Page 21
Bennett
“What are you doing here?”
I really shouldn’t be so surprised. In fact, I’m more surprised that he’s managed to stay away this long before showing up unannounced.
“What are you doing here?” my dad asks as I open the door wider for him. He’s still in a suit from work, sharply dressed as always with his thick curls combed back as best he can manage. “It’s a Friday night. Shouldn’t you be out?”
Behind him, still in the doorway, sits a full-grown black Lab with a little bowtie around his collar.
“Whose dog is that?”
My question goes unheard as Rhys shouts a quick “Hey, Mr. Reiner,” from his spot at the kitchen table between bites of the lasagna I cooked.
“You two should be out, or at a party. What about your teammates?”
“We invited them,” Rhys assures my dad, wiping his mouth and joining us near the doorway. “Whose dog is that?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I mumble, eyes finding my dad’s gaze again. “Dad?”
“He’s yours.”
My dad means well—honestly, he does. He checks on me often, never cancels on me, never shows up late. He’s gone to therapy with me since I was eight years old, and I truly believe he wants me to be happy.
But as much as he doesn’t want things to be different now—they are.
“I’m doing this because I love you, Ben.” His words are the lyrics to a song that only ever plays in duet with my mother’s crying.
“I didn’t ask for a dog.”
“He’s a therapy dog,” my dad says, meeting my eyes. “Not a puppy, so he’s trained. He won’t chew on your things or pee on the carpet. He’s here to help.”
Rhys grins down at the giant dog sitting quietly at our feet. “He will shed, though.” His words are quiet, as if he thinks the dog will hear him say it and be offended. “Will that bother you?”
The question tells me that Rhys is already on board, which doesn’t surprise me because my best friend has always tried to make life easier for me. While I’ve only made his more difficult.
“I don’t know.”
Cleanliness is a delicate situation for me. I can never explain it, and I have desperately tried. I wish I could. Maybe then I wouldn’t have spent years crying over the way my mom served my food or the sickness I felt in trying to sleep in sheets I didn’t wash myself. Maybe my parents wouldn’t have fought so much. Maybe the divorce would’ve never happened.
“This has nothing to do with you, Ben,” he says, standing in the corner by the door. “I need you to tell me you understand.”
“I understand,” I say, but I don’t. Not really. And I hate changes. This one seems bigger than most.
“Until the custody agreement is made up, I have to keep my distance from the house. But if you need me—”
I shake myself free from the memory again, staring into the eyes of my dad in the present, not the past. Back then I couldn’t meet his gaze. Now I find his blue eyes steadying.
“Okay.”
Rhys winks at me. “Hell yeah, Ben.”
“Great.” My dad pats my shoulder quickly before pulling his hand away. “I have all his paperwork in the car, and I got him a tag and everything.” His voice trails off as I look down at my new dog.
He’s big, with wide brown eyes that look more forlorn and unsure than most dogs I’ve seen. He’s quiet, a little unsure, and he still hasn’t moved from the doorway.
“Come on in, bud.”
“Does he have a name?” Rhys asks, kneeling to pet and coo at the dog as he slowly trots in. My dad closes the door and shakes his head, wincing.
