Page 46 of Fighting for Valor
Telling myself I’m only going inside for a minute, I pull the new weighted blanket off the bed. Twenty-five pounds of little glass beads sewn inside a navy blue shell. It’s ridiculous to count on something so simple to chase away my panic attacks, but once I have it around my shoulders, I do feel marginally better.
In the front pocket of my backpack, I find a tissue paper-wrapped cylinder that smells like passionfruit. A candle in a glass jar. Once it’s lit, I set it on the little table next to the bed in the center in the room, then sit with my back against the door jamb. I’m not inside, but I’m not outside either.
Ripper: The blanket’s helping. And the candle smells like you.
Cara: It’s my favorite. Good night, Ripper. If you need to, you can text me. I’ll keep my phone on.
The phone goes next to the candle, and I’m suddenly more inside than out. It shouldn’t be this hard for me to sleep in a bed or this easy for me to share my problems with a stranger. But nothing else in my life makes sense. Why should this?
Out on the lake, a solitary boat cuts across the water, its lights floating across an inky black expanse. The city lights frame the darkness, and the candle’s scent wafts over me. Maybe…I can move a little closer.
With the heavy weight all around me and Cara’s scent filling the room, I can take myself back to last night. To the few hours I felt at peace. And soon, I’m lying on the floor next to the bed, my eyelids heavy, a deep sense of calm spreading through my limbs, and I let myself go.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ripper
“Where are you right now?” Ryker asks when I pick up the phone.
“Safe Haven Animal Shelter. Woodinville. Why?” Charlie nudges my hand, and I skim my fingers along his good ear. He hasn’t stopped wagging his tail since I let him out of his kennel and told him he was coming home with me tonight.
“We’ll be there in thirty minutes. Stay out of sight.”
“Out of sight? What the fuck is going on, Ry?” Heading for the office, I hold the door open for Charlie, then point at the blanket Melissa has folded under the desk for him.
“Not over the phone.” The call disconnects, and my stomach twists into a knot. For three days, I’ve tried to be a normal guy. It’s getting easier to clean the kennels, and at night…I walk Cara from the bus stop to her apartment. We talk about…normal things. Her favorite—and least favorite—customers at the diner, the antics of the kittens at the shelter, even the weather. Nothing serious. Nothing risky. Hell, Ry would probably read me the riot act if he knew I hadn’t introduced myself to her as Rick.
Last night, though, things turned serious for a few minutes. When she got off the bus, she was on edge, distracted—almost confused. I had to press. And she admitted that she has a sensory processing disorder. That certain scents and sounds actively hurt her, and yesterday afternoon, her food truck boss came to work wearing one of the scents that turns her stomach. A scent she had to work next to for hours. She was practically in tears by the time we made it to her apartment, and I bundled her into bed and made her a cup of raspberry tea.
Caring for someone felt good. Like maybe I’m not worthless. I almost offered to stay, but she knew I needed to go.
So I walked home. To the apartment Ry pays for, but that I’m slowly making mine. Two days ago, I bought a plant. Last night, I texted Cara a picture of the dog bed I picked up for Charlie.
It feels good. Making a friend. One not tied to my old life. She has her secrets, but in some ways, she’s the most honest person I’ve ever met. Only problem? Every time I’m around her, I want more. And that’s something I can’t ever have. Not after what Faruk’s men did to me.
But I fall asleep at night with her scent all around me. Under the weighted blanket that reminds me of her. And while I don’t sleep well—unsure I ever will—I do sleep. For a full two hours last night, I even managed to find peace in the bed before moving to the floor.
Melissa comes in from the stable with bits of hay stuck in her gray hair. “That new filly is a piece of work. She won’t eat if she can see another horse.” After a pause, she frowns. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”
“I don’t know. One of my buddies is on the way. Can we…um…finalize Charlie’s paperwork? I might need to get out of here in a hurry once he shows up.” Fuck. If there is something wrong, I can’t bring the pup into it. But he raised his head when heard his name and the look in those eyes…
Melissa pulls out an adoption application, then calls for Charlie to get his license number off his tag. When the dog pads back to my side, I bend down and show him the new collar and leash I picked up on the way in today.
“What do you think, Charlie?” He’s wriggling like he just won the lottery, and I try to buckle the collar around his neck, but my equilibrium picks that moment to go sideways. I end up on my ass, Charlie licking my face, and then I’m laughing. Actually laughing. It feels so good, tears spring to my eyes, and I remember a little more of who I used to be.
Melissa stands over us, hands on her hips. “Okay, you two. Enough rough housing. Charlie? Sit. Rick? Sign this.” She passes me the clipboard once I lumber to my feet, and I stare at all the crossed out fields—including the ones for my address and last name.
Arching a brow, I angle the paperwork towards her. “Breaking the rules is one thing. Ignoring them completely…?”
“Rick Mercury.” She snorts. “I’ve known too many vets to believe that, son. You’re a hard worker, and I think I’m a pretty darn good judge of character. But if your name’s Rick Mercury, then Charlie there’s a pure-bread toy poodle. Now scribble something on the signature line and we’ll call it good.”
Last time I checked, I was a grown-ass man who’s seen the worst of humanity, yet there’s no way I’m going to cross Melissa. She hands me a carbon copy of the adoption certificate and a folder with Charlie’s tracking chip info, coupons for dog food, vet services, and numbers for some of Seattle’s doggie daycare options, then smiles. “There you go. Charlie’s officially yours.”
I’m not prepared for the overwhelming wave of emotion that hits me, and I drop to my knees in front of the dog—my dog. “No more cages,” I whisper to him. “No more bars. No more nights alone. Okay?”
His wet nose presses to my neck, and if I weren’t so worried about Ry’s phone call, we’d head for the bus right now and go home. Or we’d find out where the food truck is parked and go see Cara.
Instead, we spend twenty agonizing minutes sitting by the windows, Charlie resting his muzzle on my thigh. When tires finally crunch on the gravel, I stand and wipe my hands on my jeans. This is Ry. And I’m safe. But I can’t shake the fear that all the progress I’ve made isn’t going to mean shit after today.
