*Better for a bit, then back at it.Like my flashbacks.Comes in waves.Talking to you helps.Makes me feel...seen.*
Her response was a soft blow to his defenses.
*You are seen, Jake.All of you.The strong parts, the broken ones.I love every piece.*
They texted like that for a while, quiet confessions in the digital dark with Jock offering pieces of his raw edges, Silly meeting each of them with a depth of love that felt like her hands on his skin.No grand gestures, just truth weaving them tighter across the miles.
As the night stretched on, Maynard’s whines grew fainter, his body easing inch by inch.Jock kept up the gentle pets, his own exhaustion settling in, tempered by a quiet calm.Finally, the pit bull let out a deep sigh, shifting to press his head against Jock’s chest, right over his heart.The trust in that act hit Jock like a wave—a dog who’d been burned and left to die, choosing him as his safe place.It mirrored his own slow healing, the fragile faith that he could be someone’s anchor without breaking.
Jock texted Silly one last time.*He’s settling.Against me.Feels like progress*
*Just like us.Sleep now, big guy.I’ll be home soon.*
Jock set the phone down, his arm curling protectively around Maynard, Tank’s snores a distant lullaby from the kennel.The night wasn’t done, but for the first time in hours, the silence felt like a friend.
Chapter Four
Jock
The loud racket of the garage’s air compressor was a steady backdrop to Jock’s thoughts as he bent over the engine of a vintage motorcycle, wrench in hand.
The bike was the one Twisted had alluded to in the meeting about the dogfighting ring.As Twisted already knew, Jock had managed both the paint job and the acquisition of gorgeous chrome for the bike.Jock knew better than to let a single scratch mar the newly pristine bike.His fingers moved with practiced ease, tightening a bolt, but his mind was elsewhere.It was split between the rhythmic snoring of Tank and Maynard tangled on a blanket in the corner of the shop and the nagging question of who could’ve hurt a dog like Maynard so badly.
The pit bull’s burns were already healing, the raw patches less angry under the oversized doggie pajamas, but every time Jock looked at him, a slow burn of anger flared in his gut.
It had been three days since Silly left for Charlotte, and the house felt too quiet without her laugh echoing off the walls.
Two more days.Only two.
Tank had always been a good companion, but Maynard’s soulful eyes and tentative trust were something else entirely.The dog followed Jock everywhere, even here in the garage, where he’d set up a makeshift dog bed to keep the pair close.Tank, ever the stoic mastiff, tolerated Maynard’s clinginess with only an occasional grumble, but Jock could see the bond forming.It was like they were both keeping him grounded, especially on nights when the dreams crept in.Dreams filled with sand and blood and voices that wouldn’t shut up would be broken by a wet swipe of Tank’s tongue, the weighted-blanket feel of Maynard sprawling out on top of Jock.
When I need them most.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him out of his thoughts.After wiping grease off his hands with a rag, he fished it out and saw Wrench’s name on the screen.His gut tightened.Wrench had been digging into the alley incident, leveraging his connections as President of the Caddo Hobos to see if anyone had seen anything.Jock answered, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the dogs.
“Brother.”Wrench’s gravelly voice came through.“Got something you’re gonna want to hear.Miss Danielle was about ready to close shop the day you found Maynard.You were her last customer, and she says not long before you rolled up, she saw a pickup peel out from that alley beside her place.Older model, rusted fender, no plates she could make out.But she recognized the driver.”
