I decide right then that I don’t want to know. "The stuff on my head burns a bit," I say instead, taking a step back.
"Shit! The dye!" And just like that, Jules has forgotten about the piercing. She pulls up her panties and directs me to the bathtub to wash out the hair dye.
ELEVEN
COLE
During the drive to the vet clinic, I ask myself if it was wise to leave the girls alone. Jules wouldn’t get Sophie into trouble, but I damn well know she can be a bit over the top sometimes. And Sophie’s clearly the stark opposite of that, so Jules could be asking too much of her. But I also know that she can be empathetic, and since she’s not stupid, I probably have to trust that she can judge what’s too much for Sophie.
Furthermore, I can’t deny that Sophie seems to feel comfortable in Jules’s presence. She was visibly more relaxed and hung on her every word whenever she showed or explained something to her. And while it’s kind of naive, I like the idea of the two of them becoming friends. Because both Sophie and Jules could really use one.
I mean, yes, I’ve been a good friend to Jules over the years and have always been there when she needed something. But I have a dick, so I’m not exactly the right person to talk to when it comes to certain things, no matter how hard I try. Sophie, on the other hand, could help her with matters that clearly exceed my male competence.
Jesus… What am I even thinking? Jules and Sophie? Becoming friends? The girl hasn’t even been here for twenty-four hours. Not to mention that she won’t stay forever. It’s completely pointless to think about the two becoming friends. As soon as Sophie is halfway settled and knows what she wants and where she wants to go, she’ll be out of our lives. And that’s a good thing.
"Hello, Mr.Walker," one of the veterinary assistants greets me cheerfully as I enter the clinic’s reception area. "It’s nice to see you checking on Buster again."
Buster? Did I miss something? Yesterday, the stray that ran in front of my truck a few days ago was simply calleddog. I guess that’s one of those woman things. They constantly have to give names to everything and everyone and then wonder why it breaks their hearts when the previously nameless something is suddenly no longer there.
Without addressing the stupid name, I follow her to the back. "How is he?"
"He’s doing well. If he doesn’t reopen his stitches, we’ll be able to release him in a few days."
"Where will he end up then?" I ask before I can stop myself.
"Since he’s not registered and doesn’t appear to have an owner, he’ll be handed over to the local animal shelter."
I don’t miss the accusing undertone, but I let it bounce off me. She won’t manage to make me feel bad just because I don’t adopt the dog. I mean, who the fuck am I? A charity? I brought him in and am covering the costs of his treatment. That should be enough to pay off my debt, which isn’t really a debt at all. After all, I didn’t hit the dog on purpose, for God’s sake.
"Buster! Look who’s here again!" Miss Reproachful puts on her child’s voice as she opens the door of the cage in which Dog—sorry… I meanBuster—has been living in since the surgery.
When she steps aside and I squat down in front of the cage, the dog lifts his head and curls his lips. The little rascal grins at me, and I can’t prevent the corners of my mouth from twitching at the sight.
"Hey, buddy." I reach out to stroke the mutt’s sand-colored, wire-like fur.
He immediately presses his head against my palm and wags his tail as I’m scratching him behind the ear.
"You keep the staff on their toes, don’t you?"
I examine the bandage that’s meant to protect the surgical wound on his shoulder. It’s obvious he’s been gnawing on it, which only makes me smile even more.
When I asked two days ago if he couldn’t wear a cone, the staff just laughed and then showed me why this endeavor is pointless. It didn’t take the dog five seconds to literally pull his head out of the noose and then look at us as if to saySeriously? That’s all you have to offer?
"You probably like that, huh? I can’t blame you. Being pampered all day… I think it could be worse."
Buster looks at me patiently with his kind brown eyes as I’m talking his ear off.
"But gnawing at the stitches is a no-go. You don’t want to stay here forever, do you?" I keep talking to the dog, ignoring how stupid that actually is.
When Jules asked me three days ago why I wanted to visit him, I talked my way out of it with a rather clumsy excuse, telling her that the treatment costs are billed daily. And although she didn’t ask further, I could tell by the look on her face that she didn’t believe a single word I said. She knows that I would never admit to feeling guilty and that this guilt is why I drive the nearly thirty miles to the vet clinic every day.
My heart almost jumped out of my chest when the dog ran into my pickup on Monday. He suddenly appeared out ofnowhere on one of the rarely used roads through the forest, which are plentiful here. If I hadn’t stepped on the brakes and jerked the steering wheel, he would have been run over. Instead, he just crashed into the rim, which gave him a broken shoulder blade that was fixed with screws the same night. Since then, he has been here. And I visit him. Every fucking day. Because I feel responsible for him in a messed-up and annoying way.
As for Sophie,says a quiet voice in my head.
"Yeah… as for Sophie," I repeat the words softly to Buster, who tilts his head to the side at her name. "You both have a thing for my truck, huh?"
When my phone chimes, I take it out of my pocket. It’s a text from Steve, telling me that he and the others are coming earlier.
