“Look at them,” he laughs, brushing at his beard. “Aren’t they beautiful? Our girl looks like a little pup again. Your boy, too.”
They are. He is. Tyler was always beautiful, but even more so now as a man. Because Tyler is a man, no doubt about it. He’s not tall, though. Maybe five-foot-six at the most. Catarina is tiny, so it kind of makes sense. It doesn’t keep him from owning the room, though. With that defiant chin of his, pushed out when he’s being contrite. Rebellious.
‘I ain’t guttin’ that fish, Dad.’
‘You are. You caught it, you gut it.’
‘I’m not,Mitch!’
‘Don’t youMitchme. We gut our own fish, Ty. That’s how we show appreciation for the fish. That it’s not just for sport, but that we’re willing to work for our food. This fish gave its life so you can eat.’
‘I’m not that hungry.’
‘You will be later. Now gut the fish, son. I’m right here with ya.’
‘You promise?’
‘I promise.’
Fuck.
Tyler’s presence was always so strong. Even now when he’s being smothered by Bree. Yes, the dog that moves for no one moved for him when he yelled, ‘Gopiss yourself.’Because that’s her hourly reminder to go into the backyard.Go piss.My man taught her. He’s great like that. Real sophisticated. Ty yellingpisswoke her from her deep slumber and nothing rarely doesunless Cal’s cooking his famous rosemary lamb chops. That, too, gets the giant white ball of fur going like a goddamn greyhound.
And now she’s full-on licking, drooling, and slobbering on Tyler who just laughs that trickling, featherlight laugh of his. It’s gotten deeper with the years, but it still has that distinct lightness to it. It’s the most beautiful thing ever because he’s laughing in that kind of uninhibited way. You know, the kind of laugh that grows from your belly and lights up your entire being on its way through your throat and mouth until it bursts from your lips like tiny explosions of joy.
And when I turn to look at Cal, I see it on his face too. That look of awe in his eyes, painted across his tanned face like he just witnessed something spectacular. Because he did. He is. Tyler laughing is goddamn spectacular.
“Shit, babe,” Cal whispers. “Bree found her soulmate.”
“Yeah,” I whisper back, afraid that I’ll disturb the moment.Theirmoment. “She did,” I say, my voice all raspy. And I found my boy again. He’s back. Shit, I missed him. So much. My chest expands as I take in a deep breath, my entire body shaking as I release it. Cal wraps his arm around my shoulders, leaning in, murmuring against my temple, “It’s okay, babe.” I nod, swallowing behind the lump the size of Kentucky in my throat, tears pressing behind my eyes. “You got him back now, M. Now we just gotta keep ’im. Make sure he knows he’s wanted.”We. Such endless comfort in such a small word.
“Stop! Stop!” Tyler laughs,squealing,from the floor, but Bree has decided to camp out on top of him. With her snout pressed against his nose, she looks completely lovestruck. The front of Tyler’s black T-shirt is covered in sticky drool, his slim chest heaving beneath her giant furry paws. “Aren’t you a pretty girl?” he coos, rubbing at her fluffy ears with both hands. His cinnamon eyes are beaming brightly, thick black eyelashes fluttering as he blows dog hair from his lips. Bree rewards himwith a languid lick, making him squirm beneath her. “Yes, you are. Yes, you’re such a good girl, aren’t you? You’re just so pretty. So, so pretty.”
Cal clears his throat when Bree attempts to gobble up Tyler’s entire face to show him just how much of a good girl she is.
“Bree,” Cal claps his hands together, and she, of course, pretends to ignore him. She may be half-blind, but we’ve got it from good authority, aka the shelter, that there isn’t anything wrong with her hearing. “Bree, baby, leave the kid alone already.”
A reluctant, pitiful whine escapes Bree as she offers Tyler one final lick along his chin. Then she turns and shoots Cal and me a warning glare.I licked him, so he’s mine.Cal just shrugs while he pats his thigh.
“Come here, girl.”
Releasing herself from her new daybed, she waddles over to Cal, tongue hanging out, panting from the unfamiliar exertion. When she reaches him, she complains for good measure before settling on the floor next to him.
“That’s a good girl, Bree.” He leans down and pats her head.
“Fucking hell,” Tyler groans, wiping at his face. “Was that a dog or a fucking pony?” He shakes his head, his black curls bobbing all over the place before they settle around his face again like a dark crown. Looking dazed, he blinks his eyes a couple of times.
“That’s just Bree,” Cal chuckles while I go to the island. Opening a drawer, I pick out one of the softest kitchen towels I can find. A burnt orange with a dark green trim. Walking toward Tyler, I hand it to him.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, his gaze flickering between me and the floor. “She’s real cute,” he adds, a softness to his voice for the first time since I met him this morning. “What kinda breed is she?”
“She’s a rescue, so we don’t really know for sure,” I say as I watch him wipe his face, the orange such a contrast to his dark hair and olive complexion. His cheeks are flushed now, with those freckles I almost forgot about sprinkled across the ridge of his nose. Tyler was always a good-looking kid, but now… he’s stunning. “The shelter said there’s definitely some English Sheepdog in her but maybe also some malamute.”
“Yeah?” He looks directly at me, his eyes pinning me to the spot. “You still into strays, Mitch?” He tips his chin, a defiant curl at the right corner of his mouth. My first instinct is to ignore that. Ignore him. But then I realize that it’s probably what he’s used to. Being ignored.
“You were never a stray, Ty.”
He winces, then mumbles, “I told you not to call me that.”
