Guys and Godmothers

by Candice Gilmer

  Chapter Ten

  Friday

  Walking into the vet clinic, Bruce felt sick.

  Steve came along on his leash, like a prisoner heading for execution. Head high, steps slow, but he never hesitated.

  Bruce wondered if the dog knew why he was here.

  When he reached the desk, Emma smiled, but it wasn’t her usual chipper grin. She knew, and she greeted him more like a funeral home director.

  She checked him in, gathered some paperwork, and took Bruce and Steve back.

  Bruce kept his jaw stiff, and voice steady as Emma went through the process.

  Steve climbed onto the bed and moaned as he got situated.

  Emma asked him again to confirm the after-arrangement as she stroked Steve’s back. Bruce had opted out of getting an urn or the ashes. He wanted only to keep the leash and collar. He didn’t have a place to bury the dog.

  Wasn’t sure he wanted a burial site, either.

  It was a vague conversation, while the gal was nice enough, properly polite and spoke about everything he needed to know, most of what she said went in one ear and out the other.

  Then she left, and he was alone with Steve.

  He stroked the dog’s head. “I’m sorry man. I’m so sorry.” He leaned over, hugging the dog to him. Steve let out another growl-moan, paw up on Bruce.

  It seemed like both an eternity and a blink he cuddled with Steve, before Dr. Howards came in.

  “Good Morning, Bruce.”

  Bruce released Steve and wiped his eyes. Hadn’t even realized he’d been crying.

  The vet stroked Steve’s head and scratched him behind the ears. Steve began to pant, grinning as the vet pet him. “Morning there, Steve. How are you doing?”

  Steve growled back. The doctor spoke to the dog for a few moments, and turned to the worktable.

  Bruce’s mouth went dry. He didn’t know what to do, and kept stroking Steve’s head.

  Then his phone rang.

  Denise’s avatar appeared on the phone. “Yeah?”

  “Hey, what’s up brother-o-mine?” She sounded overly chipper, as usual.

  “At the vet.”

  “Why? Is Steve sick?” Her voice sobered as she spoke.

  Tears came out of his eyes. “It’s time,” he choked.

  “I’m on my way,” she said.

  Bruce hung up. “My sister’s on her…on her way.”

  “Do you want to wait for her?”

  Bruce shook his head. “Let’s do this.”

  The doctor got out his things, and Bruce kept his hand on the dog. In his head, he prayed for this to be easy. Whispered words of comfort to Steve.

  And cried.

  The dog moaned when the doctor began the procedure with a calming medication, and Steve relaxed. Bruce didn’t realize how tense the dog was until his huge body loosened. The dog’s breathing slowed, and he snored. His tail twitched.

  It only seemed to take a few minutes for Steve to nod off to a soft slumber.

  “I love you buddy.”

  The dog groaned softly.

  He kept stroking Steve’s back, and could feel his breathing, and his warmth. The doctor moved around, and a glint of metal shined. Bruce closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see this part.

  Steve didn’t flinch, didn’t whimper when the doctor gave him the final injection. Steve’s heart beat a few seconds longer.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  Thump.

  Then there was no more thump.

  Bruce buried his head into the dog, and cried.

  Lilly cried with Bruce, her wings shaking. She stroked his back, though he couldn’t feel it. He radiated pain.

  “Lilly.”

  Andres appeared. Immediately, she spun, latched onto him, and buried her head in his shoulder.

  He held her, his fingers in her curls, and whispered soft words. Comforting ones. The warmth of him soothed Lilly’s ache in her heart for her charge. Andres pressed his cheek against her head, and she nuzzled into him.

  And couldn’t help how amazingly right it felt to be there, in his arms.

  Her charge cleared his throat, and Lilly turned again. Bruce wiped away tears with a tissue the doctor handed him. The doctor wiped his own eyes, and pulled off Steve’s collar.

  “He will be okay,” Andres said, his hand still on her shoulder.

  “I know,” Lilly said. “But it still hurts. I hurt for him.”

  “That’s what makes you a good Fairy Godmother. You feel your charge’s pain.”

  “I have to make this right for him.”

  “I know you do.” Andres hugged her again. “If you need me…” He trailed off.

  Lilly nodded. “I know.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Denise probably missed the procedure by five minutes. Bruce had gotten everything squared away when she arrived. She wrapped him in a hug, walked him out, and shoved him into her little Ford Focus. She took him to the nearest Applebee’s.

  “You going to be okay?” she asked, eyeing him as he drank his beer.

  Beer wasn’t usually his first choice for lunch, but today it seemed appropriate. “Yeah. Steve hadn’t been doing well for a while now.”

  She stirred her iced tea. “You had him, what ten years?”

  “Something like that.” Bruce said. “Thank you.”

  She nodded. “That’s what family’s for.”

  Bruce snorted. She smirked too. They both knew their parents wouldn’t have dropped everything and been there for this, probably why Bruce hadn’t bothered letting them know.

  They weren’t pet people.

  They were hardly family people.

  “Could you imagine Mom there?” she asked, brushing back her dark hair. She was the female version of him—same hair, same green eyes. Where he was broader, more athletic, though, Denise was curvy and womanly.

  And her acne scars, of course. Indentations from Denise’s acne usually remained invisible, depending on her makeup. Today, though, the scars stood out, because she wasn’t wearing any. He bet she’d been lounging in her PJs when she called.

  At least she’d gotten on some jeans before she came.

  He sighed as the waitress came by, taking their food orders. Bruce, on autopilot, ordered his usual cheeseburger and fries. He had no idea what Denise ordered.

  He sipped his beer as the waitress walked away.

  “She was kinda into you, bro,” Denise said.

  Bruce shrugged. “This isn’t the day.”

  “I know. Was just saying.”

  “So what’s up with work? Anything new coming out?”

  Denise grinned. She always grinned when he asked about her writing. “Actually yes. Her Revenge? That one comes out in a few days. I got the author copies yesterday.”

  “Cool. Isn’t it a part of a series?”

  “When do I ever do anything that’s not a series?”

  “Touché.” He smiled, proud. “So you still making good money?”

  “Doing my best,” she replied. “It’s awesome to work from home. Though I seriously wish I could quit the medical transcription for good.”

  “Why? It’s a good supplement.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe in a year or two. I’m so tired of trying to interpret doctors and type up their notes. Especially when they barely speak English. Thick accents pronouncing medical words makes Denise want to put a bullet in the brain pan.”

  Bruce smirked. “Firefly.”

  “Serenity,” Denise countered. “I can’t believe you misquoted something.”

  He smirked. “Must be off today.”

  She gave him a head-tilted side nod, the one he imagined a lot of people would give him when they found out about Steve.

  He already hated it.

  “Anyway…
” Her phone went off. She tapped a button. “Oh, it’s an email from my editor. Let me see…” And she started scrolling.

  Bruce’s own phone began to ring. Not a text, but an actual phone call.

  From a number he didn’t recognize. Bruce picked it up. “Must be a client. I should take this.” He swiped the screen, and answered. “Bruce Matthews.”

  “Hi. It’s Greta. Sorry. I’m calling from work. I hope this is okay.”

  He couldn’t help the smile spread over his face. Last night, he’d gotten to hear her voice for real—for the first time—and today, she was calling him?

  How’d he get so lucky?

  “It’s fine. How are you?”

  “Fine. How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay. Difficult morning.”

  “I’ve been thinking about you. Worrying, probably more than thinking.” She sounded embarrassed.

  “Well, thank you, but I’m okay. It’s good to hear your voice, though.”

  “You know, it’s rude to talk on the phone when you’re at lunch with someone,” Denise said.

  Bruce glared at her.

  “Who was that?” Greta asked, her voice suddenly very clipped.

  “My sister. Being a brat.”

  “Your sister…”

  “I don’t talk about her, she’s the black sheep of the family.” Bruce smiled at his sister.

  “He doesn’t talk about me because he’s jealous. I’m the awesome one,” Denise put in.

  “Sure you are,” Bruce laughed.

  “Well, if you’re busy…” Greta said. “I’m sorry, I’ll… I was concerned about you. But you sound okay.”

  Bruce knew that tone—he’d heard it a million times before with other girls, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear, it’s my sister. She’s being a brat. Here. Say hello.”

  He handed the phone to Denise, though he could hear Greta politely refusing.

  “Hi there,” Denise said. “I’m Bruce’s awesome sister. The one who writes romance novels and makes his life a living hell when he does my covers for me… He’s not mentioned me? That brat. I’ll kick him later… Uh huh… Uh huh… Sure. I get it… I know, he’s a tool…” Denise smiled. “No, no, you’re fine. I know how you feel. Had that happen to me once before too. Nope, you can Google me. Denise Matthews. Go for it… Uh huh… Oh, yeah? Huh. Cool.”

  “Will you give me the phone back?” Bruce snapped, not liking the ornery look in his sister’s eyes.

  “Okay, okay,” she said, grinning. “Well, that’s cool, Greta. Nice to meet you. Totally shoot me an email. I will give you all of Bruce’s juicy secrets.”

  “Denise!”

  “Okay, here’s Bruce.”

  Bruce snapped the phone out of his sister’s greedy hand. “Greta?”

  “Hi.” She sounded way more chipper than she had a moment before.

  “You can’t believe anything my sister says. She makes things up for a living.”

  Greta laughed. “She seems quite sweet.”

  “She can be.”

  “Hey, I have to run, my lunch is over. But do you want me to call you tonight when I get home?” Greta asked.

  Bruce nodded. “Call, or we can Skype again.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Thanks.” He hung up the phone and gave his sister the evil eye.

  “She sounds really nice. I like her,” Denise said. “You should date her.”

  “I’m trying. She won’t even let me see a picture of her.”

  “Really? Huh. That’s kinda odd. Maybe she’s, uh...” Denise stroked her acne-scarred cheek. “You know, people think they’re ugly. Even if they aren’t. You of all people should know that.”

  “True,” Bruce said. He’d seen his fair share of clients who were embarrassed about their appearance for one reason or another. He hadn’t really thought about it until Denise brought it up, though. Would make sense.

  “Regardless, she sounded cool. She knew my books. So that makes her a star, and a step above most of the other women you date.”

  Bruce laughed. “Well, I haven’t been dating in a while.”

  “I wouldn’t call what you do ‘dating’ any more than what I do ‘dating.’”

  Bruce finished his beer. “Why do you think that is? Why don’t either of us commit to relationships?”

  Denise scrunched her face. “Boys are stinky. I don’t want them in my house.”

  Bruce smirked. “I’m serious. Why aren’t we both married with a ton of kids?”

  “Because not everyone in this world is made for relationships,” Denise said. “I don’t have time for the nonsense anyway. If I go write, they get mad because I don’t sit on the couch like a lump with them while they watch TV. No thank you.”

  “Because you’re all about you,” Bruce said. Not like he could say anything. He’s been all about himself for a lot of years too.

  “Damn straight. No one else is going to take care of me; I have to take care of myself.”

  “What if someone came along…” Bruce’s voice trailed off.

  “They’d have to, I don’t know, be a fireman or a truck driver or something. Someone who didn’t have me as their whole world. I have shit to do. I don’t have time to babysit a grown man. Why?”

  “No particular reason,” Bruce said.

  Denise’s eyebrow went up. “You wanna settle down.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Maybe,” Bruce said. “If I met the right person.”

  “I don’t think you could do it,” Denise said. “You’re too independent. Just like me.”

  “I’m not like you.”

  She snorted. “When you settle down, little brother, then I will settle down.”

  “My goodness, if there was ever a candidate for a Fairy Godmother, it would be her,” Lilly muttered, hovering over the table, at the edge of the light. She’d seen women like Bruce’s sister before, and they were always difficult, but fulfilling cases.

  She shook off the thought. She had to finish working on Bruce. Watching his aura, she noticed he had started easing out of the black mood he’d been in since this morning. Granted, he was very sad, and would probably—

  “Ahh, Miss Lilly Bloom,” Cupid said, appearing at her side. Today, he wore the dress of a Scottish Lord.

  “Good Grief, Cupid. Are you having an identity crisis?” Lilly muttered.

  “I create love for all. I wear whatever suits me. This suits me today.”

  Lilly rolled her eyes. “You can take your minions and get out of here.”

  “Everything here looks so, well, ready for my assistance.” He stared at Bruce and at his sister.

  “No, I’m calling a dead zone,” Lilly said, waving her wand around. Everything in the room began to glimmer in gold shimmer. Especially Bruce and his sister. At least to them.

  Cupid let out a sigh. “You cannot create a dead zone any time you choose, Lilly. Read the rules you fairies are so proud of.” He waved his hand, and a scroll appeared. “No fairy can arbitrarily create a dead zone. They are only used when a charge mourns a loss.”

  Lilly waved her hand. Hit the light fixture.

  Both Bruce and Denise glanced up. Thank goodness they couldn’t see them.

  “Tsk, tsk,” Cupid said, steadying the light. “You must be more careful.”

  “Oh, be quiet you. This is a legitimate dead zone.”

  “And what loss does your charge mourn?” Cupid challenged.

  “He had to put down his dog today,” Lilly replied.

  Cupid’s brow narrowed, and he glared at Lilly, then back at Bruce. Then back at Lilly. He muttered something Lilly couldn’t quite understand, but disappeared, taking his little cherub minions with him.

  Score one for the rules!

  Chapter Twelve

  “
No, Mom, I’m not hungry right now.” Greta kicked off her shoes.

  “Well, I kept a plate warm for you. It’s in your oven,” her mother yelled back.

  Greta rolled her eyes, but walked over to the mini kitchenette in her basement apartment. Sure enough, the oven was on low, and inside was a plate wrapped in tin foil, ready to be removed and eaten.

  She grabbed a pot holder and pulled the food out. The warm smell of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli woke up Greta’s taste buds. She grabbed a fork and started eating.

  Greta was going to miss this when she moved out. Mom always made her a plate, and good, home-cooked food was hard to get anymore. Greta sure wasn’t a cook. She could do basic stuff, and if she had a recipe she was okay. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it would be edible.

  Maybe she’d take some cooking classes when she moved.

  That could be fun.

  Wait, that would mean being around people. And their stares at her face.

  Scratch that.

  Her cell phone chirped.

  She pulled it out of her pocket. It was a Facebook notification. Bruce had tagged her in a post.

  She smiled. At least he wasn’t completely moping. He’d sounded okay on the phone. And even she would admit it, she was wary when she’d heard a female voice with him. Of course, before she knew his sister was another author…

  Wait a minute.

  Denise said on the phone Bruce had done her cover art for her books.

  Greta, forgetting about the dinner, dashed to her laptop. It felt like an eternity for the machine to connect to the internet, and she waved her hands in the air, cursing at the device.

  It finally did.

  Greta pulled up Clandestine Publishing. Denise Matthews’s books.

  Cover Art by: Matt Hughes.

  She shook her head. Maybe she was wrong about this. She started scanning through all of Denise’s titles. All of them were the same. Cover art by Matt Hughes.

  “If Bruce did the covers, then why isn’t he listed as the artist?” All of them listed this Matt Hughes guy. And there was no link on the name, either. She searched through the site, looking for a list of cover artists. Nothing available.

  “Hmm…”

  There was something about the name, though, that rang familiar to her. She knew it from somewhere.