WHEN WE GET TO MY car, I stop abruptly, causing him to nearly bump into my back. Regardless of what he’s going through, he’s acting erratic and I don’t want him scaring Chloe.
“My five-year-old daughter is in the back seat,” I inform him. He audibly gasps and is once again pale and rooted to the ground. Why?
I don’t bother waiting for a reply. “She’s going to be worried about your dog but I’ll let her know what’s going on.” He looks down at his dog, sighs, and nods.
I open my door and slide into the passenger seat. After he places his dog on my lap, I hand him my keys and he silently walks around the car to the driver’s side.
Once he’s in the car, I turn to Chloe. “Mommy hit this doggy and he’s not feeling very well so we’re going to help this man take him to the hospital.”
“Is his doggy going to be okay, Mommy?” she asks, her little voice full of concern.
“Yes, baby girl. You don’t have to worry,” I tell her, not fully believing what I’m saying.
“Okay, Mommy,” she responds, and goes back to playing with her Frozen dolls.
As we’re driving, I glance over and really notice him for the first time. He truly is a stunning man, rugged yet soft at the same time. He has thick, dark hair that’s longer on the top and shorter on the sides and his face is covered with a stubble that’s more than a five o’clock shadow but less than a full beard. I’m not usually a fan of facial hair but on him it works. He has a strong jaw, full, lush lips, a strong nose with a slight bump on the bridge and a scar bisecting his right eyebrow. His face paints a picture and I find myself getting lost in it.
He notices me staring and when he glances my way, I gasp. His eyes are beautiful, a kaleidoscope of color and I’m in awe. They’re incredible. Wedgewood with brushstrokes of charcoal with flecks of navy mixed in. I could drown in your eyes.
He breaks the connection when he turns his eyes back to the road and it takes me a minute to come back to myself and find my breath because I swear I just saw his soul. His eyes are focused, his expression blank. His jaw’s clenched so tightly it’s twitching and his grip on the steering wheel is so strained, it looks like his knuckles are going to snap in half. The tension rolling off him is thick and heavy, making it impossible for me to breathe.
The drive to the VCA clinic in Redondo Beach is unnervingly silent. Even Chloe’s quiet, which is something that never happens. Halfway here, I realized not having his wallet meant not having his license. Between that and the choking silence permeating the car, I’m so incredibly relieved when we finally pull into the parking lot that I let out a long breath so audible he notices.
He gets out of the car and retrieves his dog while I head to the back seat to get Chloe.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Getting my daughter out of the car,” I answer.
“I can see that,” he says through his ever-present scowl. “My question is, why are you getting your daughter out of the car?”
“What?” I ask, thinking I must not have understood him correctly.
“I asked, why are you getting your daughter out of the car?” He repeats his question through clenched teeth, slowly emphasizing each word, like he thinks I need to get a fucking clue?
“I’m getting my daughter out of the car…” I repeat, also speaking slowly and emphasizing each word. Maybe he can get a fucking clue. “Because, we’re going in,” I tell him in a way that leaves no room for argument. “I hit your dog, I’m paying for it, and I need to know if he’s going to be okay.”
“Oh no you’re not!” He grinds this out through his still-clenched teeth.
God, he’s making this difficult.
“You don’t have your wallet,” I point out through my own clenched teeth, too angered by his actions to talk any other way.
Without another word, he turns and walks silently into the hospital. Shaking my head, I retrieve Chloe and her backpack. I don’t know how long we’ll be there and want her to be kept busy.
I enter the hospital just as he approaches the counter. I set Chloe down, pull out her toys, and once she’s settled, I approach the counter and grab the clipboard to fill out the paperwork. He’s in too much of a state to do it himself and I want to help any way I can.
I watch him while he stands unmoving in the room; his eyes glued to the door his dog just went through. “What’s your name?” I ask, looking at him from my seat, pen in hand.
My question gets his attention. He turns around and glares at me but doesn’t answer. “I’m not making idle conversation here.” I show him the clipboard.
He’s still staring at me like I just asked him to solve world hunger, but after a few minutes, he sighs and sits by me, leaving an open seat between us. He puts his elbows on his knees, clasps his hands behind his bowed head, and sighs.
I sigh too. “Look, I didn’t think you’d want to fill this out but if I’m wrong…”
He looks up at me as I start to hand him the clipboard but stops me with his hand, shakes his head, and finally answers my question. “Ean. Ean Montgomery.”
“Ian Montgomery,” I repeat and write down.
I point the pen in my hand towards myself and say, “Dani Adams.”
He nods but still doesn’t say a word so I keep going. “Your dog’s name?”
“Po.”
“Po?” I ask, thinking I heard him wrong. He just glares at me. Guess I didn’t.
“Po,” I repeat and write that down too. “Phone number?”
At his silence, I arch an eyebrow, once again, pushing the clipboard in his direction. If you want to do this, have at it.
I have to bite my lip to hide my smile when he reluctantly gives me his number. See, big guy? that wasn’t too hard now, was it?
I decide to fill the rest out on my own, using my personal information. It’s easier this way. If I receive anything from here, I’ll just call the hospital and tell them to call him.
When I’m finished, I go to the counter, hand over the paperwork, pay, and return to my seat. His eyes follow as I open a juice box for Chloe and hand her a snack.
“What are you doing?” he asks. His voice, once again is thick with irritation.
“I’m getting ready to have a party,” I answer sarcastically. What in the hell is his problem?
“Why are you still here?” he spits out, quickly pissing me off.
Seriously!
“I’m waiting to see how your dog is,” I say through clenched teeth, trying to keep my voice low.
I really don’t give two shits whether he wants me here or not. I need to make sure his dog is okay. If I don’t find out, it’ll bother me.
“Oh no you’re not!” he hisses. “You’re not waiting, I don’t want you here. You’ve already done enough for one day!”
I know when I’m not wanted. “You don’t have to tell me twice.” I gather up Chloe and her things and turn to leave. When I reach the door, I turn to him. He’s once again sitting with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped behind his downturned head.
As if he senses me he looks up.
“I hope your dog is okay,” I say and leave, not waiting for a response.