The dog runs up to me, tail wagging happily. I recognize the tail wag, and the happy smile on his soaking wet face. But the collar confirms that this really is Rex, not some other dog.
“What happened?” I ask, still standing beside my car, with the door open as a sort of shield between me and the dog. At the sound of my voice, he walks around the door and faces me. Fear shoots through my spine, making my hands tingle. He could attack me right now and I have nowhere to go. It would take me at least three seconds to jump into the driver seat and close the door, but I’ve seen this dog chase a ball. He’d have me in his teeth faster than I could ever close the door.
I take a ragged breath, tasting rainwater. I am fully soaked now. So is he.
“Are you okay?” I ask, as if he can understand me. He steps closer, tail still wagging. He lets out a little whimper. I glance at my phone, but there’s still no signal, and no way to call Caleb.
With my heart pounding, and my entire body shivering in the cold rain, I go against my better judgement and open the back door. “Get in,” I tell him.
This terrifying dog leaps into my car as if he does it all the time.
chapter eighteen
Caleb
Being stuck inside the house in a massive storm reminds me of our high school days. Back when the five of us all lived under one roof, constantly driving our parents crazy. As we all graduated and moved out or away, we stopped spending so much time together. Last year, all my brothers came back to the house to start this new business together, but we haven’t had a night like this since we were kids. Owen and Max play video games downstairs, with Ethan attempting to read a book while giving them commentary on how much they suck at the game. Leo paints alone in his studio, but emerges as soon as he hears me mention that we should make midnight nachos.
There’s no actual difference in real nachos compared to midnight nachos. Midnight nachos just means it’s the middle of the night, and that’s—in my opinion—the best time to eat nachos. I should probably go to sleep since we have a big week ahead of us, and Rex has another potential adoption meeting tomorrow, but the storm is too loud and the lightning is too bright to get any sleep anyhow.
So I make two massive trays of nachos in the oven and then join my brothers in the living room, soaking up the time like we’re still teenagers without a care in the world. It feels good to ignore all responsibilities and the looming stress of the gala, and then even more looming stress for the rest of my life.
Just for a little bit. It’s me and the rest of the Alden brothers. Dudes being dudes. No stress.
My phone lights up with a string of notifications. “Looks like cell service is back,” I say, swiping away junk emails and weather alerts. Signal goes out moments later. “Never mind.”
“Dude no one needs their phone this late at night,” Max says. “Not even me, and I’ve got women begging to marry me on social media.”
I roll my eyes and set the phone down. On a normal day, I wouldn’t think twice about checking my phone in the middle of the night. I wouldn’t even be thinking of my phone unless I needed to make a call. But tonight is different. I don’t like the way Charlotte hung up on me. It felt like we had finally gotten over some awkwardness and could be professional friends, if not even slight real life friends. I draw in a deep breath and run a hand over my head. I have to stop thinking about another man’s girlfriend. It’s just not right.
Ranger comes walking down the stairs to see what all the fuss is about. The look on the German Shepherd’s face reminds me of how my mom used to look when we stayed up too late, making too much noise. He was comfy and peacefully asleep in my room and we must have woken him up.
Or, possibly it was the smell of nachos.
He sits in front of me, eyes staring at my food.
“No, sir,” I tell him. “This isn’t dog food, it’s human food.”
“You think Rex is okay out there?” Owen asks.
“He’s in a ten thousand dollar kennel the size of my bedroom, with electricity and air conditioning,” I say with a chuckle as I pet Rex’s head. “He’s safe in there.”
“What about the noise of the storm?”
“Rex was a bomb dog,” I say, still playing with Ranger, trying to distract him from begging for my food. “He’s like Ranger. Noise doesn’t bother him.”
Working dogs are trained in all types of situations and settings. They take them to the gun range and put them in loud, busy crowds as puppies. They’re calm and collected anywhere they go. When I first took in Rex, his former handler told me storms don’t bother him at all.
As Ranger gives up on getting some of my nachos, he jumps on the couch and tucks in next to my feet, resting his big ol’ head on my knee. Ranger was a tough, no nonsense working dog before he retired. Now he’s a cuddle bug.
I wonder if Rex could be the same thing one day, with the right person. I sure hope so. We have cameras in the kennels, but as I try my phone again, there’s no internet to get the camera to pull up.
“Dammit,” I say, setting my plate down and standing up. “Now I’m gonna go check on him because you’ve got me worried. Rex has been acting weird lately—what if he’s suddenly scared of storms?”
“Sorry,” Owen says. “I’ll come with you.”
“Nah, you stay here and keep Ranger out of my food.”
I grab a raincoat and throw it on, heading outside. I jog through the rain to the kennel and fling open the door. Rex doesn’t greet me at the interior door like usual.
