Page 59 of Puppy Love

I nod because now isn’t the time to tease her back. Now is the time to grovel for holding the trophy of the world’s biggest dick (with no dick).

“Look, about Friday…” I scratch behind my ear nervously. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. None of it. I got caught up in the moment, and…you were right. I really had no idea what I was talking about.”

I wait, trying to look at her and trying even harder not to stare. Cam hates being stared at, which I found out by her almost ripping my head off when I had been looking at her through the groom room window.

Literally, her text said:

Stop fucking staring at me or I’m going to rip your head off.

It isn’t my fault she’s so easy to stare at. Cam shakes her head, stepping closer to me. I can only imagine what she’s about to say.

“Violet, you’re an asshole.”

“Violet, I don’t give a fuck.”

“Violet, take your apology and shove it up your—”

“No.” She says it definitively. No hesitation, no uncertainty. I look up at her, puzzled, but she continues. “I’m sorry. Look—“ She’s standing next to me now, leaning against the wall alongside me. “I was hurt. What you said hurt me, and it makes sense that it hurt. It was a hurtful thing to say.”

“I know,” I look at her apologetically. “And I’m so sorry.”

She holds her hand up, which is my cue to stop talking.

“It was hurtful. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t true. I know what it’s like to not have parents. And you have no idea what it’s like to have dead ones. But I never had to live with the idea that my parents chose something over me. When I had them, I was always put first. I mean, my mom died—” Her eyes well slightly, but she blinks the tears away. “She died so that I could exist. And my dad, he did everything he could to protect me. To love me and take care of me. So I don’t have any idea either.”

The tip of my nose tingles, my lip sliding between my teeth as I chew on it vigorously and listen to Cam’s words. She sighs.

“What?” I ask. Cam is expressive. She doesn’t try to hide how she feels or what she’s thinking. It’s admirable. To just walk about the world so openly. She shakes her head.

“I’m just sorry you had— have—to go through that, Violet. It’s just as terrible as it is the way I had it. Maybe, from my perspective at least, worse.” Her hand squeezes my arm just briefly, and all the hairs on my skin stand up. “What happened to me, with my parents? It was awful. It was a tragedy. But you?” She swallows hard, her eyes glossed over. “It’s a betrayal to be put last by the ones who created you. I’m just so sorry.”

I try to adjust my eyes, but no matter how hard I try, Cam stays blurry. Then I realize: they’re watering.

I blink quickly, patting them dry and turning away from Cam so she doesn’t see me. Please, God, do not let the first person to see me cry since first grade be Cameron frickin’ Miller.*

Cam’s hand rests on my shoulder. But it’s quickly pulled away when thundering barks filling the air. Dawson’s body stiffens as he lets out the warning, and Reese snaps himself back to my side in his perfect heel position. Cam tugs on Dawson’s taut leash, trying to redirect his attention and calm him, while my eyes dart around to find what he’s barking at.

Then, I see it. Only a few feet away from us, a large, off-leash dog is sniffing the ground behind a tree. He’s unfazed by Dawson’s relentless barking but immediately stiffens when he sees Cam and me. She finally tugs him to her side, getting him to relax just enough to be quiet.

“Look,” she whispers, pointing at the dog. I nod. “He doesn’t have a collar, and he looks really skinny.”

My head tilts as I look at him closer. She’s right. Every bone in this dog’s body is peeking through the skin. Every ridge of his spine, every dip in his ribs, is completely visible. Cam hands Dawson’s leash to me inconspicuously. Then, she peels the slip lead I was wearing off of me and shoots me a conspiratorial smile.

There are two types of people in this world: those who try to catch loose dogs, and those who don’t. The fact that Cam is the former pleases me in a way I can’t describe.

“Hey buddy,” she says, crouching down near the dog. “Are you lost?”

The dog lets out a low growl, his lip lifted to reveal a set of yellow jagged teeth. Cam steps back.

“Woah.”

I’ve seen her deal with multiple aggressive dogs in the salon. Snappy Shih Tzus and mean Malteses, rude Rottweilers and grumpy German shepherds. But those dogs are vaccinated. Those dogs are restrained. This one looks like he’s lived his life outside and is completely alone. So her fear of getting bit is pretty rational.

Still, I love a challenge.

“Here,” I say, motioning for her to grab Dawson’s leash. She walks back over to me, her brow cocked. “Let me try.”

Cam looks at me like I belong in an asylum.

---