Chapter 8

My dentist told me I need a crown. Replying with ‘I know, right?’ was not the answer he was expecting.

-Lark’s inner thoughts

Lark

Two weeks later

I didn’t know why I was following him.

I really, really didn’t.

Hell, I was on my bike, pedaling like the dickens to keep up with him, and I was still falling behind.

I didn’t know if it was due to me being a complete novice at bike riding, or because he was just that fast.

You wouldn’t even know that two weeks ago he’d been in so much pain that he’d vomited and cried.

Though, as I’d had time to think about the incident—and read up on it—a testicular torsion wasn’t a joke.

It was a really painful condition that is something men hope never, ever happens to them.

I’d felt bad for two weeks, which was why I’d kept an eye on him from afar.

When he ran by my house today, eyes aimed in front of him, I’d thought that I’d just go for a little bike ride.

I hadn’t seen him since I’d checked on him two days after the incident.

Ever since I’d done nothing but think about the man.

Today, it’d gotten to the point where I almost asked Hennessy if she knew Baylor’s number so I could text him.

Which would’ve been a bad, bad idea. Super, duper, very bad.

Hennessy knew that I had a thing for Baylor. She also knew that I was in a position where I couldn’t put anything into another relationship.

She didn’t know much, but she knew enough that she’d be concerned.

Which was why I’d been putting it off for the last two weeks.

Him running by today had been just what I’d needed.

I’d follow him for a little while, get my fix, and go back home.

Except that I hadn’t expected him to lead me into a part of the neighborhood that led to basically nowhere.

I’d just topped the hundredth hill when I realized that the road I was on ended at a path that led straight into the woods.

“You’re following me. Why?”

I blinked and turned, my heart leaping into my throat when I saw the man standing beside the tree, partially concealed in the shadows.

“I’m curious by nature.”

He snorted and grunted something under his breath.

“So, your curiosity told you to follow me?”

I shrugged. “Sure, we’ll go with that.”

He chuckled as he made his way out of the shadows and then took a seat on the curb.

“You come here a lot?” I questioned him, looking around the area as I did.

He nodded. “Every time I run. Just so happens that the neighborhood dead ends into this.”

I bit my lip, then decided, fuck it. I needed to know.

“Is your ball okay?”

Baylor’s lip tipped up into a tiny semblance of a smirk.

“Perfectly fine,” he paused. “Would you like to see?”

I shook my head frantically and swung my leg over the bike seat, standing on shaky legs.

Jesus, I was sore.

Who knew riding a bike for a few miles would make me want to lie down and cry?

He watched me get off, and his eyes warmed at seeing how shaky my legs were.

“New bike?”

I nodded and took a few steps, my hands on the handlebars as I guided the bike with me. “It is. I bought it at the thrift store. The lady told me that she bought it for herself, rode it three times for less than a half a mile each time, and decided that her knees were too old for that ‘tomfoolery.’”

He burst out laughing at that.

“Let me guess. Middle-aged woman, five foot six or so. Cute, curly red hair?”

I nodded emphatically. “Yes, how did you know?”

“My mom,” he began. “She had this idea in her head that she was going to start riding her bike to the thrift store on days that she volunteered there. She told me a few days ago that she gave the bike to a young ‘fox’ who looked like she could actually ride it.”

I grinned at that. “You’ll have to tell her that it isn’t that easy for me, either.”

He winked and gestured with his head for me to follow. I sighed as I leaned my bike against the tree and hurried after him.

“Where are you going?” I questioned as we moved deeper and deeper into the woods.

“You’ll see.”

***

“Pongo was my MWD—military working dog,” he said, looking at the fence. “He was mine. I had him from the moment he stepped on that shitty soil and stayed with him for four years until I got back here.”

“You were hurt?”

He shook his head once. “While on leave for an emergency,” he swallowed. “My sister’s death. I was hit by a drunk driver. Kid was four times the legal limit. I’m lucky I didn’t lose the ability to fucking walk when he hit me.” He paused. “Anyway, I was obviously medically discharged, but my canine partner wasn’t. When he was retired, I fought tooth and nail to get him once I realized he was up for adoption.”

“Once you realized?” I hesitated.

He nodded. “I was in contact with my old CO—commanding officer—when it came to Pongo and his whereabouts. The moment I heard about him, Pongo had already been home for a while. When I applied to adopt him, it was to find out six months later that since I had a pre-existing condition that they thought would inhibit me from caring for him properly, that I’d been denied.”

My heart hurt for him.

I looked back over at the dog who was laying at the fence, staring at the man just like the man was staring at him.

“How did he end up here?”

The place was a freakin’ storage facility. There was literally nothing there for the poor dog to do, and it was more than obvious that the people who had adopted him had done it for one purpose and one purpose only. To guard the facility.

What was in there that they needed guarding?

And would the dog guard it?

He didn’t look like he would.

He looked like he’d rather jump the fence and pounce on Baylor then smother him in doggie kisses.

Both boys looked absolutely miserable.

“Ninety percent of MWD—Military Working Dogs—are adopted by their handlers,” he said. “Then eight percent are given up to either former handlers or police agencies.”

“And the other two?”

“Normal civilians.”

“And what are these people?” I persisted.

“Former handlers. Well, it’s a husband and wife team running this place, and the husband was a handler. From what I can tell, they’re good people. They make him stay outside, but according to the letter of the law, he’s got shelter, food, water and periodic checkups. He’s well cared for.”

Well cared for and cared about were two different things.

“So, you what, torture yourself by running over here?” I asked curiously.

He shrugged. “Gotta get a run in anyhow. This is the halfway point between here and there.”

“What are the odds that he’d wind up somewhere so close to you?” I asked.

Baylor’s mouth quirked. “I knew someone that knew someone. Good friend by the name of Jack helped me hack into the files. Got these people approved.”

“If that was the case, why didn’t you just have him hack into your files and get them to approve you?”

He grimaced. “Thought about it. But I caused such a stink in the beginning when I found out that I didn’t get him that everyone in that department knew my name by then. Would look kind of suspicious if they gave the dog to me after everyone who’d been involved told me no.”

I frowned.

That kind of…sucked.

Really, really hard.

“Why can’t you steal him away?” I blurted.

“Pongo has…issues. He has to be seen by a vet at least once a month, if not more than that. Something about him having too much blood in his body or something. That’s also the reason he retired.” He paused. “Once a month, he gets taken to the vet, and they drain off excess blood.”

“Well, that just…sucks.”

He grunted in agreement. “Sure, the fuck does.”