Our limo turns toward the hotel, driving down a street lined with palm trees. My chest aches and I try to brush away the disappointment at my father refusing to see me. Why won’t he believe me that I didn’t purposely leak that tape? I’ve told him the truth many times. Ever since it was released, I’ve pleaded with him to forgive me—to no avail.

At least I’m making progress with Yessi. I think she genuinely likes me. And I’m crazy about her. I’m excited to get to know her during this trip.

The hotel comes into sight, and I start fantasizing about spending some time with Yessi tonight. Maybe she’ll loosen up after knocking back a few drinks with me. Before I can even run down the list of bars I think she might like, the limo screeches to a halt.

“Damn dog,” the driver yells as a stray limps down the street.

Ah, fuck.  

“Dog?” Yessi immediately asks, perking up and craning her head out of the window. “What dog?”

“Just some poi dog,” he says nonchalantly as he resumes driving.

She sits up straighter, trying to peer through the windshield now, looking this way and that. “What’s a poi dog? Is he hurt? Where did he go?”

So much for my chances of getting Yessi to drink with me tonight. I exhale and tell her what I know. “A poi dog is a stray dog. He just ran off down that alley.”

Yessi’s bites her lips. “Did you hit him with the limo? Stop the car!” She turns to me and touches my shoulder. “We have to find him. He could be hurt. Or lost.”

I quickly realize there’s no way Yessi is going to give up until she finds the dog. “Sir, can you let us off here? Just drop our bags off at the Kahala under my name.”

The limo driver turns his head with a disbelieving expression like I just asked him to drive off a cliff. “You two are seriously going to chase after some feral dog? Relax. Check into the Kahala. Enjoy your vacation. Forget about that mutt.”

At that remark, Yessi explodes. “I love mutts! Every dog has a soul and deserves love. Stop this car at once!”

He slams on his brakes. I slap a hundred-dollar bill into the guy’s hand, confirm my name for the reservation, and chase after Yessi, who’s already opened the door and left the limo.

“Yessi, wait,” I say as I’m running down the sidewalk.

But she doesn’t stop. She’s wandering in and out of traffic, peering into alleyways, searching frantically for the dog. We make our way to a sidewalk, and she jumps up and down, trying to see over the cars.

“Did you get a look at him?”

I shake my head. “Barely. He’s a big dog. Dingy white coat and pretty skinny.” I hold her in my arms. “I’m sure someone else found him. Let’s just get to the hotel.”

She squirms out of my grip. “Don’t you get it? That poor dog is out here alone and scared, and you just want to start your vacation? Fuck you, Preston! You can go to the hotel without me.”

Her deep brown eyes are glossy with unshed tears. Why is saving every dog so important to her?

“I’m not going to leave you here alone. Let’s go find the dog.”

I grab her hand and start running up the sidewalk, back to where our limo first stopped when the dog ran past. Drivers are honking, and smog cloaks the tropical air. 

My eyes search the streets, the sidewalk, the alleys for the dog. And in my fog, I’m brought back to Iraq. The hazy air and the smell of exhaust confuse me, and instead of scouring the landscape for a stray, I’m scanning it for insurgents. My fingers shake, and my breath comes in spurts. Sweat drips from my forehead, and I begin to lose touch with reality. Mortars whistle and gunshots ring in my head. I try to shake myself out of it, but I’m frozen in time.

Yessi’s voice pierces through my flashback. “I found him!” 

I shake myself off, wipe the sweat from my brow, and run over to her, grateful that she was so focused on finding the dog that she didn’t witness my PTSD episode. It would be another reason for her to be afraid of me. The real me.

I find Yessi curled up in the alleyway, cornering a sad-looking pit bull.

I exhale deeply and take a moment to try and remember the man I was back in Iraq. A man who would gladly lay down his life for his country and for his friends, and I feel a pang in my chest. 

I’m no longer that selfless. I’m no longer that man. What happened to me?

Yessi cautiously starts walking closer to the dog, who is filthy and sporting a tail that has some open wounds. I also notice some blood on his ribs, and he seems to be favoring one paw. I wonder if he was hit by a car.

I put my hand out to stop Yessi from touching him. “What are you doing? You don’t know that dog. He could be vicious.”

She laughs at me. “Are you afraid of this dog, Preston? He’s obviously hurt.”

“No, I’m not afraid of him, but he could attack you. We should call animal control and let them deal with it.”

She shoots me an angry look. “Are you insane? In case you can’t tell because you don’t know shit about dogs, he’s a pit bull. And he’s injured. Animal control will put him down without a second thought. We need to take him to a vet. If he’s not chipped, then we can get him healthy and figure out how to get him back to the mainland, and I can take him into the rescue. He’s skinny and obviously neglected. I’m sure he’s a stray.”

There’s no use arguing with her. “We don’t have a leash, or a cage, or a car for that matter. How exactly do you think we’re going to get him to a vet?”

“He’s backed into an alleyway. I don’t think he’ll dart past me if I don’t get too close. Go buy a hamburger and a dog collar and leash. I’ll wait with him here. We passed a pet store a few blocks back.”

Unbelievable. 

“Fine, I’ll be right back. Call me if anything happens.”

“We’ll be fine. But make it quick, okay?”

I run up the sidewalk, searching for the store she mentioned. The Hawaiian humidity drenches my shirt. At least Yessi doesn’t seem to care whether or not I look Instagram worthy. Not many girls would spend the first moments of their vacation trying to save a stray. And every girl I’ve dated since Kira has immediately taken a picture of me to post on social media. Not Yessi. Maybe she’s embarrassed by me.

I finally reach the pet store and buy a large collar, a leash, and a water bowl. Once I pay, I stop at McDonald’s and buy a plain hamburger and two bottles of water.

Making it back to the alleyway, my jaw drops when I see Yessi petting the pit bull, who is now nestled in her lap.

Lucky dog—I wish my head were between Yessi’s thighs. Maybe later tonight. “Wow, you truly are the dog whisperer.”

“He’s a sweetie. But he isn’t fixed. His ears are smelly, also, and he has some type of skin condition. Possibly mange but at least it looks to be demodectic instead of sarcoptic.” 

Wow—she can diagnose dogs, too. I give the dog the hamburger, which he gobbles up. I can see his ribs, and my throat tightens. A wave of guilt washes over me.

I’m starting to understand why Yessi is so angry with my store. Like Yessi said, this poor neglected dog would be killed immediately by the shelter. Just like my foster dog, Gidget would be. Everyone wants cute puppies, like the ones I’m selling. 

And every time someone buys one of the dogs in my store, a dog like this pit bull dies. 

I kneel next to the dog and put on his collar and leash. He doesn’t resist, and instead, gives me a sloppy kiss.

Yessi smiles and her chest heaves under her shirt. “He’s so lucky we found him.”

She leans closer to me, and I breathe her in. She smells spicy, yet sweet. I imagine sucking on her nipples, watching her hair cascade down her chest, making her come…

I brush the hair back from her face. “And I’m so lucky that I found you.”