by Megan Green
She isn’t happy to be manhandled by me, but once they’re down she settles slightly. The pills must kick in fast because within several minutes she’s fast asleep again. Emma holds her hand up for a high five, smiling brightly at me. I laugh and slap my hand against hers.
“Thanks. We make a pretty good team, Zay. If I do say so myself.”
I laugh at her use of the dumb name she’d given me when she’d insisted we play that stupid ‘Would You Rather’ game. “Oh definitely. We should take this show on the road. Professional dog pill givers. Dream come true,” I respond sarcastically. She nudges me with her shoulder as she giggles.
We make our way back to the couch, and she turns on the TV. We spend the next couple of hours watching the misadventures of Walter White and Jesse Pinkman in Breaking Bad. And each time a new character is introduced, she feels the need to explain to me, in full detail, what becomes of them later on. Normally, this would drive me up a friggin’ wall, but she’s so damn cute in her excitement I can’t bring myself to be angry at her complete obliviousness to the term “spoiler alert.”
“Oh my God, I hate this guy. I was so happy when he died in season four,” she says as a man I’ve never seen before enters Walt’s RV. I shake my head, laughing silently to myself as I watch her watching this show, which she’s obviously seen several times, with the same interest most people reserve only for something new.
Maggie and the puppies don’t move for the rest of the night, and after a couple episodes of BB, we decide to call it a night. I tell her I’ll sleep on the couch and watch Maggie if she wants to head to bed. She vehemently shakes her head at my suggestion.
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I’m not leaving her. It’s not that I don’t trust you with her. I’m just not letting her out of my sight for more than two seconds until I know she’s going to be okay. And maybe not even then.”
She excuses herself briefly and comes back with a pile of pillows and blankets. She quickly makes up two beds on the floor next to Maggie. I tell her to at least sleep on the couch, but she’ll hear nothing of it.
“No way. You’re my guest, but I know you’re not going to sleep on the couch while I sleep on the floor. So if you’re going to be uncomfortable down here, so am I.”
I shake my head at her logic and settle into the mountain of pillows and blankets she’s arranged. If only she knew some of the places I’ve slept. This is like a five star hotel compared to them. Comfort comes to mean something very different once you’ve had to sleep out in the field. Some nights I considered myself lucky to even find a wall to fall asleep against. You learn to adjust.
Emma fidgets and squirms for a full five minutes next to me, trying to make herself comfortable. I almost get up and put her on the couch myself, but eventually she sighs. “Will you think I’m terrible if I sleep on the couch?”
I laugh. “Not at all. I’m quite comfy here on this cold, hard floor.” She hesitates, and I laugh again. “I’m kidding. Really. You’ve given me so many pillows and blankets, I couldn’t be uncomfortable if I tried. Now get up there so we can both get some sleep. You’re keeping me awake with all your wiggling.”
She gets up and arranges herself on the couch. The soft light in the corner is still burning, but it’s so dim it acts like more a night light than any source of actual lighting. I can barely make out her form on the couch above me.
After several minutes of silence, her breathing evens out, and I’m sure she’s fallen asleep. I’m dozing myself when I feel a heft at my side. Craning my neck, I see Jasper curling himself into my side. I wrap my arm around his little form, pulling him snugly against me. As I feel myself drifting to sleep, I hear Emma speak.
“Isaiah?”
“Yeah?” I ask, my voice groggy from impending sleep.
“Thank you for trusting me tonight. I feel like I’m finally starting to understand you now.”
I don’t respond, and she doesn’t continue. Jasper lets out a sigh as he rests his chin on my shoulder. And for the first time in six months, I feel content. I finally feel like I might be starting to understand myself.
“C’mon, Jasper. C’mon, buddy.”
I turn from where I’m brushing Lucy and smile at Isaiah as I watch him lead Jasper through the obstacle course. He’s the only one Jasper will listen to anymore. In the three months since the night he spent at my house and Jasper soothed his panic attack, the two have formed an incredible bond even I didn’t see coming. It melts my heart watching them together.
Jasper tries to squeeze under a bar and knocks it loose. Isaiah laughs and quickly moves to right it so they can try again. That’s another thing. My little puppies. They aren’t so little anymore. I turn back to face Lucy, running the smooth bristles of the brush over her thickening coat. Each of them has almost doubled in size over the past few months. Where the top of their heads used to barely reach my knee, now she stands at my mid-thigh. This is our third litter. It’s not like I didn’t know they were going to get so big so fast, but still, I wish they’d stay little forever.
You sound like a mom talking about her babies. I hear Joey’s mocking voice in my head whenever I voice this thought. He loves to tease me. But I know he wishes the same thing. Besides, I kind of am a mother with her babies, or maybe it’s more like grandmother with her grand babies, seeing as how I consider Maggie my baby. Whichever—these dogs all have a special place in my heart, and as much as I love what I do and providing service dogs to those in need, a small part of me goes with each of those dogs. Joey always says it’s a good thing I have such a big heart, otherwise I wouldn’t have anything left. But watching this litter grow and change, it makes me wonder how much longer I can do this. I’m pretty sure when these ones go, I won’t have anything left. These five dogs will take the last shreds of my heart with them, leaving a tiny fragment behind to keep me going for my Maggie girl.
Jasper gives a small yip behind me, pulling me from my thoughts. I turn, just in time to see the dog leap into Isaiah’s arms. Isaiah hugs him tightly, scratching his ears and doling out praise, while Jasper eagerly tries to lick his face, his tail wagging furiously. And like that, my heavy heart lightens. Knowing my dogs are going to men like Isaiah, that they will be loved and cherished just as much, if not more, than they would’ve been here…well it truly reminds me why I do what I do.
It was determined a few weeks ago Jasper would go to Isaiah. He still has close to six months of his training left, but I’m thinking about bending the rules this one time. When Isaiah leaves each night, Jasper mopes around for at least an hour, staring longingly at the door and jumping at even the slightest sound from outside. And in the mornings? That dog always seems to know he’s on his way before his tires even hit the driveway. His ears perk up, and his front paws hit the screen door as he watches for Isaiah’s truck. And always, within a minute of this reaction, we hear the familiar sound of Isaiah’s truck crunching down the gravel. The second I open the door, he’s off like a shot, reaching Isaiah’s truck before he’s even able to open the door. Isaiah always tumbles out of the truck, and the two of them greet each other for the next five minutes before I finally break up their happy little reunion. It’d be annoying if it weren’t so damn adorable.
So yeah. I’m considering letting Jasper go home with Isaiah at night. I’m normally a stickler about this. The dogs have a rigid training schedule. They need routine. Otherwise, they’ll never reach the standards we require before we place a service dog with a disabled veteran. But there’s something special with these two. Plus, Isaiah has become an excellent dog trainer. After that night at my place, he dove into his training and responsibilities with renewed vigor. All his former hesitance and reticence disappeared, seemingly overnight. Which was great, seeing as how the other veteran Joey had been trying to get hadn’t panned out.
Our other volunteers were usually a little wary at first, but that slowly disappeared over the first few sessions as they got a feel for the dogs and became more comfortable. But
with Isaiah, though he did get slightly less tense as time passed, his heart never really seemed to be in it. He always seemed to be going through the motions. And then Jasper helped him that night, and it was like a switch had been flipped. He’s by far the best volunteer we’ve had. Joey has been able to do so much more on the business and referral side because Isaiah has been here to help me with the dogs so much.
Which leads to the next issue at hand. Isaiah is here every day but Sundays now. And I know he’d be here Sunday if I let him, but I’m adamant the dogs get at least one day of rest a week. The other six days of the week, he’s here pretty much from sunup to sundown. And the two of us work in close quarters. Have I mentioned he’s good looking? Like, holy-fuck-did-someone-crank-the-heat-up-panty-melting hot. It’s distracting. And getting harder and harder to keep my mind focused on work every day instead of tackling Isaiah to the ground and quenching this never-ending thirst.
But the damn guy never shows even the slightest inkling of interest. I mean, sure, he comments when he thinks I look nice, and tells me how sweet he thinks I am. And sometimes I catch him smiling at me when he thinks I’m not looking, but he’s such a damn gentleman. There have been a couple “heated” moments over the last few months where I thought he might finally make a move, but no such luck. I’m seriously starting to think any looks and compliments he’s given me might’ve all been in my head.
My mind wanders to one such incident from last week. It was the end of the day, and we were getting the dogs fed before kenneling them for the night. We stood side-by-side in the work shed, filling dog bowls with pre-measured cups of dog food.
“Who in the hell fills all these cups every day?” he asked, looking at the twenty or so plastic cups of dog food lining the counter.
“I do, and I don’t do it every day. Well, not all of them anyway. I filled them the first time and then in the morning I fill the five we used to give them breakfast and move them to the end. Same in the evenings. It takes like thirty seconds. And makes feeding time so much easier.”
He smirked. “And how exactly is dumping a pre-filled cup into a bowl any easier than filling said cup out of the bag at feeding time and dumping it in the bowl? Seems like the same amount of work to me and must less wasteful. You’ve probably killed like a billion trees over the years wasting all these cups.”
I threw a piece of dog food at him, which he deftly caught and dropped into the bowl in front of him. I rolled my eyes. “First of all, smartass, these are plastic cups. Not paper cups. No trees were harmed in the making of these cups. And second of all, it’s easier because I said it is. If you don’t like the way I run things, there’s the door. Don’t let it hit you in the ass on the way out.”
I pretended to be offended and haughty at his criticism, so I wasn’t looking at him when the piece of dog food pinged me in the cheek. I turned, shocked.
“Did you just throw dog food at me?” I asked with mock indignation.
He laughed. “Pretty sure you threw it at me first. Hi pot, I’m kettle. It’s nice to meet you.”
“That’s it, buddy. You’re going down.” I turned and picked up the entire dog dish and upturned it over his head. This would’ve been much more effective with wet dog food. As it was, the dry kibble ran off his dark, hairless scalp and onto the floor. I removed my hand, leaving the silver dish sitting on his head. He stared at me for a moment, his expression unclear. I waited, trying to gauge his reaction. I thought after his pot and kettle comment, he’d laugh it off, now I’m worried I might’ve pissed him off.
He slowly uplifted his hand and tilted the dish off his head. It slid down his back before clanging to the floor. The look he gave me was one I was familiar with. He looked furious.
He turned to face me dead on, and my apology burst from my lips.
“Isaiah, I am so—”
He flew at me, arms wrapping around my waist as he softly tossed me onto the pile of extra blankets we keep in there for the cool autumn nights.
He landed on top of me, and the two of us dissolved into laughter. After a few moments, the laughter faded, but he still didn’t move. His dark eyes bore into mine, all traces of humor gone, and the fury he’d put on earlier had been replaced with another look I’m familiar with. Maybe not from him, but this was something I’d definitely seen before.
Heat.
Desire.
Wanting.
My breath caught in my throat as his tongue flickered out and ran over his lips, leaving them glistening in the aftermath. His fingers brushed my hair from my cheek, tucking it behind my ear before he ran his thumb back over my cheekbone twice. Something flashed in his eyes, and he looked as if he was on the brink of speaking. Whatever he was going to say, the answer would be yes.
Yes.
Yes.
God, yes.
I wet my own lips in anticipation. His eyes followed my tongue as it traced across my suddenly parched mouth. He leaned forward slightly, and inside I was screaming.
Finally!
And as quickly as it began, it was over. His eyes hardened, and he rolled over to my side. He took a deep breath and stood, extending his hand to help me to my feet. And though I wanted to throw my arms over my eyes and sulk like a toddler whose new toy was taken away, I placed my hand in his and got back to work instead.
“Em?” Isaiah’s voice interrupts my thoughts. My attention snaps back to the present, and I look at Lucy in front of me. I haven’t moved the brush in who knows how long. However long I was sitting here fantasizing about Isaiah, I suppose. I remove the bristles from her fur and set her on the ground, where she immediately scampers off to join her brothers and sister. I turn to Isaiah.
“Yeah?”
“You looked preoccupied. And Lucy looked uncomfortable. What’s up? Anything you want to talk to me about?”
I bite back a snort. Seriously? Do I want to talk to him about the fact that he won’t kiss me? Gee, let me think about that.
Honestly, maybe that’s not such a bad idea. Since this blockhead apparently isn’t picking up what I’m putting down, maybe he needs a little shove. But this is not something to discuss today. I need a plan before I dive headlong into that conversation. And time. Lots of time. Maybe like a month. Or a year. Yeah, a year sounds good. That should be plenty of time to talk myself out of this insane idea.
I look up, seeing Isaiah giving me yet another dubious look. Well hell, if I keep zoning off like this, I’ll scare him away for good, and then I won’t have anything to worry about. I open my mouth and immediately shut it. I have no clue what to say to him. That’s a first. Emma Nicholls rendered speechless. Oh wait, I do remember this happening before. Just once. And funnily enough, it also was in regards to Isaiah. Why am I such a fool around this man?
He watches me for a minute longer, and when it’s clear I’m not going to speak, he finally breaks the silence. Probably to tell me they make meds for my condition. I brace myself for what he’s about to say next.
“So, would you rather… spend Friday night curled up on the couch at home, but the only thing you can watch on Netflix is Sharknado over and over and over. Or…would you rather spend the evening with me at my brother’s restaurant?”
I’ve seen Sharknado, and while I can appreciate the humor and ridiculousness of it, the idea of watching it over and over isn’t exactly an appealing way to spend my Friday nig—
Wait…
What?
My mouth falls open but again, I can’t make any words come out. Did I hear him right? Did he really just ask me if I wanted to go to his brother’s restaurant? Like, with him? Like, as in a date?
He must mistake my silence for uncertainty, because he nervously adds, “Not a date or anything. At least, not unless you want it to be. I like hanging out with you, and I’d like to do it somewhere besides Keen Komrades.” He smiles at me, and every word he just said pretty much goes in one ear and out the other as I get lost in that smile. “So? What do you say?”
Oh, right. I s
till haven’t given him an answer. I open my mouth, praying my words don’t fail me now. “I’d love to.”
The receptionist smiles tightly at me as I enter, as if she’s still unsure of what reaction she’ll get from me. I’ll admit, I can’t say I blame her. For the first six months of me coming here every week to see Jim, I was an absolute dick to everyone. And this poor young girl hasn’t yet seemed to realize I’m a changed man. Or at least, I’m trying to be.
I lift my hand in response and give her a wave. “Hi, Courtney. How are you today?”
She glances down, not meeting my eyes as she responds. “I’m fine, thank you.”
I shrug and make my way down the hall to Jim’s room. My mind is focused on thinking of ways to make this girl like me, or at the very least, tolerate my presence, when I notice a man in a white coat coming out of Jim’s room. He studies the pages on the clipboard in his hand intently. His brow furrows slightly, and when I reach his side, he doesn’t appear to be aware of my presence. He flips the page over, the line between his eyes deepening in concern.
I clear my throat. “He okay?”
The doctor startles a bit and nearly loses his hold on the clipboard. He meets my gaze. I haven’t seen this guy before. I’m generally not here during Jim’s exams and therapy, but I’ve made it a point to at least be able to recognize the people working with him.
The man looks at the old fatigues and faded black t-shirt I’m wearing. “Are you here to see James Stone?” he asks, almost as if he hopes I’ll say no.
I nod. “That would be why I’m standing out here in the hallway. I don’t make it a habit to skulk around rehab centers unless there’s a reason.” I smile, trying to ease whatever ill thoughts he’s formed of me.
“Sorry, today is not a good day for visitors. Please leave your information at the desk, and I’ll have one of the girls call you when he’s feeling more like himself.”