Page 4 of Keep You Close

Not two minutes later, he came back out with my gaming chair, then actually helped me climb out and drop my ass onto it.

“You sure you got this?” he asked, looking toward the house.

“I’ll manage,” I told him, sliding my backpack on my good arm, then scooting toward the garage door.

The front entrance had a step. The garage slid right in after a small bump.

The bump might as well have been a fucking mountain, though. By the time I got myself over it and into the mud room directly inside, I was wet with sweat from the effort.

Pain was exploding through my entire body, blinding me to anything but my end destination.

The couch in the living room.

It would be a halfway point between the kitchen and the bathroom to make life easier.

I could barely breathe and think let alone move once I finally lowered myself onto the couch.

When I reached for the blanket on the back, I didn’t stop to think about where the hell it had come from.

Or the coffee cup on the table in front of me.

Or the plant on the shelf next to the TV.

I just passed the fuck out.

—

Some time later, I woke up to something licking my goddamn face.

And a woman standing there with a frying pan raised, ready to beat me over the head with it.

CHAPTER TWO

AJ

“You’re being a big baby about it,” I told Samson, my Lab/Golden Retriever mix, who was letting out pathetic little whimpers as I sat there behind the front desk at the doggy daycare I worked at, stitching his favorite toy—a stuffed carrot almost as big as he was—back together again. “I did tell you not to bring him today, didn’t I?” I added as I finished the last stitch.

“Uh oh,” Ella, my coworker, said as she walked in from the back, her all-black uniform covered in various shades of dog hair. “Is it surgery time? Who hurt your best friend, buddy?” she asked, walking over to Samson, and giving his head a rub with both hands that had him momentarily forgetting about his baby.

“Dodger wanted to play tug-of-war with it,” I said.

“He’s a beast,” Ella said of the hyperactive Dalmatian to Samson, shaking her head. “Gotta keep your toys at home where they’re safe from now on,” she added as she came behind the desk to fetch a lint roller, trying to get rid of some of the hair before she got into her car.

Ella was in her mid-thirties with two girls—a tween and a teen—that were mirror images of her. Wavy blonde hair, long, lean limbs, round faces with big brown eyes, and the best smiles I’d ever seen.

On the days when Ella was working to take care of our overnight boarding guests, you could almost always find the girls right in the building with her.

“If my shitty ex found out I left the girls alone, even though they’re old enough, he would have me back in court in a minute flat,” she said.

Ella’s ex didn’t want custody. He barely took advantage of his visitation rights he’d taken her to court for years before. He just enjoyed making Ella’s life a living hell.

Luckily, her girls loved the dogs and were still young enough not to be completely annoyed to be stuck with their mom in their free time.

“Is Tucker here yet?” she asked, glancing around for our relief.

Most of the dogs were gone for the day, save for two of the dogs whose owners called to say they were running late. And, of course, the three that were boarding overnight.

“No, but go get your girls. I’m fine here until he gets in. You know how he is,” I added, shrugging.

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