When I look at the screen, I see that it is my gram calling.
“Sorry,” I tell Kit. “I have to answer this.”
He waves a hand. “Go ahead.”
“Gram? Is everything okay?”
Gram is breathing hard. I immediately panic.
“Gram? Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she says, breathless. “But I need…I need…you to come home, Molly.” She sounds near tears.
“What’s wrong?” My head spins with worry.
“It’s Mr. Darcy. He got away from me on our walk, and I can’t find him.”
Chapter Ten
Kit
* * *
Tears stream down Molly’s face as she scrambles out of the booth at La Fiesta.
“I have to go,” she says, stuffing her notebook into her bag.
“What happened? Is it your grandma?”
“My dog got away while Gram was walking him. He’s energetic but kind of slow because his legs are short and honestly, if a car was about to hit him, I’m not sure he could move out of the way fast enough.”
She’s speed talking and crying, pulling out her wallet and searching through it.
“Molly.” I say her name calmly as I take out my wallet and put some cash on the table. “That’ll cover our bill and my car is right outside. Let’s go.”
When she looks at me and nods, two fresh streams of tears spill onto her cheeks. We both grab out coats and she slings her bag over her shoulder.
The server looks confused as we rush toward the doors of the restaurant.
“Do you need to-go boxes?” he calls.
“No thanks. I left money on the table.” I open the door for Molly and she breaks into a run.
“I don’t even know where I’m going,” she says helplessly, turning to look at me. “Which way to your car?”
I point to the next block and we both run until we’ve gotten to my Range Rover. I start the car, signal and pull into oncoming traffic, a pissed-off driver honking their horn behind us.
“Go fuck yourself, buddy,” I say, glancing in the rearview mirror.
“Mr. Darcy isn’t used to the cold. And English bulldogs aren’t made for extreme weather.” Molly is weeping into her hands next to me.
“Hey, it’s okay.” I reach over and rub her upper back. “Someone will find him.”
“And they’ll keep him or sell him,” she says frantically. “English bulldogs are expensive.”
She’s crying harder now, her shoulders shaking. I want to reassure her, but I’m not sure what to say.
“He’s my baby,” she says, looking over at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I got him when he was twelve weeks old.”
“How old is he now?” I ask, hoping to distract her from her worry.
“He’s three.”
My mind runs through all the things we need to do to get her dog back.
“Listen, why don’t you call animal control and let them know he’s missing?” I say. “That way if someone finds him and calls, they’ll know to call you.”
She nods. “Okay, that’s a good idea.”
I reach over and take her hand, squeezing it. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. We’ll find him.”
She squeezes my hand back, giving me a grateful smile.
This buttoned-up, guarded woman is so vulnerable right now, so brokenhearted over her missing dog, that I’d do anything to make it better. If she doesn’t have Mr. Darcy back in her arms by tomorrow, I’ll offer a reward for his return.
“His hearing isn’t the best,” she tearfully tells the person on the other end of the line at animal control. “No, he’s never bitten anyone…yes, he’s up to date on his shots.” She shoots me a quick glare, and her tone turns fierce. “I’m sure he was on a leash, yes. He just got away from my grandma. I called to let you know he’s missing and he’s my dog, not to get interrogated about whether I’m a responsible pet owner.”
She rubs her temples as the person on the other end of the line talks, then narrows her eyes.
“I need to look for my dog. I’m hanging up now.”
“At least they know he’s got an owner,” I offer.
“That lady was an asshole.”
I’d rather see her angry than crying, so I listen as she rants while I look for a parking space near ger grandma’s building.
“You can just drop me off here,” she says. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Do you think I’m going to drop you off and leave?” I ask, offended. “I’m parking and helping you look for your dog.”
“You don’t—”
I put a hand up to stop her. “Don’t start that shit about how I don’t have to or it’s not professional. You need help and I’m helping.”
Meeting my eyes, Molly says, “Thank you.”
She races from the car toward her building, and I’m right behind her. An elderly woman meets us at the bottom of the stairs. She has a red stocking cap on her head and a tissue in her hand, wiping at her eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” she says. “He saw something and dashed right after it. When he pulled on the leash, it slipped through my hand. And I tried to catch up to him, but I slid on the ice.”
“Oh, Gram.” Molly takes her by the shoulders. “Are you okay?”
The older woman waves a hand. “I’m fine. I just want to find Mr. Darcy. He must be cold, and so scared.”
“Gram, this is Kit.” She turns to me. “He’s going to help us look for Mr. Darcy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Kit.”
“Nice to meet you, too…?”
I wait for her to tell me her name, but she says, “Just call me Gram, like Molly does.”
Molly covers her grandma’s hands with her own. “Gram, you go in and warm up. Kit and I are going to look around the area for a while.”
Gram pulls a plastic bag from her pocket and passes it to Molly. “These are his favorite treats. I’m going to keep knocking on neighbors’ doors to see if anyone has seen him.”
“Be careful, okay?” Molly passes her grandma her gloves. “And take these.”
Her gram looks at the gloves for a second before nodding and taking them.
“Thank you, Moll.” Tears well in her eyes. “I’m just so worried about him. We were in front of that big house with the pillars that you like when I lost him. He could be so far from here by now.”
“Let’s just work on finding him, okay?” Molly’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
Her grandma nods and turns to walk to a neighboring building. I put a hand on Molly’s lower back and rub my palm in a few reassuring circles.
“How about if you take one side of the street and I take the other?” Molly asks, looking up at me. “Or should we go in different directions?”
Her eyes really are a brilliant shade of blue, dark yet vibrant, like a sapphire. I get lost in them for a second before I clear my throat, coming to my senses.
“Why don’t we go to the house where he got away and then we can make a plan?” I say.
She nods and starts walking. “It’s this way.”
“Can you send me a picture of him so I’ll know him if we’re split up and I see him?” I ask as she starts walking faster.
“Sure.” She takes out her phone, scrolls through photos, and presses the screen a couple times.
My phone buzzes with notifications and I see the two photos she sent me. One is of a wrinkly tri-colored bulldog mugging for the camera, and the other is Molly and her dog lying on a couch together, her arm wrapped around his plump body and a big, carefree smile on her face.
“He looks like a good boy,” I say, smiling at the screen.
“He’s the best. No one has ever loved me as much as he does.”
It just about breaks me when she starts calling her dog’s name, her tone a mix of hope and worry. I ask people walking past if they’ve seen him, but no one has. Molly and I are both looking in every direction, with no luck.
It takes us about ten minutes to get to the hous
e with the pillars her grandma was talking about. As soon as we reach it, Molly looks around hopefully, still calling his name.
“Are you looking for a lost dog?” a woman asks us.
“Yes!” Molly cries. “Have you seen him?”
“I saw a dog who looked all alone walking down the other side of this street a block up about half an hour ago. A bulldog, right?”
“Yes, thank you!” Molly takes off into a run, and I follow.
“He has to be okay,” she says, panting as we reach the next block. “Please let him be okay.”
“You take that side of the street where the lady saw him,” I say. “I’ll stay on this side.”
Nodding, Molly crosses the street, little ice crystals drifting down from the sky and onto her coat as I watch her go. We both take up calling Mr. Darcy’s name as we make our way down the street.
Within three blocks, it’s sleeting. Freezing rain pelts the top of my head and bounces up from the sidewalk around my feet. I pull my stocking cap out of my coat pocket and put it on, swearing under my breath. This hurts visibility and probably has Molly more worried than ever.
“Mr. Darcy! It’s dinner time!” Molly calls from her side of the street.
It’s a helpless feeling, searching for her dog and coming up short. After an hour, we decide to split up and try the neighboring streets. With a plan to meet up in front of her building in two hours if neither of us has found him, we each go our own way.
“Hey, you look like you got a few bucks to spare,” a random man slurs as he approaches me.
“Fuck off,” I growl.
I’m soaked from the freezing rain, my tennis shoes making squishing noises with every step. I wasn’t planning on being out in bad weather, so I’m underdressed. But worse, I get more concerned about Mr. Darcy’s whereabouts as time passes.
When Molly and I meet up after two hours, she looks defeated.
“My poor boy,” she says, her voice breaking. “He has to be so cold and scared.”
“We’re not giving up,” I tell her, reaching for her with a hug.
She presses herself against me and I put my chin on top of her head and hold her tight. It feels damn good to have her so close to me, and to be her comfort, but I wish the circumstances were different.
“Should we keep going on foot or go in the car?” I ask her.
“I don’t know. We can cover more ground in the car, but I know my dog, and I don’t think he went very far. I think our chances of finding him are better on foot.”
“We’ll stay on foot, then.”
She pulls back and looks up at me. “Are you sure you want to keep helping? It’ll be dark soon.”
“I’m sure. You want to go inside and warm up a little first? Get something dry on?”
She shakes her head. “I’m dry as can be in this weather. I’ve got my Arctic boots on and my coat is waterproof.” She looks down at my feet. “Oh no. Your shoes are totally soaked.”
“I’m fine.”
Molly gives me an admonishing look. “You should at least go home and change.”
“Nah.”
“Let’s go upstairs and get you some coffee and dry socks at least.”
I shake my head. “They won’t stay dry. I’m good, let’s keep going.”
“I really appreciate this.”
We head back to the house with the pillars, walk the neighboring streets some more and then branch out, covering the commercial district about a mile from Molly’s apartment. The shit weather only gets worse, and every inch of my body is both wet and cold.
We stop to get a slice of pizza and a drink around 7:00 p.m., and a guy in line behind us says, “That guy looks like Kit Carter,” to his friend. Molly and I smile at each other.
With my hair plastered to my neck and my clothes and shoes soaked, I must look like a cheap version of myself. That’s fine, because I’m in no mood to take photos with fans.
“Have you ever had a dog?” Molly asks me as we scarf down our pizza at a tall table with stools.
“Yeah, we had a German shepherd when I was a kid. Ranger. He was a really good dog.”
Molly furrows her brow. “You looked sad when you were talking just then.”
“Yeah, just thinking about how he felt like my only friend during a dark time.”
“When Lance was sick?”
Nodding, I press back against the memories. For a while, I needed Ranger to sleep with me at night. It was the only way I felt safe.
“Anyway, it was hard when he passed away.” I ball up my napkin and throw it on my paper plate. “What about you? Did you have a dog when you were a kid?”
“No. No pets at all, actually. I grew up in a pretty dysfunctional family. My dad left when I was a kid and I haven’t seen him since. I bounced back and forth between my mom and my grandparents until my grandparents sued for custody of me and won.”
Molly’s looking out the window as she talks. It makes sense now. Why she feels so alone, and so self-conscious. She’s been rejected by both her parents and her husband. Made to feel like she’s not good enough.
“Your gram?” I ask. “She’s the one you lived with?”
“Yeah, Gram’s my person, you know?” Molly picks up her garbage and mine and tosses it all into a can. “Should we get back to it?”
“Yeah, it’s a little too warm and dry in here,” I crack.
We walk the commercial district again, Molly starting to cry when she looks at her phone to see if anyone has called about Mr. Darcy and realizes it’s almost 10:00 p.m.
“I don’t think I can just go home and go to bed while he’s out there somewhere,” she says.
“I’ll keep going for as long as you want.”
She looks up at me. “Really?”
“Yeah. I’m not leaving you out here alone to look.”
She takes a deep breath, in and out. “Okay, but let’s go check on Gram and get some coffee or hot chocolate. Then we’ll go back out.”
We walk back to her building, sleet no longer falling but the sidewalk icy. After a slip that nearly becomes a fall, Molly holds on to my arm.
As soon as we get to her building, Molly lets out a cry of relief. She grabs the handrail and runs up the slippery stairs to greet the wet, shivering dog sitting there.
“Mr. Darcy!” She drops to her knees and throws her arms around him. “You’re okay. Oh, my sweet boy, I’m so glad you’re okay.”
She looks up at me and smiles. “This is Mr. Darcy.”
“Hey, buddy,” I say, squatting down to pet him. “You want me to carry him up to your apartment?”
“Would you? He’s a little heavy.”
Sliding my arms around the dog to pick him up, I groan. “A little? This guy’s a tank.”
“Gram gives him lots of treats.”
I carry Mr. Darcy upstairs, where Molly wraps him in blankets as Gram heats up meatloaf for him. He’s got a good thing going here.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Molly says to me. “Really. Thank you.”
“I’m glad he’s back home.”
“Can I get you some dry socks or anything? A blanket? You can take a hot shower if you want.”
“I’ll take one at home. I’ll let you guys get him settled.”
She nods. “So I guess I’ll be in touch.”
“Okay.”
I take her hand in mine and give it a little squeeze. All I want is to take a hot shower and then burrow under a mountain of blankets with her, but that’ll have to wait until she’s done with the story.
Damn. That day can’t come soon enough.
Chapter Eleven
Molly
* * *
A leaner, younger version of Kit smiles on the screen of my desktop computer in the Gazette newsroom. The photo is from the player roster for his hockey team during his sophomore year of college at Penn State. He looks a lot different now, with longer hair and a beard, but his smile and the warmth in his eyes are exactly the same.
“Lynch
, why don’t I have that story about cuts in the treasurer’s office yet?” Lou barks at me as he approaches my desk.
“I filed it an hour ago,” I say absently, not looking away from my screen.
“Oh.” His response is gruff. “Well, when I went to lunch it wasn’t there.”
He stops by my desk, a half-eaten giant chocolate chip cookie in hand. I don’t tell him he’s got chocolate on his cheek; I’ll leave him to discover that himself.
“It’s there now.”
Grunting, he looks at my computer screen. “What are you working on?”
“The story about Kit Carter.”
“Who?”
“The hockey player. For the special section?”
“Oh, right.” He takes a bite of his cookie and keeps talking. “And you’re sending me a digest of the next city council agenda later today?”
“Already done.”
“I’ll go take a look.”
I take off my reading glasses and look at him. “There’s not a lot going on. I don’t think there’s even going to be discussion of the cuts in the treasurer’s office.”
“I want you there anyway,” Lou says.
“I’m going. Just wanted you to know it looks like a quiet one.”
“Mail call,” one of the newsroom interns says as he drops a manila envelope on my desk.
“How’s the hockey player story coming?” Lou asks me.
“Good. I’m planning to start writing the story this afternoon, if people will stop talking to me.”
He scoffs. “Are you telling me to fuck off, Lynch?”
“I’m trying to.”
With a chuckle, he walks away. I click the icon for the Gazette’s archive on my desktop, searching for Kit’s name. There are so many stories with his name in them, and lots of photos of him playing hockey. In one photo, he’s on his knees on the ice during a game, blood pouring from his nose onto the ice. In another, he and his teammate Easy stand together with their sticks in the air, celebrating a big win.
I’ve looked Kit up in our archives before, but there are still many stories and blog posts from our sports writers I haven’t read. I click on a column by one of our sports columnists that catches my eye.
Kit: A Chicago Blaze Hockey Romance Page 7