Yeah, that’s what he’s been doing. Stalking my socials.
He has too much pride to ask my mother about me, the fucker.
He’s been following me. Watching from the sideline as I wither away.
“Oop,” says Selby when the alarm on her phone sounds. “Dessert’s ready.” Romeo starts getting to his feet, a feigned attempt to help her clear our plates when really, he’s trying to get as far away from me as possible. Selby won’t have a bar of it. “No, no, you sit, babe. You two catch up. I’ve got this.”
When she’s out of sight, Romeo crosses his arms and looks away from me.
The fucking asshole.
Is he really going to sit here and ignore me? Not on my watch.
“So, the two of you really like white, huh?” Is it mature of me? No. Do I care? Also no.
“What?” He turns his head and fixes me with a blistering gaze. “You don’t like white?”
“Can’t say I do, no.” We’re still sparring, but we’re not fighting with blades anymore. We’ve devolved to sticks tied together with laces.
“Oh. Well, I can’t say I like your two-piece.”
Dry, brittle twigs crash together. Tiny bits of bark fly into the air and get in my eyes.
“Hate your hair,” I hiss softly so Selby can’t hear us if she’s on her way back. “Hateit. It doesn’t suit you.”
The dining room door opens and the dog bounds in. Selby must be trying to keep it in the kitchen to prevent it from begging because she follows at pace, glares at the dog, and gives Romeo a long look that speaks at least two full sentences. Neither of them polite.
I sense an attack on Romeo and muscle memory kicks in despite the fact I actively try not to let it. I call the dog over to me with a pat of a hand against my thigh before Selby can have Romeo take it out. It approaches with caution. Up close, it’s bigger than Buddy was, but like him, it’s oneof those dogs that looks like a drawing a child would do of a dog. You know, long nose and pointy ears that stick up like triangles on its head. A mixed breed with at least some German Shepard in the equation. It’s black from head to toe, with a whippy tail currently hanging down. The dog is hesitant, approaching slowly, but I can tell from its eyes it isn’t scared. It’s cautious but unafraid. Why would it be? Its master is near.
“What’s his name?” I ask.
Selby gives Romeo a millisecond to reply, and when he doesn’t answer in the time she’s allotted, she speaks for him.
“His name’s Tiger.” She gives me a warning look, stretching her eyes and talking quietly, overmouthing her words as if that will somehow make it impossible for Romeo to hear her. “He’s a bit bitey, so be careful…”
I don’t hear the rest. My brain has cut out.
Tiger. He named his dog Tiger.
Romeo named his dog after me.
Romeo’s mask slips. His eyes do that thing where it looks like they’ve widened, but they’ve actually narrowed. They’re his though. Not glass. Not porcelain. His. A pale, panicked blue smudge spreads across the upper quadrant of his face and shows me a glimpse of alternate worlds and faraway galaxies.
Stories and daydreams.
A hero and a lone wolf.
“That’s an unusual name for a dog,” I manage eventually.
“I know,” Selby agrees, “but you know what Romeo’s like. Gets an idea in his head and won’t be talked out of it.” She laughs as though she finds the trait endearing, but the pitch is a little off. She titters again and lowers her chin conspiratorially. “Tiger’s a bit of a problem, to be honest. We’redyingto start a family, and I’m not sure he’ll be safe around babies.” She gives me a long, meaningful look designed to get me on her side. “Not really sure what to do about it, are we, Rome?”
As Romeo scrabbles with his mask, twisting and turning it before getting it back into place, I realize with disbelief that quickly turns into horror that Selby is a threat to Tiger’s continued presence in Romeo’s life. Disgust so strong it tastes bitter rises in my throat. I match my smile with hers, and even though I hate him, even though he hurt more than I thought anyone could ever hurt me, I made a vow once, an oath I can’t take back no matter how much I wish I could—protecting Romeo when he’s under attack isn’t a choice.
“Ah,” I say lightly, “guess you’ll just have to wait ten or twelve years until he dies of natural causes, won’t you?”
Selby looks like she’s bitten into a wasp. She falters but quickly corrects. “Oh, you!” She laughs. “Trust you to take Romeo’s side. You two were always like that.”
I laugh a little too loudly and take a large sip of wine. I set the glass down carefully, nudging it twice to ensure I’m completely happy with its placement before I’m able to summon the courage I need to look at Romeo.
