*That’s not going to work for long.Maybe put the two beds beside each other?*
He sent a smiley face, then *Tried that already, doesn’t matter which bed Tank chooses, Maynard’s laying beside him a minute later.*
*Take things slow, he said.Might have to crate them, he said.Gotta watch the resources so there’s no guarding, he said.*
*Yah, yah.I know I was a little worried.*
*Hotel.Love you.Talk soon.*
***
Jock
It felt good to have success to report to Silly when she finally landed.He could see her come online, and then as soon as the image he’d sent changed from Delivered to Read, he was ready for her texts.Way too quickly for him, she needed to shift focus to things near her.
It’s so she can check into the hotel, asshole.Give her a minute to breathe.
He looked at the dogs, piled into a ridiculous mix of mastiff and pit bull on a dog bed too small for Tank and definitely too small for the two dogs.
“At least they’re getting along okay.”
***
The house was shroudedin a stillness that weighed on Jock, broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards and Tank’s deep, rhythmic snores from his kennel in the living room.Jock had positioned Maynard’s crate right beside Tank’s, hoping the mastiff’s calm presence would soothe the pit bull.During the day, it had worked.Maynard had settled after a tentative romp in the backyard, even managing a few playful bows before exhaustion took over.But now, well past midnight, the first night home from the vet was unraveling into a battle against pain and restlessness.
A sharp, pitiful whine sliced through the dark, jerking Jock from the edge of sleep.He sat up in bed, sheets tangled around his legs, rubbing his eyes.“Maynard,” he muttered, swinging his feet to the cold floor.Another whine, louder and laced with agony, twisted his gut.He padded down the hallway in his boxers, the cool air prickling his skin.In the living room, Tank lifted his massive head, eyes glinting in the faint streetlamp glow, while Maynard paced in tight circles inside his kennel, pajamas rumpled, burns likely throbbing beneath the fabric.
Jock knelt by the crate, his voice soft.“Hey, boy.”Maynard pressed his nose to the bars, whining again, his blue and brown eyes wide with distress.Jock opened the door carefully, reaching in to stroke the unburned fur between Maynard’s ears.“I know it hurts.Kent warned the itching would be rough tonight.”The dog leaned into his touch, but another whine broke free, his body trembling.Jock scooped him up gently, mindful of the wounds, and settled on the couch, pulling Maynard close.Tank let out a low grumble of solidarity from his kennel, watching them.
Jock stretched out, and draped a blanket over them, Maynard curled against his side, still restless.The whining softened but persisted, a raw reminder of the trauma etched into the dog’s skin.Staring at the ceiling, Jock moved his hand in slow circles on Maynard’s back.It took him back to those sleepless nights after Fallujah, when silence was a trap for ghosts.You’re fucked in the head, Jake,the voices would hiss, leaving him pacing or staring at the stars, heart hammering like he’d been sprinting.Pain wasn’t just physical; it burrowed deep, chaining you to the dark.“I get it, boy,” he whispered.“Feels like forever, but it passes.One breath at a time.”
His phone buzzed on the coffee table, Silly’s name lighting up the screen.
*Can’t sleep.How’s our new boy holding up?*
Jock shifted Maynard slightly, the dog whining softly before settling again.He typed a reply, his fingers steady despite the fatigue.
*He’s hurting.Whining.I think the itching keeps starting up.Reminds me of my bad nights.Miss you here to help soothe him.And me.*
Silly’s response came fast, three dots dancing before her words appeared.
*Wish I was there too, big guy.Put the phone on speaker?Maybe my voice will help.Tell me about your bad nights.You don’t talk about them much.Maybe it’ll help both of us rest.*
Jock’s thumb hovered over the keys.Opening up wasn’t his strength.He’d always seen it as a weakness.Those years in the Marines had taught him to bury the soft parts, cover them with grit and brotherhood.But Silly had a way of prying him open, gentle yet relentless, like water carving stone.He glanced at Maynard, who nosed his hand, seeking more comfort.
*They’re like this.Can’t shut off the noise in my head.Sand everywhere, voices blaming me.Wakes me up sweating, heart pounding.Therapy helps, but some nights...it’s all about getting through, and simply waiting for the light of dawn.*
Her reply was a voice note.Jock hit Play, keeping the volume low, and Silly’s voice rolled into the room, warm and soothing.“Hey, Maynard, sweet boy.Shh, it’s okay.Daddy’s got you.”Maynard’s ears twitched, his whine fading into a sigh.Jock’s chest tightened as she continued, “And Jake...I love you for sharing that.You’re not alone in the dark anymore.I’m right here, even if it’s through this stupid phone.”
*Love you too, Silly.Your voice is magic.Scared sometimes I’ll drag you down with my shit.But you make me want to fight it.*
Silly’s words came back like a lifeline, steady and sure.
*You don’t drag me anywhere.You lift me up.We’re a team, remember?Even with a whiny pit bull in the mix.Try singing to him?Worked with Tank back in the day.*
Jock chuckled, the sound cutting through the quiet house.He hummed a low tune, some old country song about lost dogs and found homes, his hand resuming its strokes on Maynard’s side.The whining ebbed, replaced by shaky breaths.But as the minutes dragged on, another wave hit, and Maynard shifted abruptly, crying out softly, his body stiff with pain.Jock pulled him closer, murmuring, “Easy, boy.I’ve got nights like this too.Feels like fire inside, huh?We’ll breathe through it.”He saw the alley again, Maynard’s eyes locking onto his, trusting even in agony.It echoed those therapy sessions, sitting with the hurt instead of running.
*How’s he now?And you?* Silly texted.
