Page 17 of We Are Just Us

KIERAN: I wrote it drunk in a hotel room

EMORY: it’s GOOD

KIERAN: what do I even write about

EMORY: YOUR LIFE. The thing you’re already observing. Just write it down.

Kieran looked around the hotel room. At the half-empty bottle of water on the nightstand. At the San Diego skyline visible through the window.

He had observations. God knew he had observations.

He opened a new browser tab and googled “how to start a Substack.”

SIX

Kieran pulled into the driveway, and the house felt familiar again in that quiet, reassuring way. Same angle of light. Same faint salt in the air. Same neighbor wind chime with its tiny, judgmental song.

The dogs launched out of the car like they’d been gone for weeks instead of two days.

“Okay, okay—easy,” Kieran said, wrangling leashes and doors and enthusiasm. He ushered them into the backyard, watched them take off at full speed, then headed inside with one clear priority.

A shower. Immediately.

He dropped his bag in the hallway. Kicked off his shoes. Peeled off his clothes as he walked, leaving a trail for some more responsible future version of himself to deal with.

He was halfway to the bathroom when the dogs started barking.

Not the someone is dying bark.

The we have discovered something that now belongs to us bark.

Kieran sighed. Naked and resigned, he turned back toward the yard.

“Hold on,” he called. “I’m coming.”

He slid the back door open just as Hank skidded to a stop in front of him, tail high, eyes wild, mouth proudly clamped around a bright pink plastic toy.

“Oh no,” Kieran said instantly. “Absolutely not.”

Hank took off. Straight across the yard.

“Hank!” Kieran hissed, lunging forward on instinct. “Drop it. That’s not yours.”

Hank zigzagged like he was being chased by the law, toy squeaking triumphantly between his teeth. Mabel joined in for moral support, barking with the pure conviction that this was the best game anyone had ever invented.

Kieran chased after him, bare feet slapping against the grass, arms outstretched, dignity already a lost cause.

“Hank, drop it!” Kieran said, lunging after him. “You are too old for this shit!”

That’s when he heard it.

Laughter.

High, unfiltered, delighted laughter, the kind that only came from someone who had zero concept of consequences. It floated over the fence easily, followed by the patter of small feet and a babbling voice that was definitely a child.

Kieran froze mid-step.

Hank did not.