“No. Was I supposed to?”
I shake my head. “No, but sometimes owners do. I need to know what to expect coming out of his body this morning.”
Joey twists around on the couch and throws his arm over the back. And that’s when I noticed his hand. “What happened to your knuckles?”
He glances down at them and pulls them back to his lap. “Blunt force trauma.” He stifles a yawn.
“Have you slept at all?”
He doesn’t answer for a minute. So long, I think he actually fell asleep. Finally, he mumbles, “I don’t need sleep.”
“Horseshit. Go to bed.” I point upstairs.
He crosses his arms and pouts while I grab Kingston’s harness off the hook. “No. I’m a grown-ass man, and I’ll go to bed when I want to.”
Once I get Kingston all hooked up, I take out my phone and send a quick text. By the time I turn to leave, his phone is blowing up.
He stares at his phone and back at me. “Did you text my cousins to tell them I need a nap?” His phone buzzes again. This time, he groans and pushes himself off the couch to head upstairs, grumbling, “Stupid family, bossy dog walker,” all the way.
He says bossy, but what he really means is kind-hearted helpful caretaker.
The streets are still quiet, the sun slowly changes the sky from black to navy blue to blue to pink. Maybe that should be my next color scheme for my hair. Twenty minutes later, I return Kingston home. Joey must still be asleep, because Kingston sniffs around then sprints upstairs. Guess I’ll see ya later, buddy.
The rest of my morning is quiet. I swing by the office, check in with Becca about payroll and other HR stuff before heading into my office to work on social media, marketing, and updating charts. I scroll through the medical notifications of the dogs I care for.
Hmm… Kingston pops up as needing his shots. Poor baby freaks out when he goes to the vet. Maybe I’ll see if Joey needs any help.
Before long, it’s time for the afternoon shift. Kingston is first again, and I’ll grab him before I pick up Natalie’s dogs. Joey still doesn’t come to the door, but I assume he’s there since his car is in the driveway. Guess he did need a nap.
Between work, barking dogs, and group chats, I’m super behind on my notifications. I missed a call from last night. Tristan. What the fuck does he want? And why did he take a minute and half of my voicemail time to do it.
“Baby, I’m a piece of shit.” Well, my dude, that’s one thing we agree on. “I’m sorry, and I shouldn’t have ever treated you like you were anything other than the perfect goddess you are.” What? Does he have a gun to his head? Nothing about this sounds right. He whimpers and says, “Oww. That hurts.” What hurts? “I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for cheating on you.”
He cheated on me? I wish I could say I’m shocked or betrayed, but I’m not.
There’s a thump, followed by him crying. “I said I was sorry.” But I don’t think he’s talking to me. “Baby, I’ve changed. I’ve grown up, and I’m more of a man than I was before. Give me a call.”
Hmm. Everything about that seemed… weird. And I’m not sure how I feel about any of it.
I fire off a message in the group chat.
Me: Should I give my ex another chance?
Katya: Hell No.
Izzy: No.
Waverly: Was he the love of your life and, through a miscommunication, did you spend five years hating him but then it turns out he left you a journal, but you never got it? And did it finally come out after a heated and heartbroken discussion, that all your insecurities stem from this miscommunication and both of you have to heal and rebuild the relationship you once had and now you’re even stronger than you were before.
Well, that’s oddly specific.
Me: No.
Me: And text messages should be short.
Me: But he was a controlling asshole.
Waverly: Then no.
