Page 4 of Tate: Gemini King

I grin and tease him a little to lighten the mood, “How the fuck are your arms twice the size of mine when all you do is split wood?”

My cousin smiles at my joke, which means his character has improved significantly since I left town. His wife Viola is definitely good for him. Terran has the moods of a hermit. He didn’t smile for three years before he met her. The entire family had bets going about who could get him to smile. I came close once because I nearly chopped my finger off with a butcher knife. He’s a lot less sour than I remember him. And I like the new Terran a lot better.

My cousin gives me a hug as his big old bloodhound Rogue bounces around us, trying to get between us. His big booming barks echo around the farm and he jumps up high with gigantic paws, drool flying everywhere and floppy ears whipping mud from the farm all over the place. Terran pats me so hard on the back he nearly knocks the tobacco out of the bottom of my lungs.

“Are you sure you’re lifting weights?” Terran asks. “You seem skinny.”

“I could say that you seem fat,” I shoot back. “I long surpassed your bench record. You should get your ass back in the gym.”

Terran scowls.“Shut the hell up, Tate. I have your puppy for you.”

Lately, Viola and Terran have been helping shut down suspicious dog breeding operations out in the country. Partnering with the fire department, they only expanded their operation and now, I get a cheap dog with a bunch of mental health issues that Natasha and I can raise together. I know she has the compassion to give our puppy the therapy he needs.

Our precious rescue comes from one of those animal abuse situations.

“How many illegal breeding operations do these people have going on out here?” I ask him, looking around with wonder at how anyone could have so much space out here and keep dogs cooped up in their farmhouse bathroom.

Terran brings his lips together seriously and shrugs. New dog breeders keep popping up due to an unfortunate new social media trend and he’s spent the past few breeding seasons rescuing more and more puppies.

“Hopefully this is the last one we find,” Terran says. “Come along to the barn… you get your pick of the litter.”

I walk into the barn where I see the little bitch with her pups. My favorite breed of dog… landlord friendly. Adorable…

I know instantly what I want. Natasha is going to love this dog. Terran seems impatient that I’m taking more than thirty seconds to choose. I point to the dog that first captures my attention.

“I want that one.”

“He’s yours,” Terran says, sticking out his hand for an unnecessary official handshake.

And with that, I head home with a 15 week old chihuahua puppy that I name Terrorist. He was the biggest bully of the litter, so Terran wanted to get rid of him. I don’t think he’s too big for a chihuahua. He’s cute. Our precious baby barks and whines the entire drive home. Natasha is still sleeping in her room when I get there, so I spirit Terrorist into my room, where I show him his new home.

I’ve been planning for this in secret, which is pretty easy considering Natasha’s sleep schedule and the fact that she primarily communicates with me through glaring.

He whines and freaks out a little bit, pissing like crazy on the floor and dragging some dookie behind him.

I’d better clean that up…

I sneak into the common space for some paper towels, when I see Natasha making her best effort to sneak past me to the bathroom. She has her towel wrapped around her body with enough of her back and legs exposed that my imagination immediately runs wild. The second she sees me, she glares. I give her a big, warm smile.

“Good afternoon, Natasha, did you sleep well?” I ask her politely. She communicates with one of her signature glares. She has a pretty face, even when she’s angry.

“Go fuck yourself, Tate.”

Goddamn. There’s something unexpected and crazy about how much she hates me. I bet she has some type of mental health issue. Our new puppy can help with that.

“I want to show you something.”

“I’m taking a shower,” she replies with disinterest.

She steps into the bathroom and slams the door dramatically before turning the shower on and playing music from her little speakers. I like her shower music. Sometimes, when she thinks I’m sleeping, I listen to her shower concerts. She can’t hit a note, but I find her shower concerts incredibly cute regardless.

Today, I want her to hurry up so she can meet Terrorist. I head back into my bedroom armed with paper towels and disinfectant so I can clean up after the puppy. He’s tiny and he won’t get much bigger, but I know he’s going to be the perfect best friend. Terrorist barks and whines more and more as I play with him and hang out with him.

I’m so distracted with the new puppy that I don’t hear Natasha stop her shower. I want to get ahead of the dog story so she doesn’t freak out, but then I hear her knocking on the door. I press my finger to my lips, making eye contact with Terrorist. His cute, tiny eyes bulge out of his apple shaped head. He tilts his puppy head to the side and I pray that he doesn’t start barking.

I hope Natasha can handle him on the nights when I work… I’ll need all her help to raise our new baby.

She knocks again – way louder.

---