Soldier's Heart: a Wounded Love novel

by Megan Green

  His ears pin back against his head, and he immediately drops his paws from my legs.

  Emma tsks at me. “Don’t do that. The best way to train a dog is through positive reinforcement. Praise him when he’s done something good. It’ll make him want to do it again. Dogs live for praise and acknowledgment. It’s in their DNA.”

  She leans down and scratches Loki behind the ears. “Where’s your clicker?” she asks when she turns to me.

  I stare blankly at her. “My what?”

  “Your clicker. I gave it to you before we came out here.”

  Realizing she must be talking about that plastic thing, I pull it and the whistle out of my pocket. “This?” I ask, holding it up.

  “Yes. When he does something right, give him a click.”

  “A click? What in the hell will that do?”

  “Positive reinforcement. I just said that.”

  “How in the hell is a click positive reinforcement?”

  She sighs again. “It just is. They realize they only hear the noise when they’ve done something right. So they want to do it again. It’s a conditioned response. Sort of like Pavlov and his dogs. He trained them to expect food when they heard a bell. Even if there was no food in sight, the dogs would salivate at the sound of that bell.”

  “Well, that seems pretty messed up. Train me to expect a steak and instead click a button at me, and I might be liable to tear your hand off.”

  She laughs. “That’s not the point. We won’t get into the ethics of Pavlov’s studies. There were definitely some things I don’t agree with about his practices. I was using it as an example. Dogs are easily trained and conditioned. You just need to know how to do it.”

  “Wouldn’t giving him a treat be even better positive reinforcement? That’s how I always see dogs being trained on TV and stuff. They do a trick, they get a treat.”

  “These aren’t household pets. We can’t train them to expect a treat every time they do something. They’re specially trained to assist those with disabilities. Can you imagine how fat they would get if they got a treat every single time they performed a task? We need them to be healthy. Thus, the clickers.”

  I look at the poor little dog. If it were me, I’d definitely prefer a Milkbone or some shit over a stupid little click, but whatever. Not my business. Not my dogs. I’ll use the stupid clicker if that’s what she wants. She can’t blame me if it doesn’t work.

  Emma pulls an identical clicker from her pocket. “Watch. Loki, sit.”

  The dog’s butt hits the ground again, and before he can lift it, a soft click emanates from Emma’s hand. Loki shuffles his front paws a bit, straightening his posture even more. He looks at Emma with what only can be called a grin.

  Well, what do you know? It worked.

  For the next several hours, she trains me on how to give all the basic commands, and by the end of the afternoon, I’ve managed to get all of the dogs to semi listen. She’s assured me we’ll have to go through it all again tomorrow. They’re still young and it takes a bit of repetition before they fully get it down, but each day it should get a little easier.

  My drive home is pleasant. Traffic is minimal, and it’s like my MP3 player knows exactly what songs I want to hear today. When I pull into my driveway, I realize I’ve driven the entire way home with a grin plastered on my face. Today was a good day. I’d had a good time with Emma and those little terrors. Who’d have thought I’d ever think those words?

  I’m still singing along to the song that had been playing before I killed the engine as I approach the front door. A slip of paper tucked between the screen and the door catches my eye as I make my way up the stairs. Damn solicitors. It flitters to the porch floor as I swing the door open. It’s an envelope. A plain white envelope with only my name scrawled across the front. I bend to pick it up.

  The blocky handwriting instantly registers. With a slight tremor in my hands, I slide my finger under the flap. As I unfold the slip of paper, my eyes fall on four handwritten words.

  Though the words could be construed as pleasant, a chill runs down my spine. This wasn’t left here with cordial intentions.

  No.

  This was left by someone who knows exactly what I’ve done.

  “So, how’s married life treating you?”

  A dopey look crosses my best friend’s face. Haylee puts her elbows on the restaurant table in front of her and rests her chin in her hands.

  “So good,” she says with a sigh.

  Amanda retches next to her. “Gag me. Can you quit it with the lovey dovey shit yet? You’ve been married for like two months now. The honeymoon is over.”

  Haylee picks up a bread stick and bites off a huge chunk. “You’re just jealous,” she says, pointing at Amanda with the remaining half of the bread stick. “Because Justin isn’t as romantically awesome as Ryan. You two are practically an old married couple.”

  Amanda flicks Haylee on the nose, and Haylee squeals indignantly as she moves to retaliate. I laugh as I watch my two best friends across the table from me, their hands locked together as they each try to avoid the advances of the other. I haven’t seen either since the wedding. And being here with them makes me realize how desperately I was in need of some girl time.

  The waiter approaches with our drinks and deposits them on the table. I sigh in relief. No girls’ night would be complete without margaritas. And I’m in desperate need of some relaxation after the week I’ve had. I pick up my glass and lick a bit of salt from the rim before taking a sip. Damn, that’s good. At the sight of the alcohol, Haylee and Amanda quickly compose themselves, smoothing their hair and straightening their clothes, all evidence of their little cat fight gone.

  “So,” Amanda begins as she sips her drink. “How goes the dog business?” Amanda has never completely understood what Joey and I do at Keen Komrades. To her, dogs are furry little nuisances who make messes and cause problems. Hmm, I guess she’s like Isaiah in that department.

  At the thought of his name, my stomach flutters. Something must pass over my face as well, because Haylee and Amanda instantly put down their drinks and lean toward me.

  “Uh oh. I’ve seen that look before. Something has you all riled up. Spill it,” Haylee says, her tone stern as she eyes me.

  I look between their expectant faces, trying to figure out how to avoid this conversation. The truth is, I could use a little advice. My head has been so messed up since that day with Isaiah in the park. The day I told him about Chris and Maggie. But as my eyes travel the room, taking in the couples dancing, the single men scoping out women, and those same women putting on a show for those prowling eyes, I figure this really isn’t the time. Or the place.

  I look back at Haylee and Amanda, finding their eyes still fixed on me. “It’s nothing, guys. You want to go dance?” I pick up my drink and drain the rest of it. I go to move from the table, but Haylee’s hand comes down on my arm, halting me in my tracks.

  “Uh uh. I don’t think so, Em. You’re not getting out of it that easily.”

  I lean back in my seat, an exasperated sigh leaving my lips. Just then, a drunk man careens into our table. The smell of booze wafting off him hits me full in the face, followed shortly by his actual booze. As he moves to straighten himself, the drink in his hand sloshes over the rim of his glass and splashes down my front. The man stumbles again, and this time the jolt he creates when he hits causes our glasses to tip, spilling Haylee and Amanda’s remaining drinks all over the table. We all move quickly to avoid getting the liquid in our laps. I turn to yell at the man, but he’s gone. He’s already halfway back to the bar, completely oblivious to the commotion he’s left in his wake.

  I turn back to my friends, my irritation deflating when I see their faces. Haylee slaps a hand over her mouth in attempt to hold in her laughter, and seeing her comical gesture, Amanda erupts. I realize how I must look. Grabbing my purse, I pull out my compact and peek at myself in the mirror. Yep, I look like a drowned raccoon. And when I think of
what expression must’ve been on my face when I faced them, well I can’t exactly blame them for laughing. I’d laugh at a pissed off, drenched varmint too.

  I collapse into the booth, a fit of giggles overtaking me. Haylee sits next to me, dabbing at my face with a bar napkin. All she manages to do is smear my makeup even worse, and Amanda doubles over in front of the table, clutching at her stomach.

  “Oh my god. Stop it, Haylee. I’m gonna pee. You’re destroying her face.”

  Haylee flips her the bird as she continues to rub my cheeks. I grab her hand, cutting her off mid stroke.

  “Dude. I’m scary enough. I do not need to add looking like a tomato to the list. You’re rubbing my cheeks raw.”

  She surveys her handiwork, looking sheepish. The sting already developing in my face lets me know how red and inflamed they must be. She really went to town with that napkin.

  “Shit, I’m sorry, Emma.”

  I give her a dismissive wave. “No worries, but please, for the love of all that is holy, can we please get out of here?”

  Amanda grabs both our hands and yanks us to our feet. “Let’s go, bitches.”

  Back at Haylee’s, I quickly shower to rinse the residual beer from my skin and change into the pajamas I brought for our sleepover. Yes, we’re all over the age of twenty five and still have sleepovers. Sleepovers and John Hughes movies are tradition for Haylee and me. Poor Amanda just has to endure it if she wants the pleasure of our company.

  As I enter the living room, I see Haylee and Amanda have angled her couches toward each other and have draped blankets across the top. I squeal and dive into the center of all the pillows.

  “Blanket fort! Genius, Haylee! Pure genius.” I don’t care that I’m twenty-six years old. You’re never too old for a blanket fort.

  Haylee giggles. “Don’t look at me. This was all Amanda.”

  I look at Amanda in shock. She shrugs. “Well, I figure if we’re going to have a sleepover and stay up talking about boys all night, we might as well do it in style.”

  I yank them both into the mess of pillows and blankets with me. We all get situated, and Haylee turns on the movie. A familiar school hallway fills the screen.

  “Where’s Ryan tonight?” I ask, realizing I haven’t seen even a glimpse of her husband since we’ve been here.

  “I banished him for the night. No boys allowed on girls’ night, remember?”

  I laugh, remembering the first night we had a “sleepover.” There was a crazy storm that night, and the two of us were stranded at Chris and Ryan’s place for the night. As soon as it was clear we wouldn’t be leaving, I had exiled the boys to their rooms and Haylee and I had played truth or dare. This was after watching The Breakfast Club, of course. I remember the stupid argument Chris and I had gotten into that night during the movie. He’d insinuated women were too easy to please. And I’d gotten on his case about how romantic gestures were nice once in a while. It was stupid and silly, and Haylee had ended up daring me to get over my pride and go give him a goodnight kiss, but, as he later admitted, that argument had eventually led to the inspiration for what was the most romantic, most perfect proposal I could’ve ever imagined. So I guess it wasn’t all for naught.

  Haylee gives my arm a slight squeeze. She knows me well enough to know exactly where my thoughts went after her comment. And I know she misses him too. Chris was the type of guy who made an impression on everyone he met. Even four years after his death, he’s still remembered and missed on a daily basis.

  We slip into a comfortable silence and Molly Ringwald, Judd Nelson, and company get our undivided attention for the next hour and a half. This is another of our rules. Nobody disrespects John Hughes by talking through one of his movies. Nobody.

  I can feel myself dozing as the credits roll. Surrounded by pillows and blankets, I can’t remember the last time I was this cozy. Really, people should build blanket forts more often. It’s freaking awesome. My eyelids are drifting shut when Amanda’s voice startles me out of my reverie.

  “Don’t think you’re off the hook, Ms. Emma. Just because a drunk spills his beer all over you, doesn’t mean you get a free pass. We’re still waiting to hear what’s going on over at the puppy mill.”

  My skin bristles. “It is not a puppy mill, Amanda. And I really don’t appreciate you insinuating anything less than completely honorable work goes on at my business. We provide a valuable service to veterans. And implying a dog lover such as myself would do anything to harm these animals pisses me right the fuck off.”

  Amanda’s mouth falls open, and she stares at me. I’m pretty sure it’s the first time I’ve ever spoken to her this way. I get she’s not a dog person. But her comment hit below the belt. What she thinks is funny, really isn’t. And all it takes is for one person to overhear her little “joke” and for word to spread. Joey and I have worked too hard to let something stupid like that ruin us.

  I look away from her, my jaw set in a hard line as I try to bite my tongue to keep from continuing. I know she didn’t mean any harm, but it still hurt and it’s about time she knew.

  She quickly moves to my side as she recovers from her shock. She places her hand on my shoulder, turning me to face her. Sorrow fills her expression.

  “Em. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. You know me. Never thinking before I speak and always shoving my foot so far down my throat, my asshole knows what color my toenail polish is. Honestly, I don’t even know what the fuck a puppy mill is. I heard it once and thought it was a funny term for like a breeder or something.”

  Her tone is so sincere and her eyes filled with pleading. I can’t hold onto my anger for long. I never can with these two girls. No matter what we do to piss each other off, forgiveness is never far behind. I smile and bump her shoulder with mine.

  “Fine. I’ll forgive your stupidity this time.” I pause, expecting her to protest. Instead, the ashamed look never leaves her face. Damn, I must’ve really freaked her out. I continue. “Puppy mills call themselves breeders, but really, they don’t give a shit about their dogs. They keep the females pregnant, no matter how hard it is on their bodies. And the puppies are barely nourished and cared for until they’re old enough to ship off. They don’t do it for the love of the dogs. They’re in it solely for the money. Cutting costs wherever possible, even at the expense of the dogs’ health, just to make a buck. A lot of the dogs that come from those places don’t live long. If they even survive the mill at all.”

  Amanda looks sad and Haylee looks sick. “That’s awful,” she says, with a slight shake of her head.

  “Yes, it is,” I state. “So that’s why I took so much offense, Manda. I know you didn’t mean anything. You know how much I love my dogs, but hearing myself compared to those assholes, even as a joke, sets my teeth on edge. Sorry if I got a little defensive.”

  Amanda shakes her head. “No, I’m sorry. You’ll never hear those words cross my lips again. In fact, I think it’s about time I made another donation to you guys. It’s been a little while.”

  I pull her to me and give her a small hug. Haylee crawls over and joins in. And like that, we’re all friends again. Like I said, we may argue. But there are no two women on earth I trust more than the two beside me. I can rely on them for anything. And I know they’ll have my back no matter what. Which brings my thoughts back around to my speculation at the bar. Isaiah has my brain turned inside out. And who can I trust for advice more than these two? Nobody, that’s who. Not with my mother and sister so far away. These two girls are my family.

  I pull away from their embrace and clear my throat. They both lean back, their expectant expressions returning.

  “So…There’s this guy.”

  “I knew it!” Haylee shrieks.

  Amanda winces and rubs her ear. “Jesus, Haylee, can you take it down a notch?”

  Haylee shoves her playfully and turns her attention back to me.

  “So, who is he?” she prompts.

  Ugh, maybe this wasn’t s
uch a good idea. I don’t want them making a bigger deal out of this than it is. But there’s no turning back now. I lay my head back against a pillow and sigh.

  “He’s a volunteer. He started coming out last week. The first time I met him, he asked Joey if I was simple.” I roll my eyes at the memory. “I was a bit taken aback when I first saw him. He’s sort of…pretty. It took me a minute to pull my thoughts together. And when I did, I ripped into him.”

  Amanda laughs, and Haylee shakes her head at me. “Oh, Emma.”

  I smirk along with Amanda. “Hey, he deserved it. And though we had a rocky start, we’ve gotten to know each other a little these past few weeks. And I like him. I think.”

  “What’s his name?” Haylee asks.

  “Isaiah.”

  “What’s his story?” Amanda asks, her typical cynicism seeping through her tone. She doesn’t trust anyone except our small circle of friends. I know I’m throwing off her entire balance by even introducing the idea of someone else into our world.

  I shake my head. “Not sure. I know he was referred out to us by Joey’s friend, Beth. She specializes in soldiers with PTSD, and he’s had a few…close calls, I guess you could say. Where he seems to be on the brink of a panic attack or something, but so far we’ve managed to keep them at bay. I really think being with the dogs has already helped him a little. He’s a little like you, Manda. When he first came out, he was convinced it was the stupidest idea in the world. He still tries to act like a tough guy, but I can tell he’s developing a soft spot for my little furballs.”

  “So you don’t know what caused his PTSD?” Haylee asks.

  I shrug again. “I figure he’ll tell me when he’s ready. Or he won’t. I don’t know. It’s not really my place to ask though. We’re co-workers, so to speak. The fact that I can’t stop thinking about him is entirely inappropriate.”

  Haylee bounces and claps her hands. Dear lord. Now I see why people say I take a little getting used to. Haylee never used to be this…giddy. I think I’ve rubbed off on her over the years.