Page 3 of Wanted

Stepping the toes of one foot on the heel of the other, I slip hurriedly out of my shoes and throw them over the fence. Within seconds, the freezing cold water soaks through my socks and numbs my feet. This is the only way to slip my toes into the small slots of metal and pull myself up enough to throw my legs over.

The fingers of my good arm wrap tight around the top of the wire, and I thank the universe it isn’t barbed or sharp in any way.

My breath draws out of me in an anxious pant as I climb. My broken arm remains clutched protectively against my chest as I straddle the top. Without hesitating, I vault myself onto the other side.

The rough landing jars my injured arm, and I cry out. A wave of nausea washes over me as my stomach roils at the blinding pain. My vision swims, animating the distant horizon.

As I lean down for my shoes and slip them back on, I gag. Choking back saliva as I run for the trees.

I don’t know where I’m going, but I know I’m not going back with him.

No matter what.

What a fucking wedding day.

1

Jude

One. Two. Three. Four.

The tension gripping my muscles slowly begins to melt away.

Five. Six. Seven.

The urge to keep counting stops. Feeling returns to my fingertips, the rushing blood making them tingle. The clack of my dogs’ nails across the hardwood floors joins the excited yips and barks as the pack vies for the door.

I step into a pair of filthy mud boots, slip on a black beanie, and shove open the exit to let this rowdy crew outside.

The group of dogs takes off to the trail for our daily walk. Most of them have been with me long enough to know the routine and stick with the pack. It’s rare that anyone straggles behind. Not that it matters much, as the entire property is fenced.

I drag a cleansing breath of Minnesota spring air into my lungs, ridding myself of the remaining anxiety flowing through my veins, and march off to follow my livelihood trampling through the woods.

Snow melts across the property, crunching beneath my footsteps. The trees remain bare for another couple of weeks until the buds begin to sprout on their branches.

There’s nothing I’d rather be doing than taking care of the dogs residing at my family’s dog sanctuary. My oldest brother, Lee, might be the business owner, but I live and breathe the day-to-day care of these animals.

They’re my passion.

They’re loyal and loving despite shitty upbringings. I never have to worry about their betrayal.

I see myself in them—scarred, broken, unloved, and unwanted by the people who promised to love us the most.

My body might be littered with scars, but they don’t fucking care. Hell, their wounds are both visible and internal—just like my own.

People have let me down over and over again, but I’ve not once been let down by one of my dogs.

I whistle and jerk my head toward the path. Grizz and Toyota bound across the muddy ground, chasing one another back to the trail. As we walk, I eye the fence for breakages after the long winter. I clean sticks and debris from the path and throw a couple of tennis balls for the dogs to chase and burn off energy.

We stop at the small pond. During the summer, the dogs will run in for a swim, but they’re content to roam the shore today. I gaze at the dark water and toss a couple of rocks into the depths, watching the ripples spread before throwing another.

I keep my life simple. Private. Quiet. Just the way I like it.

Ramona grunts around my ankles, so I pick up the old Frenchie to carry her back.

The sun shines down overhead, reminding me to grab sunglasses next time I’m out here. I prefer the warm months to snow, but I miss the swaths of gray skies from the winter.

I herd the dogs back to the main path to return to the house as my phone rings from my pocket.

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