Then I almost jump out of my skin.
Lila drops a tray somewhere behind the counter. The crash hits hard and fast, and my mind leaves the room. I am halfway to war before I even know I’ve moved.
I clench my hands on the table. Rowdy is on his feet before I realize. He presses his side against my legs, steady and firm, and doesn’t move. Just weight and warmth, a quiet reminder that I am not alone and the world had not, in fact, ended.
Jake and Terrance look at their coffee. Sam watches me, steady, checking whether he needs to step in. He doesn’t. Rowdy has me with his calm presence and those soft brown eyes.
I look down at him. He looks back up, chin still on my knee, tail making slow sweeps across the floor.
“Sorry about that, Sam.”
“Nothing to be sorry for. That’s what he’s trained to do.” Sam watches him for a moment. “He did well.”
Neither Jake nor Terrance says anything, though I catch the edge of a smirk on Terrance’s face he doesn’t bother hiding.
Sam sets his mug down. “The thing about carrying someone else’s purpose is that it gets real heavy when your own starts to grow underneath it.” He nods toward Molly. “She never fixed anything. She just made my broken parts easier to carry.”
Rowdy settles his full weight against my leg and sighs like he’d been waiting all morning to do exactly that.
My phone buzzes. I take it as my cue and start to rise.
The absence hits me before I’ve fully stood. Rowdy whines once behind me, quiet and low. I look back. He is watching me with those brown eyes, tail gone still.
“I’ll call you,” I say to Sam.
He picks up his coffee and nods before taking a sip.
I had just gotten in the truck when I see Sam and the others leaving the diner and getting in their cars. I watch them for a moment. Their lives continued after they got back, but I am still living my past. I shake my head and start the truck.
I need a few things from the store before I go back to the ranch. I’d used the last of Falon’s laundry soap, and though she wasn’t a bad cook, I want something simple tonight. Tacos. Just a few ingredients and I am already tasting dinner.
I pull into the lot and look at the store doors. I am so on edge today that I am grinding my teeth. I take a breath and walk in, shop in a hurry, and head back out.
A grocery cart slams into the cart return on my way out.
I clench my fists. Keep walking.
This is my life now. Some days are good, but today isn’t. That’s just how it is. I know I can’t continue living like this. I need help, even if I don’t want to admit it yet. Sitting in the parking lot, I grasp the steering wheel and feel my heart race. I pull out my phone, scroll to Sam’s name, and pause overCall. It takes a few seconds before I press it. Reaching out is the only next step I can see.
I know what I have to do.
I call him from the truck.
Didn’t plan to do it right then. I’d meant to drive home first, maybe think it through, talk myself into it. Maybe even ask Falon if it was okay. It was her house after all. But I am still in the parking lot outside the store with the engine running and Rowdy’s eyes in my head, and I have my phone out before I’ve made any kind of decision about it.
Sam picks up on the second ring.
“That was fast,” he says.
“Is the offer still open?”
There is a pause. “Yeah, Bo. It’s still open.”
“What do I need to know? About having a PTSD dog. The real version, not the short one.”
I hear him sit back in his chair. He talks for a while. He explains how important consistency and routine will be. Rowdy will learn my patterns, just like Molly learned his. It isn’t magic, and it isn’t a cure.
"There will be some mornings he would just be a dog, and others he would be your saving grace." He sighs. "Rowdy will wake you from nightmares before you do, pressing his nose to your wrist."
