The softness of his voice washes over me in waves as fames flicker in my peripheral vision. I can picture it in my mind—a huge, furry body with a wagging tail and a goofy, wolfy smile. I imagine ten-year-old Dax with his arms around the shaggy neck, a smile on his face for the first time since his mother left.
“What happened to Killer?”
The second the words leave my mouth, I know this story doesn’t have a happy ending. My throat squeezes tight when I try to swallow.
He doesn’t answer right away. “My dad said he was getting rid of him,” he says. “Said he wasn’t keeping some pussy puppy dog around.”
“Oh God.”
Tears prick the backs of my eyes as Dax keeps talking. “Took his hunting rife and the dog and drove off in his shitty pickup truck. When he came back, he had a fifth of whiskey and no Killer. I didn’t ask questions.”
“Oh, Dax.” Tears spill down my cheeks, and I reach over to grab his hand. I clutch it so tight I worry I’m hurting him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He also doesn’t notice his marshmallow is starting to smolder. I say nothing, letting it burn. I’ll make him a whole tray of marshmallows. Pounds of them, as many as he can eat.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him. “I don’t know what else to say.”
He shrugs and turns back to me. Noticing the tears, he reaches up and wipes them away with his thumb. His ice-blue eyes flicker with the refection of the fames. “I’ve never told anyone that story.”
I swallow hard, wishing I had some comforting words to offer. Something that could make it all better. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”
He nods. “I wanted you to know. About how I grew up. About why I am the way I am. Why I don’t believe in happily-ever-afters.”
His words drip with darkness, and there’s a thick knot where my heart drums inside my chest. “Is that why you volunteer at Helping Paws?”
He nods once, though there’s a tiny flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Yeah, I guess so. I can’t bring myself to get a dog of my own—not after that. But I feel like I want to give back, you know?”
“I love that about you.” I squeeze his hand. “So much.”
His eyes flash again, and it’s not the fire this time. I replay my words in my head. Did he think I said I love you?
Is that what I meant?
“Your marshmallow.” I stand up and pry the roasting stick from his hand. “It’s looking a little charred. Here, let me get you another one.”
I fumble with the stick, shaking the burned marshmallow into the fames and replacing it with a fresh one.
“Ow.” I suck in a breath as melted marshmallow goo sticks to my hand, and I reach for a wet wipe to get it off.
But Dax grabs my wrist and draws my hand to his mouth. “Here, let me.” Slowly, so gently, he draws my fingers into his mouth. It’s the strangest mix of sexy and soothing, and I catch myself giving a little sigh as the burn ebbs away.
“Better?”
I nod, mesmerized by the fames and by his closeness. “Much better.”
He looks at me again, heat in his eyes that has nothing to do with the fire. “Let’s try the other hand.”
He grabs my left wrist this time, drawing my index and middle finger into his mouth with aching slowness. His tongue grazes the junction of the two fingers, and I gasp from the implication.
Drawing back, he smiles. I don’t know why, but I feel like something’s shifted between us. A connection on some level we’ve never visited before.
The heat in his eyes tells me he’s aching for a different kind of connection. The one we’ve almost perfected over the last three weeks.
I shiver, wanting it, too. Wanting it so badly my body aches from it.
“Come on,” Dax says. “Let’s put this fire out and then check the view from the tent.”
Chapter 16
Dax
