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Then, she’s gone.
I don’t leave my doorframe until her car leaves. Locking my door, I lean against it, my head throbbing. I sink to the floor, my body hitting the hardwood floor with a thud. It feels like my chest is splitting open; my mind spins like a tilt-a-whirl. Everything about this situation feels impossible.
We will be an uphill battle, and I’m not sure it’s fair to put Shiloh through it. She deserves a whole man, and I’m just putting the pieces back together.
This is how I’ll always be—a sad man who can’t talk about a person he loved very much, who let another person leave without knowing how much she’s made his life happier.
In that moment, I don’t give a fuck if it’s still January.
The bottle of Macallan still sits on the top shelf of my pantry. I rip off the stopper and tilt it over a glass but pause. Biting my lip, I stare at it.
Scotch fixes nothing. Maybe my punishment should be to feel everything tonight.
31
Shiloh
Isit on the floor of the kennel, and Bubba, the brown-and-white pit bull, presses against me. He snorts as he tries to get comfortable, stepping on my legs to curl into my lap. He acts like he’s a five-pound chihuahua, not an eighty-pound pittie.
I’ve unloaded my feelings onto every dog in this animal shelter. They’re great therapists. Dogs just listen, give snuggles, and they don’t ask for your insurance. Bubba is my main supporter. I’ve almost taken him home fifteen times, to hell with my grandfather’s apartment’s ordinances.
It wouldn’t be fair to him, though, but anything would be better than this cage.
I might sign adoption papers today, who knows.
“Do you love me, Bubba?” I ask, kissing the lone white spot on his head.
The dog looks up at me, and then lays his head on my chest. I sniffle as the dog listens to my heartbeat.
“I’m afraid.” My voice cracks. The dog senses it and burrows his head into me and lets out a huff. I pet Bubba’s head. “You’re making me feel better.”
The dog paws at me as we snuggle. Bubba has a mysterious past, one we don’t know the full extent. When he came in, he was neutered and the sweetest boy ever. Volunteers love to love on him, but the visitors don’t see how great he is. They just see his breed and his size. They don’t see his heart.
In a weird way, I feel like Rory sent Bubba to me because he knew I would be heartbroken. I would be doubting everything I feel.
I pet Bubba’s head, and his eyelids droop. It’s my favorite when they relax enough to fall asleep in my lap.
I’m staring at a discolored spot on the concrete floor when I hear a voice outside the kennel.
“You’re here again?”
I look up. Priscilla stands over me, with her arms crossed. I run into her once in a while here. I’m the first to alert her when a working line dog comes in, and sometimes I do the evaluation onsite to see if the dog is a good fit for the rescue without being asked.
The rescue doesn’t take bully breeds, though.
Lately, my heart has shifted to the bully breeds and I’m still the biggest advocate for the senior dogs in danger of living the rest of their live in a cage. Thankfully, we don’t have any dogs over six here right now, and that’s makes me so happy. I could run for president for how hard I campaign for the seniors.
“Bubba and I are pals,” I say, wiping my eyes. Priscilla’s eyes soften as she sees my wet and red face, how I’ve been sobbing to a pittie who has done nothing but snuggle me.
“Dana at the front told me you’ve been here every day this week.”
“I have,” I say. Anytime I’m not at the brewery, I’m here. Dogs are my coping mechanism of choice.
“She also says she’s never seen you sad, and she’s worried.”
“I know,” I say. In public, I try to keep it together. In private, it’s a different story. I sobbed for three hours last night watching dog TikToks and military homecomings. My heart is empty. A little dark cloud follows me as I worked my last few shifts post-Jackson and the customers and employees are noticing. I just smile and shrug it off, and when the door closes to my room, I cry. My grandpa checks on me, but there’s nothing he can do.
“Come with me,” Priscilla says, opening the kennel door two inches.
