Page 83 of We Are Just Us

He jogged down the driveway, scanning left and right.

“Hank!” he shouted again, louder this time.

The street stretched out in both directions, familiar houses, familiar trees, all of it suddenly foreign in the darkness. He didn’t know which way to go. Didn’t know where Hank would head if given the choice.

He started walking quickly down the street, shining his phone light into yards, calling Hank’s name every few seconds. Nothing. He stopped in the middle of the street, breathing hard, trying to think.

“Hank!”

He should’ve checked the fence. Should’ve noticed the digging earlier. Should’ve been more careful, more vigilant, more present.

“Kieran?”

He spun around.

Rory was standing on his front porch, shirtless, hair messy from sleep, squinting against the glare of Kieran’s phone flashlight. He looked like he’d rolled out of bed.

“What’s going on?” Rory’s voice was rough, confused, but already sharpening.

“My dog got out.” Kieran heard how he sounded, frantic, hostile, barely holding it together, and couldn’t do anything about it. “There’s a hole under the fence. He’s gone.”

Rory stepped off the porch, bare feet on concrete. “How long ago?”

“I don’t know. Maybe ten minutes.”

“Which direction did he—”

“If I knew what fucking direction he went, I wouldn’t be standing in the street in my sandals, Rory.”

Rory went still. His expression didn’t change. He looked at Kieran for a long moment—steady, absorbing the hit without flinching.

“Do you want help?” he said quietly.

“No.” Kieran was already turning away, heading for his front door. “I can deal with it. Sorry for waking you up.”

He went back inside. Finally found his keys thrown into a corner on the counter. Shoved his feet into real shoes. His hands were still shaking but he had a plan now. Drive the neighborhood, check the beach access points, search the park on Third Street, where they walked sometimes.

He could do this alone. He didn’t need anyone’s help. He certainly didn’t need Rory’s help. He locked the front door and stepped back onto the driveway. And stopped in his tracks.

Rory’s Tacoma was already running, headlights blazing, not regular headlights, high beams, cutting through the darkness like searchlights, illuminating everything in harsh white light.

Kieran fumbled with his keys in his hand, watching.

Rory didn’t look at him. Didn’t wave. Didn’t ask again.

He threw the truck into reverse, tires squealing as he backed out fast, and then he was gone, speeding down the street, lights sweeping wide arcs across lawns and driveways, scanning, searching.

Kieran stood in the middle of his driveway, watching the taillights disappear around the corner. Then he got into his car, started the engine, and pulled out onto the street.

The neighborhood was still dark, still quiet, less overwhelming now.

Because somewhere out there, Rory was looking too.

Kieran drove slowly, windows down, calling Hank’s name into the night.

TWENTY-FIVE

By the time the sun started to rise, they’d driven every street within a two-mile radius.