It’s almost 2 a.m. The place is dark except for the dim light over the prep station and the low hum of the fridge compressors. The restaurant’s never felt this empty. Like even the walls know something’s missing.
Tuck trots in ahead of me, nails clicking on the tile, sniffing every corner like it’s his job. His tail wags once, halfheartedly, then drops again. He’s been like this ever since Josie left... restless. Unsettled.
Like he knows, too.
“I need to grab my tablet,” I murmur to him as I lock the door behind us. “Won’t be long.”
He disappears down the back hallway before I can stop him, nose low, tail stiff.
“Tuck?” I call after him, but my voice barely carries. Everything feels muted.
I grab the tablet from the office, but when I step back into the hall, I hear a soft whine.
Not the hurt kind. The searching kind.
The staff room door is cracked open. I follow the sound.
And then I see him.
Tuck’s planted himself in front of one of the lockers. Her locker. His nose is pressed against the metal like he’s trying to find her scent. He whines again, soft and low, then sits down, front paws neatly together, head tilted up at the door like he’s waiting for it to open on its own.
He doesn’t even notice me walking in.
Damn.
I crouch beside him slowly, heart squeezing tight.
“She’s not here, buddy,” I whisper.
He glances at me, then back at the locker. Nudges it with his snout.
“I know, I miss her too.”
Tuck lowers his head to his paws, ears drooping. He stays there. Settled in like he’s not going anywhere.
I rest a hand on his back, fingers curling into his fur. He’s warm and solid under my palm. Familiar. Loyal.
He didn’t understand what happened that night. Didn’t see the look on her face when I didn’t say anything. Didn’t hear the silence that stretched between us until it snapped.
But he knows she’s gone.
And maybe, in some dumb, instinctive way, he blames me too.
I let out a shaky breath and lean against the row of lockers beside him.
Tuck makes a small sound, almost a sigh, and lays his head against the floor.
“I don’t know how to fix it,” I whisper. “Buddy, I don’t know if I can.”
The silence answers.
Tuck doesn’t move.
So I stay there beside him. In front of her locker. In the dim light of a restaurant that doesn’t feel like mine anymore.
And for once, I don’t try to fix anything.
I sit in the stillness.
