On the other side of the counter I hear Sentinel whimper, but I tell him again to go to bed. It feels… good to be wrapped up in Kyle’s arms like this.

It’s over much too quickly.

He pulls back and I try to keep the sting of shame from paining my cheeks red with a few deep breaths. How did he know? I mean, the flashback was real, like I was back home, watching dad point to the cup with his belt in his other hand, his breath reeking of booze and the knowledge of how much pain I’d suffer in the face of such a minute thing, as not washing a glass.

Because when dad was drunk and got started, he didn’t stop.

How many broken bones had I written off as being a clumsy person? How many times had doctors or nurses asked me if someone was hurting me at home even as I turned a falsely bright smile their direction, knowing that telling anyone would make it a million times worse?

But now, with Kyle close and not passing any judgment or looking at me like I’m a victim or some poor, broken girl, I feel safe.

“I’m ready,” I say as I walk over and grab my purse off the table. “Can we take Jax and Sentinel?” I ask and he looks at the dogs, then at me.

“To get your truck or out to the horses?” He asks.

“Out to the horses,” I say, not wanting to bother Sentinel for the quick trip to my truck.

He’s stoic as he answers. “Sure.” There’s something off about him, some guarded look in his eyes that’s bothering me. But I decide to give him his space and let it go. He’s got his own shit to deal with and I’ve got mine. Who am I to get pushy?

We head out to his car with Jax hot on our heels. “He heard his name,” Kyle says as if that explains everything. And it does. Jax is well mannered, keeping pace with his owner again without a leash. Even when a car goes down the main road with a yappy little dog barking its heart out, he merely watches his owner for the next cue.

“He’s so well behaved,” I marvel as we stop at the car. Jax stops and waits at the door behind mine and I open it for him. He hesitates, like a good service dog.

Kyle’s order is sharp, his voice harsh as he says, “In.” Jax’s reaction is instantaneous; he is in the back seat before I can even see the movement. I close the door behind him and get in the passenger side.

We’re quiet on the drive, not because there’s nothing to say, but because we don’t feel pressured to fill the silence with small talk. It’s an amazing sensation to simply share space and companionable silence with someone.

We pull into the parking lot and my heart stops in my chest. My truck is nowhere to be seen.

“Did they tow it?” I ask, unable to believe my bad luck.

But Kyle doesn’t answer. He pulls his phone out and dials. “Hey,” he says, his voice cold, “Did you guys tow a truck?” he asks. I stare in shock at the empty spot as he rattles off details. Remarkably accurate details. Right down to my license plate number, make, model and year.

“Yeah.” I hear them talking on the other end, but can’t make out the words. “I see.” He sounds displeased and I hear the quick change in tone on the other end. There’s an apologetic sound that’s obvious even when the words are not.

“I appreciate it,” he says, his voice only a tad bit warmer. He hangs up and looks over at me. “It was towed. But you’re free to pick it up in a few hours.”

The thought of someone going through my things, touching my stuff, freaks me out. Everything I own – the precious little that is – is in that truck. And there’s a rather large amount of cash stashed. Well, not large per se, a few thousand dollars. Everything I’d been able to stash before running away. It’s the money I’m going to start over with.

“So what would you like to do until then?” he asks, and I look over at the store. Just yesterday I’d been here. I’d left a healthy Sentinel in the truck and went in to grab something to eat. Everything has changed in such a short time.

“Let’s go check on that horse,” I say, feeling lost as we head out of the parking lot. There’s nothing I can do. And that powerless feeling is enough to rip me apart inside. But what can I do about it?

We head back out and are back in front of his house in only a few tense moments. “We’re going to take the work truck,” He says, heading into the lot of the vet office.

“Do you have other work today?” I ask, skipping to keep up with him and Jax.

“Not unless someone calls. I do most work out of office, house calls and such,” he says. I’m fascinated, but the nagging worry crowding my mind keeps me from engaging further.

What if they go through my truck and steal the cash? It’s not like I can prove I had it. Or that they took it.

I follow Kyle to the passenger side of the lifted truck and he opens the door for me. “In you go,” he says, offering me his hand. I take it as he opens the back of the cab and orders Jax in. He closes both door and heads off toward his place.

In a few moments, I see him walking patently beside a limping, obviously tired Sentinel. I watch my dog walk, seeing the long gash along his side. He’s in such rough shape. I should have let him stay home. I’m being cruel dragging him along like this.

Kyle opens my door and the back door and pulls forth a blanket. He’s quick to fold it and place it in the extra space at my feet. Then he helps Sentinel in, lifting him carefully under the haunches in in front of his chest, well clear of the broken ribs.

Sentinel settles down and places his head on my toes while I talk to him. It’s heartbreaking how tired he it, how sore he looks, but how devoted he is.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, feeling the hot sting of tears. He’s quick to lick my knuckles as I pet him, and I feel Jax nuzzling my shoulder.