Kent stood and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.“Dogs, plural.”
“Well, yeah.Maynard and Tank.”
“Sounded like more than two dogs in that ‘dogs, plural.’”
“Not in the foreseeable future.Maynard and Tank get along like a house afire, with Maynard being stuck to Tank no matter where they are.No guarantees that another dog would find a niche to slot into.”
“But you’re not saying no.”Kent rubbed Maynard’s ears gently.“Not saying no.”
“I volunteer over at St.Tammany rescue.”
“You live in Tangipahoa, right?”
“Yeah, but they had lots of dog walkers.I wanted to help, not stand around.”
Kent gave Maynard a final pat.“But you’re showing up, wanting to help, and that’s a lot more than most people do.Good on ya.”
“Maynard, my dude, you ready to go home?”The way the dog’s ears perked up made it clear he knew the word associated with something pleasant.“Let’s go home.”That pulled him to lean against Jock, who wrapped arms around him and placed his feet on the floor.Maynard pulled a spinout exit that left both men laughing again.
“I think he really wants to go home.”
“Me too.”Jock followed him to the waiting room, where Tank had found a spot to sprawl out on.
Kent came out with a small brown bag.“Few more painkillers so he gets good sleep at night, but other than that, you’re doing a great job, man.Could be a vet tech the way you handle all of this.”
“I’m a biker and a mechanic, but I love my dogs.”
Chapter Five
Silly
The low swell of noise in the convention hall buzzed in Silly’s ears like a hive of bees, a chaotic symphony of tattoo guns, laughter, and the low murmur of artists swapping stories.She leaned back in a chair at the front of her booth, sketchpad balanced on her crossed legs, her pencil flying across the page as she roughed out a design of the pit bull’s soulful eyes framed by swirling flames, a nod to Maynard’s strength.The idea had hit her during a panel on photorealism, sparked by a discussion about capturing emotion in ink.But as her pencil scratched out the curve of the dog’s brow, her mind wasn’t fully here in Charlotte.It was back in Louisiana, with Jock and their boys, Tank and Maynard, sprawled across the living room floor.
She glanced at her phone, the screen lighting up with Jock’s latest text: a picture of Tank and Maynard in their matching pajamas, Tank’s massive head dwarfing Maynard’s as they shared a dog bed.Her lips curved into a smile, but it came with a pang.Five days away had seemed manageable when she’d booked the trip, a chance to recharge her creative batteries among other tattoo artists.Now, three days in, it felt like a lifetime.She missed Jock’s warmth beside her at night, the way his calloused hands felt against her skin, and the quiet strength he carried even when his demons tried to pull him under.
She typed back, *Miss you too, big guy*
