“YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS TO start talking,” I tell Brit as she walks into my room. She raises an eyebrow, but walks further in.
As she does, I assess her appearance. Her dark hair looks washed, even having a nice shine that reflects the ceiling lights. Her metal-gray eyes look well rested with no red outlines and no swollen purple bags weighing her face down. Even her makeup is put together, with the perfect shaping and shading of her drawn brows.
Brit doesn’t look like she’s going through any emotional turmoil. The only distress she’s projecting is with her steps as she walks to my desk. Her footing is as unsure as her facial expression.
Pretty sure I’m scaring her—which is appropriate retribution for how scared she’s making me.
Brit never puts in extra time when she comes over, especially when we’re doing movie night. The only time she really does is when she’s masking the pain on the inside with an allusion of perfection on the outside.
She’s hurting. A lot, judging by the winged liner she has going on.
Her reaction parallels Dez’s. They’re both aching, but one wears their pain while the other numbs it. So what the fuck actually happened?
“What are you on today?” Brit asks.
“I want to know what happened between you and Dez.”
Her eyes widen slightly, but other than that she doesn’t give any reaction. Not until she says, “How did you know—”
“Because he woke Bash and me up in the middle of the night last night puking every little thing in his stomach.” I shudder at the memory. “And because he told me.”
My least favorite person told me because my favorite one didn’t.
Now guilt settles in her features, as Brit looks away.
“He wants to actually be with you and you kick him to the curb?” My head aches from trying to think as she does, trying to understand this push and pull that goes on with Brit and Dez.
“He doesn’t mean it,” she whispers and her voice cracks on the last word. “I think a part of him wants to mean it, but I’m leaving today so he’s trying to keep me tied to him. He wants to use me.”
“He said you were dating.”
“Code for fucking,” she clarifies. “That’s all we do.”
I don’t think so. I saw Dez and that is not the reaction of a person who wants to keep a girl only to ride his dick. Especially one that is going back to school two hours away. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Brit bites her lip and she looks down at her lap, where she’s wringing her hands together. “He’s done a lot and I keep wanting him to change, but that’s unfair to everyone involved. He is who he is, but he’s not who I want him to be.”
“Who do you want him to be?”
“Someone who doesn’t hide behind the lies on their tongue and tells the truths in their heart.” She adds, “I don’t want easy words to make me happy, saying what he thinks I want to hear. I want hard and difficult, I want to know that what we have is real.”
“And it’s not with Dez?”
She bites her lip and shakes her head. “I can’t stay away from him, because I want it to be him. I want him, but he’s not for me.”
“He also told me that you two took—”
“I can’t talk about this anymore,” Brit says, not giving me any time to answer before asking a question of her own. “How’s Bash settling in since officially moving to Florida?”
I concede to her. For now. But she and I will be talking about what Dez told me.
“Good.” I glance at my phone seeing a text from Bash and do a double take.
So, I did a thing.
Oh God. I stare at the text from my boyfriend.
Oh God.
I text back. Immediately sending another.
What did you do?
“What’s going on?” Brit asks.
I hold up a finger for her to wait as I stare at the texting bubble. When my phone vibrates with his response, my mouth drops open. Not at his words, because there are none. Instead, Bash sent a picture.
“Oh God.” I cover my gaping mouth with a hand.
“What the hell is going on?” Brit tries to grab my phone, but I swat her hands away.
“Shhhh!” I yell, looking down at the picture filling my screen. Staring back at me are the biggest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. I press a hand to my mouth as I make a call.
“Emery—” Bash starts, but he’s not getting the chance to finish.
“You got a puppy?” I ask and Brit mouths back, a puppy? Excitement is growing in both our eyes.
“Yeaaaah.” He drags out the word, like he’s stalling. “It kind of just happened.”
“Bringing home a puppy kind of just happened?”
“Well—”
“Bash,” I interrupt as he starts laughing. In the background, I hear the puppy give a high-pitched bark. My heart soars at the sound.
“Sorry, but come over here. He’s barking at his reflection in this mirror.” His voice sounds soft and distracted. “I want you to come meet him.”
I’m already out my door with Brit close behind before he even starts to ask.
They’re on the porch when I pull my car into the driveway. Bash’s back is leaning against the railing. His blue shirt is tight, just enough to see his muscles, but not tight enough to look like a douche. I don’t see a pup at first, but I do notice they’re not alone.
Xavier is standing with them. His face is bent down at the bundle he has in his arms.
He’s holding the puppy! A sense of giddiness takes over and I try to take my keys out of the ignition before I even have the car in park. Brit gives me a look as my hand slaps down on the gearshift.
“Em.” Her voice is full of caution, as if my behavior is scaring her. “You have this look in your eyes that’s freaking me out.”
“It’s a puppy!” I look at her, blinking. As if that would clear the glossy glaze of the craze.
Brit nods, slowly. “Yes, yes it is. And you don’t want to scare it.”
No, I don’t. I want to hold it.
I realize I’m acting a little irrationally. Even for me. But here’s the thing. I love dogs. Like lovelovelove them. If one walks by me, I’ll get all teary-eyed. This might not be a healthy kind of love, but it’s the purest form I know. Dogs give so much, do so much for people, and no matter what, no matter how much you screw up or fail or fall down, they will always be there to pick you up and love you.
Bash has never had a dog. His life has not known pure light until this moment. His momster took so much away from him during his childhood. Now he’s grasping at the fraying straws of memories he missed out on.
Bash meets me on the steps of his porch while Xavier is still hogging the puppy, making it hard to get a clear look at him.
“When did you decide this?” He’s never mentioned wanting a dog, only that he missed out on having one growing up.
“When I saw him,” Bash explains. “We went to lunch by the beach and they were doing this event. One of the booths had adoptions.” Xavier puts the pup on the floor and my eyes bulge as the small white and tan creature runs toward us.
I crouch down and his wet little black nose bumps mine before his tongue hits my cheek.
My heart melts as I scoop him into my arms. He licks my face again and Bash grins at him before finishing his story. “We were walking past and this sucker,” he rubs the puppy’s head in my arms, “starts crying as we go. So we stopped and he licked my fingers and I got him.”
“Just like that?” I raise a brow.
“I’m a very impulsive person,” he defends.
That he is. If he wasn’t, he would’ve never come here and we’d both be in different places in our lives. It’s crazy how some choices require no thought, only action and how those decisions can turn into some of the best of your life.
They open new doors and opportunities. New adventures with new people.
Sometimes life will open up a door you long since closed, where you open your heart to another person.
Or animal, I think as I look at the furball in my arms.
The risks in life might be scary in the moment, but in the end they take you where you need to be.
Later that night, after dinner with Xavier, Bash and I are sprawled out on the bed. Today has been exhausting. Between not sleeping because of Dez, Brit’s weirdness, and spending all day outside playing with the new puppy, this girl is exhausted and ready to sleep. The puppy is between us, sleeping away.
He doesn’t have a name yet. Bash can’t decide on one, so we’ve been calling him Puppy or Pup. Brit and Xavier kept throwing out names as we tossed a tennis ball around in the front yard. The last name Brit suggested, before Geer came to pick her up, was Muffin, which Bash gave a firm no to. Brit left after that, hugging me and promising to let me know when she makes it back to school safely.
As she drove away, I had a few tears prick my eyes, the watery bastards threatening to fall. This is the first time Brit and I aren’t going to be attached at the hip for the chapters we’re about to begin. She’s finishing up her sophomore year of college and I’m about to try for a career in my sport.
I’m getting all teary-eyed thinking about it now. It’s always been Brit and me against the world, tackling challenges and hardships together. We’ve always been there for a shoulder to cry on or for someone to toss confetti with in celebration.
She’s only going to be two hours away, but that distance feels tripled. No more best friend Sunday movie dates. No more walking down the dorm hall with a bottle of wine and cheap plastic cups.
My best friend and I are growing up and finding our places in life without the other beside them. It’s sad and nerve-wracking, but most of all, it’s exciting.
A little wet nose bumps my chin before yawning in my face as the pup snuggles into the bed. His head rubs against one of the pillows as he gets comfortable between Bash and me.
Bash has his elbow on the mattress and his head propped on his hand as he watches the both of us.
I play with one of the pup’s soft ears as I nod. “What breed is he again?”
“Pit-lab mix.”
I grab one of his paws and spread the toes apart. Pit bulls aren’t water dogs. Most of them don’t swim well, often sinking. All the muscle mass doesn’t do well with water, but labs are pretty much the definition of a water dog. So I check the puppy for webbing between his toes, the classic trait of a water dog. Sure enough, he has them.
The puppy tries to bite my hand. Bash pulls him away from me, cuddling the critter to his chest. The furball wiggles around, trying to turn his body around as his head is against Bash’s chest, looking up at him.
“He needs a name.” Bash’s hand rubs his little pink belly.
Now, there are some things a woman can’t deny. One happens to be when men hold babies and another is when they’re holding a puppy that does something to their insides.
Bash is an attractive man, a quality that isn’t just recognized by me, but also the internet, yet when he’s holding the puppy, I feel my face flame and my temperature tip towards feverish.
“What are you thinking?” I scratch at the base of my neck, pulling away the collar of Bash’s shirt I stole earlier. Guy t-shirts are so much comfier than women’s.
“I was kind of hoping you could help me.” He looks at me with puppy dog eyes that are mirrored by the wide, brown eyes of the pup.
As much as I love the dog, because this is the kind of love at first sight I’m on board with, he’s not mine. “He’s yours.”
Bash just rolls with what I said, not even letting the statement faze him. “Yeah, but you’re going to be here with him. And I can’t think of a name for him. So help me.”
“Well, when you ask so nicely.” I drawl out the words as I sit up on the bed. The pup pulls away from Bash and runs straight to me. I pick up his little three-month-old body and ask, “What’s your name, little bean?”
He tilts his head to the side in that cute dog way, like he’s trying to understand me.
“What about Hurlee?” I ask. “It means the sea tide.”
Silence. My answer is greeted with silence.
“Or, you know, we can go with another—” I try to backtrack, but Bash puts his hand against my mouth, shutting me up.
“I love it,” he says. “That’s his name.”
I try to respond, but it comes out muffled by the palm that is still pressed to my mouth. I run my tongue, slowly, up the calloused hand.
“Is that supposed to make me want to remove my hand?” Bash raises an eyebrow. Despite the cocky brow lift, I see the emotion behind his eyes.
Since I can’t speak coherently, I nod my head, his hand following the motions.
Hurlee watches us before he tries to bite Bash’s wrist. I grin as his hand falls away. The dog is on my side. Things around here are definitely about to get more interesting.
Hurlee starts barking, trying to get attention from either of us, even though I’m still holding him. Bash pats the bed in front of him and the pup jumps out of my arms and darts off, putting his oversized paws over Bash’s hand.
Hurlee tries to nip one of his fingers and Bash wiggles it in his face while laughing.
“Welcome home, Hurlee,” Bash says with a huge grin on his face.
Today has been the happiest I’ve seen Bash since meeting him. In over a month his smiles have become less sad; the out of practice awkwardness has faded away.
He still has rough days, where he doesn’t want to do anything or be around anyone, and no doubt will continue to have them. But his laughs aren’t broken, his smiles are brighter, and his life is fresher.
Like me, Bash is starting over. Finding his footing on a new path full of awaiting adventures.
But for right now, for today, he’s found his point zero. He’s found his base.
“Welcome home, Bash,” I whisper to him.