I cleared my throat. “Well, anyway. I’ve started writing again. This story is just flowing right from my fingertips.” I shook my head, bewildered by it. I hadn’t had creative bursts like this in years. “When it’s done, I’m going to look into publishing it. You only live once, right?”
“Sounds like someone got a new outlook on life screwed into them,” he teased, giving me a goofy, crooked smile. He was happy for me, ecstatic even. Ren knew how much writing meant to me, and he knew that I put the pen down for months after Erik had stomped on my heart.
The night I met Alaric, I’d discovered something within the wreckage—a pulse. It was faint, but it was beating again. The numbness was gone, and I felt renewed. I poured my emotions into my manuscript, knowing that they could live there free and safe from the real world of disappointments and letdowns.
“Ha, but kind of…yes,” I said excitedly. I bit my lip, thinking about the manuscript. Two lonely people getting together for a single night of passion that gives them more than they bargained for. Maybe parts of it were inspired by our night together—the feral passion and fervent intensity of the night were easy to translate into passion between my characters, but this novel was a safe manifestation of desires I wouldn’t dare voice.
“I’m really happy to hear this,” Ren said, squeezing my hand. “I worry about you.”
“Well, you don’t have to, not anymore. At least not when it comes to that.” I waved my hand, mentally dismissing Erik from the narrative. “Fuck that tiny-dick asshole.”
“Hear, hear!” Renly laughed, toasting me with his pizza slice.
Alaric
As we walked from the pizza shop and toward the truck, my thoughts shifted from the encounter with Gwen to what was waiting at home.
I placed the pizza on the front seat before buckling Sawyer in and walking around to climb into the driver’s seat. I gave her a serious look through the rearview mirror before starting the truck. “You might notice something different about the house,” I told her, still watching her reflection in the mirror.
“What?” Sawyer asked, gazing at me with curiosity.
“Well, earlier this week, I had an unexpected visitor drop by, and he’s going to stay a little while,” I said.
“Who?”
“A dog.”
“A dog!” Sawyer repeated, her green eyes widening with excitement.
“Yep. A stray dog—a dog that lost his home. He came to me for help, so we’re going to find his family,” I told her, figuring honesty was the best policy.
“What’s his name?”
“Tig.” The name fell from my mouth before I could call it back, but I figured if the dog were sticking around, he’d need a name. If Sawyer got to name the dog herself, she could grow even more attached, and that’d make things harder for her if we found his family. Gwen’s suggestion fit him, too.
“What a silly name.” Sawyer giggled.
“Yeah.” I smiled, loving the sound of her laughter, feeling grateful to be able to hear it again. I turned, the engine rumbling to life with a twist of my wrist.
I drove slowly through town, appreciating the historic buildings and old, hometown feel before picking up speed once I’d reached 28. We continued driving down the country road, the silence broken up every so often with Sawyer asking questions about the dog.
She was practically vibrating with excitement when I pulled into the driveway and parked in front of the garage. Once I unbuckled her, she jumped from the cab.
“Come on, Daddy!” she said impatiently while I grabbed her overnight bag and the pizzas. She skipped ahead of me, dancing on the balls of her feet while I unlocked the door.
The dog was sitting exactly where I’d left him, in the entrance to the hallway. He tilted his big, black head, his tail wagging against the hardwood floor.
“Woah! He’s BIG!” Sawyer exclaimed, her eyes wide with uncertainty. She moved a little closer to my leg, intimidated by his size.
I set the pizzas down on the deacon bench and crouched, putting my hand on her tiny back. “Come here, Tig,” I instructed. Tig tilted his head but stood, ambling over with gentle, slow steps. “Hold your hand out, Sawyer.” I gently took her hand. Tig sniffed it, then licked her, his tail wagging the whole time.
She giggled. “It tickles!”
I let them get comfortable with each other for a few more minutes. When Sawyer was fearlessly accepting face kisses from him, I stood.
“Do you want to feed him?”
“Yes!” she shouted, clapping her hands together. Tig was unruffled by her exuberance, his gentle spirit shining.
