three
DHILLON
Dhillon pulled into his half of the shared driveway, jolting forward as he hit the brake harder than was necessary. He stared at the garages, not really seeing them.
Riya wasgoing into fucking fires. Of all the jobs in the world that she could do. The way she had looked at him, full of defiance, likehewas the outrageous one. He shook his head. He had waited for the crew to finish their exercises before getting out of his car. Riya was clearly physically strong. Every one of her push-ups looked perfect. And that was after she’d done whatever else before he got there.
She was swimming in her gear. How did she manage to move in it? He could only imagine the ice-cold welcome she was getting from her coworkers. Not to mention the asshats like Ian. Everything about this screamed danger. But that was Riya: no thought, ever, for her own safety.
Riya’s mom’s car was parked in the other half of the driveway. Their houses were townhomes with one shared wall. Sometimes, in his mind, he could still see the flames in the window above the garage that looked into the family room. And then in the window above that which looked into a bedroom, where his father had been. Because the townhomes were mirror images of each other, the flames had been similar on Riya’s side.
The acrid stench of smoke came back to him, and like a movie reel, he could watch the events play out. He shook his head as if to clear it of the memories. He knew how the scene ended. No need to see it through.
“Come on, Lucky.” Dhillon got out of the car.
The dog didn’t move. “Lucky!”
Whining, Lucky heaved himself up and out the door.
“Good boy.” Dhillon rubbed the fur on Lucky’s head, instantly feeling his heart rate slow down. He tried not to notice the white hairs in his dog’s once-beautiful black coat, tried to ignore how slow Lucky’s gait had become in recent weeks. He couldn’t believe how much the dog still listened to Riya, even though technically Lucky washisdog.
The jingle of a bike bell interrupted his thoughts as a child from the neighborhood rode by, training wheels still on, his father jogging behind. “Hey, Dr. Vora! Dad said I can get a puppy!”
Dhillon felt a bubble of excitement, as if he was the one given permission to get a puppy. He raised his eyebrows at the dad. “Is that so?”
“Jacob did everything he said he would, and he’s taking responsibility.”
“That’s fabulous, Chris,” Dhillon called out. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“You can count on it,” Chris called back as he followed his son.
Dhillon had wanted a dog his whole young life. His parents had put him off and put him off for years. He and Riya had played with the neighborhood pets every chance they got.
Then finally, just after his thirteenth birthday, his dad took him to the local animal shelter, saying that this was his lucky day. Dhillon’s excitement had mirrored Jacob’s. Of course, Dhillon’s father had also made it clear that Dhillon was to be responsible for the animal. He would have agreed to anything at that point. He already knew he would name the dog Lucky.
He and Riya had trained Lucky together, reading countless books on dog training, and arguing about which approach was best, but somehow Riya was always able to get Lucky to do what she wanted.
He and Riya had been best friends.
A professional eye was not needed to see that Lucky was on borrowed time. Dhillon pushed aside those thoughts. He couldn’t think about losing Lucky any more than he could think about Riya running into burning buildings.
He removed his shoes in the small, tiled area just inside the door, changing them out for his well-worn house slippers. “Hey!” he called out. “I’m home.”
“Whoop-de-doo.” His sister, Hetal, was on the sofa, staring at her laptop, buried under a pile of books, her sarcasm spot-on but weary. Her dark hair was pulled up in a ponytail that bobbed as she spoke. Lucky plopped himself at her feet. “Took you long enough to get home.”
Hetal worked with him in the clinic office from time to time while she went to college, but she hadn’t been in today.
“Wait.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Is that my UMD T-shirt?”
Hetal opened another book and feigned concentration. “No. Why would I wear your T-shirt?”
Dhillon took a step closer. The short sleeves came almost to her elbows. “That’s my favorite one! You had to have gone into my closet for it.”
Hetal looked up at him, all wide-eyed innocence. Her eyes were the same honey-brown their father had had. “I would never do that. That would be an invasion of privacy.”
Dhillon narrowed his eyes further. “Uh-huh.”
“Too bad no one gets privacy in this house. But if someone who already had a job would move out, some of us wouldn’t be tempted to go into others’ closets. Then you might be able to keep some of your T-shirts.” She grinned at him before turning back to her computer. “Just not this one.”
