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He slammed his hand down hard on the hood, and I jumped.
His angry gray eyes met mine, and I bit my lip. “I’m sorry,” I said to him again.
He flipped me off and walked away.
Dropping my head to my steering wheel, I counted to ten.
At number five, the motorcycle roared off.
At number seven, someone honked behind me.
I opened my eyes at number ten, looked around—this time much more thoroughly—and started out once again. But as I drove, I became angry.
I’d looked for him.
Hell, it was nearly impossible not to see motorcyclists since my husband was one of them. I counted them. I instinctively listened for them. It was unthinkable for me to do what I’d just done today, and the only reason that I could find that I hadn’t seen that particular one was that he was going extremely fast in a residential neighborhood.
I might’ve tuned out the roar of his engine but when something comes up on you that freakin’ fast, it’s almost impossible to prepare.
I’d worked myself into a bad mood by the time I pulled up to Wade’s place.
It was a small two-bedroom duplex in the middle of town, and I’d hated it the moment he got it because of the girl he shared the other half of the duplex with.
And, to make matters worse, the girl that used the other half of the duplex was outside talking to my man—and the man that I’d nearly smashed with my van—as I pulled up.
Son of a bitch.
I contemplated leaving but chose not to, instead trying to ignore them all while I went to the cage at the back of the van.
Ignoring the discussion going on in the front yard, I opened the van’s door and felt my heart skip a few beats at the snarls coming from the cage.
The dog was snarling and snapping at the cage now, and I just…lost it.
Sitting down, my ass on the curb, I dropped my head into my hands and started to cry.
Crying was actually not a good word for it. Sobbing was more to my liking.
After three days of not coming up with anything other than I missed my husband, and then having to deal with the dog that seriously hated me, I couldn’t help it.
The dog’s situation was dismal.
He was seven years old, and in addition to the German Shepherd’s age, he’d been a military working dog that had retired from service. The reason he’d retired was due to an attack that had left him maimed—and without a back leg.
To make matters worse, his handler—as well as the handler’s entire unit—had died in the same explosion, and there was nobody that was willing to work with the dog.
He’d been scheduled for euthanasia in freakin’ Oklahoma due to the inability to work with the severely traumatized dog when I’d heard about him through my Facebook page. I’d gone to get him this morning
There was another group that was trying to adopt him so they could help him, but the dog wasn’t responding well to their handling. I was more qualified and hoped that I would be able to break through to this dedicated service dog.
He was in bad shape.
Due to nobody being able to get close to him, the dog had suffered. He’d been in a cage since he’d woken up legless, he was volatile and snapped at anyone who got close enough and was honestly beyond even my reach.
But I just couldn’t stand for him to be put to sleep without at least trying.
Which led me to now.
Sitting on my ass.
With the dog snapping and snarling at the cage, and my ex-husband talking to two people that I’d rather not talk to right then.
I heard someone’s shoe scuff the surface of the concrete right behind me, and suddenly I was up and in Wade’s arms.
I buried my face into his neck and sobbed.
I sobbed because of the dog.
I sobbed because of the news that I’d heard from Bayou about Wade’s leg.
I sobbed because I’d almost killed someone without meaning to.
I sobbed because I’d been wrong.
I should’ve never left Wade.
I’d ruined our lives all because I was too stupid to realize that Wade wouldn’t have been upset with me over refusing to donate bone marrow to my sister. He would’ve been disappointed, but he wouldn’t have hated me like I’d thought he would.
And the fight we’d had the morning of my sister’s impending doom about children could’ve been avoided too had I just opened up and spoken with him.
My breath hitched, and Wade ran his hand up my back soothingly, staying bent at an awkward angle as I practically hung off of his neck. He had to be uncomfortable, but not once did he shift his body or complain. He stayed holding me tightly.
Eventually my sobbing lessened, and I loosened my hold on his neck.
