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twenty-five
When Hobbs woke to the smell of pine, he remembered Hannah’s insistence that they buy a real Christmas tree. Christmas was less than a week away and she’d got tired of Hobbs putting it off. They’d gone to a tree farm yesterday, had even taken Gracie and George, and Hobbs had told Hannah to pick out whichever tree she wanted. She’d chosen the most expensive Douglas fir on the lot, and despite Hobbs’s protest that it might not even fit in his living room, she’d stood firm on her choice.
George, wearing an ugly Christmas sweater knitted in green and red with what looked like melting snowmen all over it, had seemed to take Hannah’s side in the matter. Perched in a little stroller, George had glared up at Hobbs when he suggested Hannah go for a much smaller—and much cheaper—pine tree.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Hobbs had said. “Go chase Gracie.” He’d waved his hand toward the tawny Lab mix, who’d grown quite a bit over the last couple of weeks, filling out her paws, her fur getting a shade darker. She roamed the tree lot freely, in no danger of taking off because she never got too far from Hobbs. She followed him around the house, sometimes tripping him in the process. She was always waiting for him inside the front window when he got home from work, her furry face behind the glass, her tail wagging as soon as she spotted him.
She was with him now, wrapped around him like a body pillow. The only way Hobbs could keep Gracie out of his bed was to shut his door at night, and then she’d cry out there in the hallway, which Hobbs couldn’t take. The only thing out of place this morning was George. Hobbs sat up and glanced all around; he even dug under the pillows, just in case, but the hairless cat was nowhere to be found. “Where’s George?”
Gracie gave a big stretch, making her body long, legs flattened behind her as she opened up her shoulders. She yawned, totally unconcerned about George’s whereabouts. “Well, that’s a first,” Hobbs said. “Are you two finally able to separate? At least for a little while?”
Hobbs did his business, washed and splashed his hands and face, gave his teeth a quick brush—he’d read that you should brush your teeth before you drank coffee, then swish afterward, to avoid stains and the acidity of the brew harming your enamel—then jumped into his sweats and began a search for the little cat. Hobbs didn’t have a lot of rooms or a lot of things, so even though George could fit pretty much anywhere, when a sweep of the living room and kitchen turned up nothing he got a nervous pit in his stomach. He even looked under the new Christmas tree, which dominated the corner where one of his end tables used to be, the smell of pine strong and merry. As soon as Hannah, who was aghast that Hobbs didn’t own a tree skirt, had thrown a blanket under there, George had curled up under the branches and made himself at home. This morning, though, the spot under the tree was bare.
Hobbs measured out the coffee grounds and flicked on the pot, hoping George might come running to the sounds of life in the kitchen. When he didn’t, that left only one place to look.
Hannah’s bedroom door was ajar, so Hobbs lightly pressed it open and peered into the darkness. Gracie, at his heels, poked her head in, too. Sunlight from the hallway spilled over Hannah’s sleeping mound—she’d been sleeping later ever since Tabitha started giving her massages—and there was George, right next to Hannah’s head on her pillow. Hobbs might not have spotted him if it weren’t for his yellow eyes, because he was covered in one of those dumb quilts Hannah kept making. George lifted his little face and glared at them.
Hobbs pulled the door to its original position and headed back to the kitchen, where the smoky scent of coffee was overtaking the piney Christmas tree. He glanced down at Gracie, who’d followed him every step of the way. “You see that?” Hobbs pointed in the direction of Hannah’s room. “Your buddy didn’t sleep with you. Or follow us. And I know he saw you.”
Gracie tossed her head and went to the front door, where her leash hung. This was another daily routine that had somehow become Hobbs’s chore, not for lack of Hannah trying. Gracie just wanted to be with Hobbs. He leashed her up and forewent the cat stroller, which typically made Hannah poke fun at him for being this big, buff guy walking his kitty stroller, but today, George did not come running to join them.
“You know you’re supposed to be hanging out with the lady, right?” Hobbs said as they headed up the sidewalk, Gracie walking politely at his side, eager to get to her favorite patch of community grass that was just over the rise, across the street from the kids’ playground. The air was dry and on the warmer side for mid-December, no wind and the faint scent of a wood-burning fireplace on the air. Gracie trotted happily, not looking the slightest bit guilty, or like she missed the presence of her hairless cat. “You know that someday, unless someone else adopts you, you’ll go live in Omaha with Hannah. It’s flatter. With more snow. So you should kinda sorta start to get to know her, if you know what I’m saying.”
Gracie tugged only the slightest bit when they crested the hill and she spied her grass patch—an open lot maintained by the homeowners’ association—dotted in cherry trees, a few park benches and a receptacle specifically to dispose of dog poo, complete with a metal container that was supposed to be filled with bags for this purpose. Right now, it was empty, but Hobbs had his own bags, in a little plastic thing Hannah had bought that clipped to the leash. “She went to town on you with all this stuff,” Hobbs said, dropping the leash as Gracie raced to her patch and squatted down. Nobody else was here, so he wasn’t worried about being yelled at about leash laws. “And you don’t even give her the time of day.” He briefly wondered if that mattered, now that George had suddenly taken Hannah in his favor. Was it the stupid blankets? The thought made Hobbs smile.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He drew it out to reveal a text from Sean.
Checking in. Anything new? How’s Hannah?
Hobbs had to admit, despite not being able to do much, Sean had gone the extra mile for Hannah after their conversation at the bike shop. He’d looked into Timbley’s background and talked to Hobbs after his workout the next night. “Those texts she got are from a burner phone, just like we thought. So that’s no help. But I know this guy’s type. They’re the worst kind of bad news because they always look pretty good on paper. At least for a while. Everyone thinks they’re charming and could do no wrong. But I can see the patterns. Frequent job changes, which is usually due to issues with authority. He’s moved around a lot, too, which by itself isn’t anything, but based on what happened with Hannah, it makes me wonder. There are probably other scared women out there.”
Hobbs typed back.The texts went quiet after she changed her number. So far, so good.
Good. So Delaney wanted me to pass on that she stocks some personal defense stuff at the shop, like pepper spray and brass knuckles. She said Hannah can come by anytime and she’ll drop her some for free. Not that we think she’ll need them. Just being safe.
Hobbs smiled to himself and almost typedWhat, no Taser?but decided not to joke around.
Thanks. Will do.Hobbs didn’t add that he hadn’t heard from Victor in a few days, which made him kind of nervous. Victor had been checking in daily, oftentimes giving a report of where he’d tailed James to, whether to his job or a bar, if he’d seen him with a random woman, etc. But there’d been nothing since the weekend. On one hand, Hobbs thought Victor’s obsession with tailing Hannah’s ex around town was over the top, but on the other, Hobbs liked knowing where the scumbag was, that Victor’s eyes had been on him in Omaha.
All right. See you tonight at the gym.
Hobbs cleaned up after Gracie and got her back home. The house was quiet and stayed that way while Hobbs fed Gracie, enjoyed his coffee and watchedGood Morning Football. “Look at that,” Hobbs said to Gracie. “Does that look like an angry run to you?” He watched as a quarterback broke a sack and plowed his way down the field, mowing over a guy twice his size and leaping over another like a ballerina. “Angry Runs” was a self-explanatory segment of the show that Hobbs enjoyed the most. “I bet you can out-angry-run that guy in a heartbeat.”
Gracie crunched her kibble in reply, but actually did look up at the television.
“Right?” Hobbs finished his coffee and laughed at the dog, who really seemed to enjoy the segment. “Nobody could catch you. You could make the draft next year.” He glanced at his watch and decided that if he left now, he could swing by Triple M Classics and see what Delaney had in mind for Hannah. That was his excuse, anyway. In truth, Hobbs was hoping that Tabitha would be there and maybe they could talk a little bit. Ever since the kiss at the shop the other week, she’d politely avoided him at the gym and Hobbs couldn’t blame her. In fact, he’d invited that. That had been what he wanted, right? Just casual fun, nothing serious. Which would be great if he could stop thinking about her. But now, even when he’d tried to have a casual thing, like with Serena, there Tabitha was, in his head. Always in his head. The way she felt when she slipped her hand into his. The way her lips tasted. Those deep, warm eyes...
Hobbs sighed and shook himself free. He pulled his hoodie on, grabbed his gym bag and his keys. Gracie followed him to the door.
“You know you can’t come. I have too many clients to keep an eye on you.”
Gracie sat politely, legs straight, head held high. She whined from the back of her throat. Just then, Hannah shuffled down the hallway. Her hair was a mess and she still had her pajamas on. She carried George, wrapped in his blanket. “Morning,” she mumbled.
“Go to Hannah.” Hobbs snapped his fingers and pointed. Gracie glanced at Hannah, but turned back to Hobbs and whined again. “Sorry, girl. I’ve got to go.”
“Gracie, come.” Hannah’s command was lackluster, like she knew it would do no good. “You walk her?”
“Yep. Again.”
