one of our newer dogs. She’s three years old and a total sweetheart. Passed every temperament test with flying colors. She came from a family with three young children, and the father got transferred to a new job. They couldn’t take her along, so they brought her here. I’d hoped Kiss would find a home with children.”
“Oh, Jake.” Terry’s voice caught. “Look.”
He could barely breathe, watching Stacey as she crouched to let the dog sniff her fingers. The dog’s tail was a blur, her body trembling, but she didn’t jump or bark. She put her nose to the wire and let Stacey touch her.
“I think you’ve found your dog.”
Without taking his eyes off his daughter, Jake smiled. “No, I think she found us.”
By ten that night, he was bushed. They’d gotten the dog settled in after making a detour at Petco, where not only did Jake arrange for a delivery of dog food and treats, a bed for Kiss, and a crate—because Barnes had said that sometimes she liked to sleep in one—but Stacey had picked out at least a dozen toys. They also picked out a pretty rainbow collar.
Kiss sat by Stacey’s side as she ate her dinner, waited outside the bathroom door when she took her bath, and despite having a big comfy bed waiting for her—one that Jake had spent an obscene amount of money on—elected to curl up on the fluffy rug next to Stacey’s bed. There was no doubt this dog knew exactly who to give her devotion to.
Now it was his turn to sit with a glass of Jameson. He should have been able to relax and enjoy the quiet, but he couldn’t. As he sipped his drink, his anger grew. He shouldn’t be doing this alone. Goddammit, he shouldn’t be doing this at all.
So, like he had every month since Brian left, Jake wrote him an email, giving him the details of how Stacey was doing, any accomplishments and setbacks. He never received a response, hadn’t heard from Brian since he walked out a few weeks after Stacey stopped talking, saying he couldn’t “deal with it.” Two months after that, Jake had received divorce papers citing “irreconcilable differences.” Yet he couldn’t stop sending the updates, wondering how Brian could’ve changed so drastically from the man he knew.
Perhaps Jake never knew him at all.
He pressed Send, took a deep drink, and turned on the news. More shootings, subway crime was up, and the fares on the bridges were set to rise again. Just another fucking night in the city.
“A big F U to us all. Thanks.” He raised his glass and drained it. Not one to drink during the week, Jake felt like being reckless. He poured more amber liquid into his glass, recalling Shea’s whispered words during their night together.
“Let’s get reckless.”
“Fuck that too.” He stared into his glass, and a weight pressed against his leg. When he looked down, Kiss sat at his feet, staring at him with her big brown eyes. “Hello, girl. You okay?” He scratched her ears, and she licked his hand, then padded back to Stacey’s bedroom. His email dinged, and when he checked it, his heart started banging.
Jake
I’ve got a modeling job in New York City. My first. I’m coming in tomorrow afternoon and was wondering if you’d have a chance to show a cowboy a good time. Unless you’ve already forgotten about me.
Let me know.
Jake sat back in his chair, a rush of unexpected pleasure surging through him. Excitement mingled with a bit of fear. Having a fling while on vacation was one thing. After all, you didn’t expect to see the person again. But here was Shea, making it more than a one-time thing, asking for an invite to his real life. And Jake wasn’t sure he could take that next step, so he waited to answer and, in the intervening moments, received another email.
This one was from Brian.
Jake:
I didn’t want to have to take this step, but now I see I have to. Please stop emailing me. We aren’t married anymore. I haven’t seen Stacey in two years, and I doubt she even remembers me. I barely remember her if we’re being honest.
What we had is over. I didn’t ever plan on telling you this, but I see I have to, since you obviously can’t move on. I’m getting married and moving to Hong Kong. Andy and I have known each other for four years, and before you think of emailing me back to