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“I shouldn’t.”
He held up his arm again. “Why, because of this?” He shook his head. “I make these jokes all the time. I made a mistake that cost me my hand. I can either wallow in self-pity, or I can make the most of it. I choose the latter.”
“And that includes dad jokes?”
His brow furrowed, as if he’d never heard the term before. Maybe it was a language barrier. I held up a cookie for him to change the subject. “Monster cookie?”
“Sure. Never had a monster cookie before.”
“Peanut butter cookie with oats, M&Ms, and chocolate chips. Carrie is an amazing baker, and these are super soft and gooey.”
He took the cookie and plunked down where Raeni sat, biting into the treat. He chewed and nodded. “These are good. Strange, but good.”
I took a seat next to him on another sitting log. “How was your first night?”
“Bed is comfortable. Sounds of the forest remind me of home, which was nice. Though, it’s missing the soothing sounds of the lake.”
I bit into my cookie. “Lakefront property? I don’t think I could leave such a place.”
Tyr stared at his cookie without responding. I spotted the unspoken sorrow in his eyes. He’d left for a reason, and possibly not because he wanted to.
I gasped and jerked back, almost toppling over, when Angel suddenly appeared in front of me. My heart raced in my ears and it took me several moments to calm down.
Tyr stared at me. “Are you okay?”
I sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m… afraid of black and mostly black dogs.”
He leaned on his knees. “That’s quite specific.”
I nodded slowly. The muscles in my neck and back tightened. He, like many others, was curious about the origin of this fear, and my gut reaction was to avoid it. But I had to be open about my issues; I couldn’t face them otherwise.
“When I was little, I started having nightmares where I was attacked by a black wolf or dog. I don’t know what started them, but ever since, I’ve had an irrational fear.” I turned my right arm, revealing the scars on my forearm. “Then, when I was seven, a black dog attacked me.”
Tyr frowned and reached out to touch the healed-over skin, then flexed away. I took his hand and pressed it against the sensitive marks—partially damaged nerve ending firing in odd ways. A surprising jolt shot through me alongside the sensation. It was similar to when I shook his hand yesterday.
I didn’t know why I did this. I’d only ever allowed my dad, Aya, and Diego to touch my scars.
His calloused fingers left my arm and grazed my cheek where a segment of my scar cut into it, sending an unusually pleasant shiver down my spine. His brazen behavior should have put me off, thinking it was okay to touch me like that. But a part of me didn’t mind. The touch was so tender, like I’d felt something like it before, from him, as illogical as that feeling was.
“Did the dog do this to you?” he asked, his voice quiet.
I nodded. “My arm took most of the damage, but one of his canine teeth managed to get my face.”
His attention shifted to Angel, who pawed at the ground, impatient for attention. “And yet, after all this, you have her.”
“Diego got her for me. I wanted a dog, and I needed to overcome my fear, so he decided we’d have a hard go with exposure therapy.” I scratched Angel behind the ear. She leaned into the touch, her tongue lolling out. “She’s been the best thing for me. I’m still working through my fear, understanding that I may never fully overcome it, but she helps, day by day.”
Tyr pat Angel, but his touch triggered her desire to play. He grinned and pushed against her muzzle when she got mouthy. Diego and my dad played with her like this, too. The muscles in my back tightened, and I worked on breathing to relax. This type of play always spiked a reaction.
Angel barked and then snatched her ball. Tyr chucked it a fair distance, impressing me. The extension of his arm drew my attention back to his tattoos.
“May I?” I asked, half reaching for him to indicate my intent. Normally I admired from afar, but with him, I felt an unusual compulsion. I knew I should be more careful with myself so as not to cross too far over the line of professionalism, which was blurred in this place a lot, depending on how close to a resident I became, but I barely knew this man. And yet, here I was, acting as if I’d known him far longer.
Tyr offered his arm without hesitation. I traced my fingers up his arm, along the bands of runic lettering wrapped around his strong, muscular forearm.Why do these feel so familiar?
It had to be because of all the things Aya taught me. Certain symbols and runes were commonly seen in Norse culture. It was how I could identify them at all.
“What do these say?” I asked. “Or are they just to look cool?”
