I'll Be Yours

by Jenny B. Jones

  “It’s for the greater good.”

  He mashed the elevator button until it lit up. “Yeah, well, your greater good’s gonna get you thrown in the big house one day. And when you waste your one phone call on me, I am not going to bail you out. No, I’m not.”

  The doors opened to an empty elevator, and he lightly pulled me in. Had anyone else manhandled me like this, I would’ve screamed my head off. Or huddled in the corner. “You’d never let me rot in jail.”

  “I watch a lot of court television, girl. It does not end well for people like you.”

  I pressed my lips together on a laugh. “I’m sorry.”

  “No. You’re not.”

  We both swayed as the elevator chugged and began its descent. “Googling Josie didn’t get me much info. I just wanted to see if I could find out anything else.”

  “What did you expect to find?” Marcus asked. “Red hearts and hot date destinations on her calendar?”

  Maybe. Kind of. “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought that far. I came here to see Chevy Moncrief.”

  “Moncrief?” Marcus frowned. “Why?”

  “We had a meeting about a Washington High recruit of my dad’s.” I quickly explained how Ridley had been dropped.

  “What position is he?” Marcus asked.

  “Wide receiver.”

  “Moncrief has his eye on some hotshot senior from Kansas. I’m guessing that’s who he wanted all along.”

  “Ridley’s a pretty big deal.”

  Marcus’s skin glistened, like he’d just come from the showers after practice. “Kansas boy has stats that have NFL teams keeping tabs.”

  And he probably didn’t have a record of arrest. “Any updates on my dad today?”

  He pushed up his crooked glasses. “It’s not good. Right now they’re trying to determine who originally hired the gal Coach was messing around with. If your dad did, it’s not going to end well.” Putting his mistress on payroll would get my dad terminated for sure.

  “Any word on when the decision’s expected?”

  “Maybe next week.”

  In a matter of days, I could discover if my dad still had a job. And if I had to move yet again.

  “And what about her? What about Josie?” I asked. “Any news?”

  He lifted his chin and studied the doors. “I don’t think I need to tell you.”

  “I’ll go to that French film festival with you next month.”

  “Okay, so I heard she’s still in the hospital, but she’s been moved out of ICU.”

  I didn’t know how I felt about that. Of course I didn’t want her horribly injured, but selfishly, I knew that as long as Josie was in a coma, she definitely wasn’t with my dad.

  “No more snooping, Harper. Your dad’s case is pretty fragile, and you don’t want to be messing it up. There are reporters everywhere. I had one buy my lunch at Subway just today. Said he was a fan, but two bites into my footlong, he started asking questions. I had to leave that beautiful sandwich behind. You know how sad that made me?”

  “Do you really want to trade heartbreak stories here?”

  “The point is, there are reporters everywhere, and they wouldn’t stop at using a kid. If you overstep some boundaries, someone will be there to capture it on film. Trust me.”

  “Fine.” We walked into the lobby, and I saw the press still swarming like a beehive that had been rattled. “I won’t go to the hospital to see Josie Blevins.”

  “Or to her house.”

  He knew me so well. “Or to her house.”

  “Good girl. Hey, I got something that’ll cheer you up.” Marcus’s cheeks lifted in a grin as we stepped outside into the sunshine. “I won two tickets to see Phantom of the Opera at the art center tonight. I don’t know why, but none of the guys want to go. How about it?”

  It was so tempting. “I’d love to, but I have tutoring.”

  “Who’s the poor flunky falling behind this time?”

  I gave my friend a winsome smile. “That would be me.”

  Chapter Nine

  I was feeding on a steady diet of anger.

  Watching Ridley from the twenty-yard line of the Washington High football field did nothing but add kerosene to the flames.

  Though the sun was sinking below the clouds, the heat provided a worthy opponent for the players. As the head coach barked some parting words, the boys ran to the coolers, sweat dripping. Some peeled off shirts, Ridley being one of them.

  My gosh.

  He certainly presented a striking picture. If one was into that sort of thing.

  Shoulders angled with chiseled, sinewy muscle. Abs corded by endless sit-ups and using his body as a weapon on the field. Ridley took a cup of water and poured it over his head, the water sluicing over his chiseled cheekbones and down his reddened neck and beyond. It was no wonder girls frequently sat on the bleachers and watched the guys practice. The finale was quite worth it.

  “Hit the showers,” the coach called.

  Ridley grabbed a towel and a bottle of water, then ambled toward the field house.

  I stepped into his path like a cornerback ready to intercept a pass.

  Don’t look at his chest. Don’t look at his chest. “You didn’t tell me you were recently arrested.”

  He quickly pulled me away from the nearby players with something less than chivalry and care. “What are you doing here?”

  “I put myself on the line for you today. Went to the university, which I was loathe to do. Because that’s a friendly place to be right now if your name’s O’Malley, not to mention it’s crawling with reporters. Threatened my way into Chevy Moncrief’s office, then secured you a meeting. Only to learn that my efforts were a complete waste of time because you have a rap sheet straight out of Compton.”

  He pressed the towel to his neck. “Hardly.”

  “I think you could’ve bothered to mention that your face is probably hanging on a Most Wanted poster down at the post office. I don’t know if you’ve noticed it, but I’m all out of patience for men and lies.”

  “I didn’t lie to you.” Ridley’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer. “I don’t have to explain myself to you any more than you needed to explain why we spent last night stealing a dog. You think that won’t earn you a mug shot?”

  “That was totally justifiable—”

  “And so was mine.”

  “Oh, what, you were at a keg party and had to defend your drunk girlfriend-of-the-week’s honor? Did someone take a swig out of a Keystone can that had your name on it? Or maybe you went to talk to one of your new college professors—with your fist?”

  “You know nothing about me.” He towered over me, sweat slipping from his temples. “Nothing.”

  “I know you have a reputation that is exactly what the Eagles don’t want. You knew that, and you screwed up last week. Am I right?”

  Fury radiated from him like a homecoming bonfire. There was anger in him. I knew it without hearing it whispered in the hallways of school, without getting a report from the director of athletics. That simmering fury had a scent, a glow, an energy. I’d cowered from it my whole life.

  Yet I stood there, as tall as I could in my five-foot-four body, shoulders back, chin lifted. And I stared this angry boy right back and dared him to unleash.

  Because just like the animals I recovered, instinct told me which ones bared their teeth out of fear but no intent to follow through. And which ones aimed to draw blood.

  “Fine.” I lowered my voice. “Tell me about it then.”

  Ridley’s chest rose and fell in three ragged breaths before he spoke. “It’s none of your business.”

  “I took up for you with the AD today. Threatened to go public with every dirty little secret I knew about his team if he didn’t give you half an hour. I think it is my business.”

  Ridley made a thorough study of the ground before slowly lifting his head, a grin dimpling his cheek. “Made some threats, did you?”

  “At least three.
” I had to admit, I was kind of proud of it myself.

  “She dodges bullets, blackmails, and knows when to pull a knife.” Now the smile encompassed his whole face, the other dimple making a prominent appearance. “Harper O’Malley is not one to be underestimated.”

  “The town’s probably gonna ask me to be their superhero.”

  He laughed, a sound so rich and melodic, it surely had angels fanning themselves and shouting glory. “Thank you. For getting me the appointment.”

  And just like that, we both stood down. His fangs retracted. My claws sheathed.

  “You were telling me what you were arrested for.”

  “Jaywalking.”

  Right. “How are you still on the football team?”

  He blotted his face with his towel, a shadow eclipsing that fading smile. “Today’s my last day. Coach is telling the team when I leave. I’m benched, okay?”

  “This is kind of a big deal.” Not to mention regional playoffs started next week. “You need to be on the field if you want a chance at college ball.”

  “Thanks for that update. Look, I need a shower, and I gotta check on some things at my house. If memory serves me right, you’re helping me with my essay on heroism for comp, and I’m . . .” His brow furrowed as he chewed his lip in reflection. “What is it I’m teaching you?”

  “How to win Andrew Levin’s heart until the end of time.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  “My house in an hour?” I had to stop at the shelter, then our plan would be afoot.

  He turned and ambled toward his Jeep. “Be ready, Harper.” He looked over his shoulder and grinned. “I’m very good at what I do.”

  Chapter Ten

  “According to Mavis, you’ve called on the hour all day long,” Molly said as I walked into the shelter to check on the terrier. My best friend held a small white puppy in one arm and hugged me with the other. “I’d say it’s made our boss extra irritable, but it could also be attributed to the beans she had at lunch or because it’s a day that ends in y.”

  “Has the vet seen her yet?” Mavis had given me a key last year, so this morning I had arrived early and put the dog in the area they now reserved for my acquisitions.

  “Got here an hour ago.”

  I put my feet into motion to head to the back, but Molly’s hand stopped me. “Not so fast.” Her smile went soft. “How are you holding up?”

  My white sleeve had inched up my arm, and I tugged it down. “I’m fine.”

  “Any updates on your dad?”

  “Not really.”

  “If you want to talk—”

  “I don’t.” Hurt flashed in Molly’s brown eyes. “But thank you. I just need some time to sort this all out. When I’m ready to talk, I promise I will.”

  My actress friend gave an unconvincing nod. “Per the instructions you left this morning, they’re calling the dog Trudy.” Molly motioned for me to follow her. “She’s gotten the royal treatment today. They’ve treated her for mange, fleas, and some of those infected wounds.”

  Dr. Sherman, the vet who volunteered on Thursdays, smiled as we entered the isolation room. “We’re still waiting on some blood work for a few other mysteries,” she said.

  My eyes filled at the sight of the dog lying on the exam table, her eyelids heavy like we were keeping her from a nap. I pet her now-clean head, my fingers gliding over her shorn fur. Looking at this animal, I felt a sense of peace for the first time in days. This was my purpose, what I was put on earth to do. Not every rescue had a happy ending, but the point was, I’d tried. And my saved pets got new lives and spirits, and they brought joy and laughter to their forever homes. The world was a better place because of these rescues.

  The vet, my particular favorite, gently touched the bandage circling Trudy’s raw neck. “She’s in pretty bad shape. Did you have any trouble getting her?”

  Memories of a getaway car and dodging bullets came to mind. “None at all.”

  “Trudy will be okay, Harper.” Dr. Sherman brushed her hand over the dog’s back. “She’s just going to need some recovery time. Nothing you haven’t seen before. I think she might regain sight in one of her eyes.”

  I inspected the dog closely. “But look at her expression. She’s not okay yet.” The dog didn’t respond to my hand, just stared at her blanket and pretended I wasn’t there.

  “Healing takes time,” Molly said. “Right?”

  Dr. Sherman scribbled a few things down on her notepad. “She’s been hurt inside and out. It could take her a long time to be whole again. To trust people. To trust herself.”

  She returned Trudy to her kennel, carrying her like a delicate baby. While Molly followed the vet out, I spent some one-on-one time with the dog, talking to her, trying to get her to eat. I pulled up a stool and sat next to her, though she mostly ignored me. I knew without a doubt this dog was mine. Normally I didn’t have a problem letting them go, but Trudy would be an O’Malley.

  We had a lot in common really. And I was in need of a friend. I described my house, explaining how she could sleep on my bed, play with Laz. I told her about my day, about Andrew, asked her if she had her eye on anyone in the shelter. There was a handsome chocolate lab right outside that door who was quite the looker.

  “How’d the rescue go?” Mavis asked later as I walked back out front.

  “Maybe I’ll tell you about it one day when you’re older.”

  She wheezed out a rusty cough. “I could fire you, you know.”

  “Or dock my pay?”

  The bell above the door chimed, and a woman walked in. She wore heels, a vacant air of superiority, and an overstuffed pencil skirt that hadn’t received the message its owner was no longer a size six.

  “Can we help you?” Mavis asked.

  “I’m Angela Smith.” The women smiled and set her designer purse on the counter. “I’m interested in adopting a dog. Small one. Something white and cute. Do you have anything pedigreed?”

  “We have varying breeds.” Mavis’s voice was dry as the fall leaves outside. “But none of the dogs seem to remember to bring their papers.”

  “Of course.” Our visitor laughed lightly. “Perhaps I could look around?”

  I was quite good at reading people, but Mavis never needed deciphering. She was an open book, and right now her page said go away. “Harper here will show you to the back.”

  I held up my car keys. “I was just on my way out.”

  Mavis smiled. “Guess you can exit the back door after you show this nice woman our dogs.”

  I made quick work of giving Mrs. Smith the abbreviated tour. I pointed out a few of the smaller dogs that might’ve been what she was looking for. She peered into the kennels and gave the occasional response of “cute” and “aw.” But other than that, I could tell she wasn’t finding herself the fancy dog she had in mind to stick in her purse like another accessory.

  Fifteen minutes later, she straightened from her inspection of a one-eared shih tzu. “You don’t have many small dogs, do you?”

  “No. We don’t typically need to rescue those. They’re pretty popular at the shelters, so we try to get the ones that have less of a chance.”

  “So you save lives?” Again, that barely interested smile.

  “Yes, ma’am. Sometimes we even go to the pound and take the animals scheduled to be euthanized that day. We give these dogs a second chance. They seem to know that, because our adopters tell us we produce some of the best pets.”

  “Well, I guess I can check back in from time to time. See what you have.”

  We walked to the back door. A nicer person would’ve taken her through the front where she’d parked, but Mrs. Smith hadn’t earned that courtesy. Her dismissal of our ragamuffin collection of animals tore into me like it was personal. As if she had not merely rejected a dog, but me.

  “What about the dogs in there?” She pointed to the room on our left.

  “The infirm room. It’s for the ones we need to separate for medical purpos
es.”

  She walked inside without invitation, her eyes taking it all in. Trudy looked up from her curled position in her kennel. With her shaved fur, oozing eye, and a tail that had been surgically cut, she was a sight of pure ugly. But not to me. Like Mavis said, this dog was a story, and every one of her wounds told of the ugliness of mankind, and the resiliency of one who had overcome. Or soon would.

  Mrs. Smith frowned. “What’s wrong with this dog?”

  “Mistreated. We hope she’ll be ready to go in a few weeks. Trudy’s in a pretty bad way and still isn’t out of the woods.” And she was mine.

  “Definitely does not appear to be the breed I was looking for.”

  “Nope. She’s just a mix of this and that.”

  Mrs. Smith nodded her highlighted brown head. “Poor dear.”

  And then Trudy stood up, as if entranced by Mrs. Smith’s snooty voice.

  “Hey, girl,” I said softly. “You’re going to be all right, aren’t you?”

  Trudy glanced at me, but then returned her attention to Mrs. Smith.

  “Look at that, she’s wagging that stub of a tail at me,” the woman said.

  Clearly Trudy did not qualify for pre-AP classes.

  “If you’ll come this way, please.” I moved toward the doorway, expecting Mrs. Smith to follow. But she just stood there, watching that sad dog. And Trudy watched her right back.

  “Mrs. Smith?”

  “What?” She straightened. “Right. I must be going. Thank you very much for the tour. Maybe I’ll check the city pound.”

  “Good idea.”

  I let Mrs. Smith out the back door, relieved to see the back of her. I returned to Trudy and opened her kennel, reaching my hand inside to pet her clean fur. “Just hang on, girl. I’m not going to leave you.”

  * * *

  With the dog on my mind, I drove home, my heart a few pounds heavier.

  “Pizza night!” Cole raced by me on in-line skates as I stepped into the house.

  Mom was a big believer in the meals hitting all the food groups and including as much green stuff as possible, but since The Disaster, her dietary requirements had become a little less organic farmer and more McDonald’s combo meal. Nobody was complaining.