me what I did, give me the chance to make it right.
"I'm done," he said, shaking his head, eyes looking sadder than I'd ever seen them.
"Done?" I repeated, brows furrowing as my mind raced, trying to make those words make sense. But I came up with nothing. "Done with what?"
"Trying to convince you," he told me, shrugging a shoulder casually even though nothing about his face seemed casual to me right then.
"Convince me? Of what?" I asked, feeling like the floor was opening up under my feet, and I was going to fall, get buried. "What did I do?"
"You didn't do anything, Dea. And maybe I should have taken that as a sign months or a year ago instead of creating this grand plan in my head of doing the Twelve Days of Christmas."
"The Twelve Days of Christmas was my plan. Remember? With my mom," I clarified, taking a step away from confusion and toward concern.
"Yeah, Dea, I remember that part. And I remembered that your plans falling through gave me what I thought would be a golden opportunity."
"To do what? Have Christmas fun with me? We've done that. I've had fun. Haven't you?"
"We always have fun. But that wasn't what I was going for this time. It wasn't enough this time," he said, sighing, closing his eyes for a long second, like he was trying to find some inner strength to keep going.
"What was your plan then?" I asked, watching as his eyes fluttered open.
"To get you to see what I've known pretty much all along. That we're friends, sure, but that there's always been the potential for so much more than that. But the past ten dates haven't gotten me any closer to convincing you of that, I don't think."
"Wait," I said, all my thoughts swirling around, most of them refusing to slow down fast enough for me to grab onto them. "Is that why you were weird at the shelter? Because you hadn't convinced me that—"
"I was off at the shelter because I saw you fall in love with a dog in point-two seconds. I've been standing in front of you for years. And you've never even gotten close to feeling that way toward me."
"Crosby, Dasher is a dog. It's... it's different," I insisted, my stomach wobbling, petrified I was losing something, someone, so important to me.
"Maybe," he agreed, eyes sad, and everything in me wanted to reach out, to wrap my arms around him, but the words he was saying were making it clear he wanted boundaries. "Still," he went on, "I'm done."
"No," I objected, heart cracking right down the middle. "No, we can't be done. You're too important to me," I told him, hearing the crack in my voice even as I felt the sting of tears in my eyes.
"I'm not saying we can't be friends, Dea. I'm just saying maybe we need some space. And that I'm not going to try to convince you of anything anymore. I think I've made my feelings clear by now. And I'm pretty sure you've done the same. Goodnight."
And with that, he pushed off the door jamb, closed, and locked the door, leaving me and Lock in the hallway feeling like I'd just gone through the worst break-up of my life, like all the love I had for him was bleeding out, like all that space leftover made room for nothing but grief to slip in.
A loud choked whimper escaped me, echoing back to me in the empty hallway, startling me enough to remember where I was, that I couldn't have the epic breakdown I felt coming in a public place.
Lock jogged alongside me as we made our way out of the building, onto the street, hailing a cab because I was feeling too shitty to walk or wait for an Uber.
I had to admit, I'd lived in the city for years without the right of passage that was a complete meltdown in the back of a cab.
But I broke that streak as I dragged Lockjaw onto my lap, buried my face in his back, and cried into his fur.
I barely remembered getting home and getting Lock out of his harness then kicking off my shoes, and I was too out of it to even pull down my Murphy bed. I ended up crashing on the couch, burying my face in the cushions with a blanket pulled up over my head, and just letting it all out.
I couldn't imagine a future without Crosby in it.
Hell, I couldn't even imagine a future with Crosby at a distance, but still in the picture.
I needed him right where I have always had him. Close. A part of my daily
life. I needed him to be who I texted pictures to when I was trying to decide between two things I was about to buy, the call I made when I needed to vent, the person across the table from me when I was celebrating a personal or professional win.
I just needed him, damnit.
A part of me knew it was selfish to have these thoughts when, clearly, Crosby was suffering. Worse than that, Crosby had been suffering for a long time without saying anything.
My heart ached for that, for knowing I was not only a part of that, but the main reason for it.
I'd never wanted to hurt Crosby.
He was my best friend, my closest confidant, my support system. Most of the best times of my life had been with him at my side.
I couldn't fathom a future without that.
Or with him there, but someone else at his side.
If I thought the ache inside was bad before, that thought sent a shooting pain through my chest, an intense enough sensation to make my hand press to my heart.
Over what?
Crosby not being by me?
Or about Crosby being with someone else?
Both, I decided as a pathetic little whimper escaped me. It was both.
I wanted him by my side.
And I didn't want him with anyone else.
I curled upward on the couch, scrubbing the tears off my face, trying to fit this new information in with the other thoughts I'd been trying to suppress during pretty much all of our Christmas dates.
I wanted him close.
I didn't want him with anyone else.
And, well, I wanted him.
That was what all this boiled down to, didn't it?
Yes, I was sad at the idea of losing a friendship as I knew it, but I was just as upset about the idea of losing being his everything.
That said something.
I wanted him to be my everything.
And I wanted to be his everything.
What's more, he wanted that too.
All the worries I had concocted in my head when I felt myself starting to feel more than friendly toward Crosby were unfounded.
I mean, really, what were the risks?
That we suddenly decided we hated each other? That seemed unlikely given that we have been so close for so long.
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