Better Than People - Roan Parrish Page 0,8

earlier, Simon stood once more before Jack’s door. This time, he was able to ring the doorbell and the sound was met with yipping and barking from within. After a minute, he heard a groan that could only be Jack and then a stream of swearing.

When the door finally opened, Jack’s hair was flattened on one side and sticking straight up at the crown.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough. “Sorry. Fell asleep.”

Simon glanced at his face and took in the shadows under his eyes, like someone had pressed thumbs there hard enough to bruise. He took in the creases on one cheek and the tightness around his mouth that might have been pain, and wondered what had happened to his leg.

He opened his mouth to say it was fine, but the words inflated in his throat until they were a balloon choking off his breath. There was the itch of panic and then he swallowed the words down and could breathe again. He nodded.

Suddenly, exhaustion hit him. He should’ve anticipated it, what with the effort it had taken to drag himself here this morning, the effort it had taken to go inside, and now the effort of doing it all over again. It was an exhaustion that sapped all his reserves and put a certain end to any chance of conversation that might have existed.

The anger rose and with it Simon could feel his chest get hot. The heat crept up his neck and his ears blazed. Before his face could turn red he clenched his hand into a fist and gritted his teeth. Then he closed his eyes, held out his other hand, and prayed that Jack would understand.

“Listen,” Jack said, not understanding. “It’s probably too much to ask. Twice a day. Maybe—”

Frustration consumed Simon and he drove his fist into the doorjamb. It hurt. He held out his other hand without looking at Jack and, after a minute of shuffling noises and barks, felt the leashes placed on his palm.

Simon closed his fingers around them and nodded. Then he headed out into the cooling dusk without a backward glance, cursing himself silently all the way.

Away from the house he sucked in deep breaths. Again. Damn it.

“Your dad makes me nervous,” Simon told the animals. He could hear the misery in his shaky voice.

Bernard woofed gently in reply and Dandelion trotted excitedly at his side.

“I’m kind of crap with people,” he told them.

Rat snarled at nothing.

“It doesn’t help that your dad’s, uh...pretty hot. Even if he is kind of intimidating. But I’d be grumpy too if I broke my leg and couldn’t walk you. Wish you could tell me how he broke it.”

Simon went on chatting to the animals until Puddles stopped short. Simon peered at the ground, keeping Jack’s list of the dog’s fears in mind. It was a stick shaped like a lightning bolt.

He tried to guide Puddles to give the stick a wide berth, but the dog wouldn’t budge. Simon studied the stick, trying to intuit what it was about it that made Puddles so afraid.

After a minute he snorted at himself. Who knew better than him that fear didn’t have to have a reason?

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll take care of it.”

He picked up the stick and threw it deep into the trees. Puddles let out a yip of relief while the other three dogs surged forward in an attempt to chase the stick.

“Whoa, whoa!” He pulled on the leashes, and managed to corral the dogs back onto the lane, even though it was clear that Bernard could’ve dragged them wherever he wanted if he’d chosen to do so.

Puddles nuzzled Simon and he rested his hand on the dog’s head, appreciating the softness of his fur and the warm press of his body.

“Maybe tomorrow I’ll be able to talk to your dad,” Simon told him softly.

Puddles barked.

“Yeah. Maybe tomorrow will be better.”

Chapter Three

Jack

Every day had dilated to a month, every night to a year, and Jack found himself wishing for anything—anything—to break the monotony of lying on the couch all day long and in bed all night. He wasn’t precisely incapable of doing things, but the effort it took to do something as simple as taking a shower left him hollow and trembling, every instinct of movement and muscle thrown into chaos.

He’d thought the last eight months were bad, but now he was a prisoner of his own body. A prisoner in his own house. A prisoner without even the mental escape into the worlds he