Page 25 of Still Beating

And Dean still refuses to speak to me.

The silence becomes too much to bear, so I decide to break it as we sit alone in the dark—trulyalone. “I was going to adopt a dog,” I whisper into the shadows. I can hardly see him, but I make out a small motion, alerting me he’s not asleep. “You wanted to know what I was thinking about earlier. I was thinking about the two dogs I never got to meet last Sunday. I wonder which one I would have fallen in love with.”

Silence.

My words linger in the darkness, hovering between us, painfully ignored. I pull my knees up and rest my chin between them. I wiggle my toes inside Dean’s gray sneakers that are far too big for my feet. But they bring me a warmth and comfort I so desperately crave, especially now.

I close my eyes and whisper, “Goodnight.”

Dean never does respond to me that night. He doesn’t sing.

I fall in and out of a restless, tumultuous sleep, missing the sound of his voice.

Chapter Eight

T E N Y E A R S E A R L I E R

“Dean, stop the car!”

There’s an injured dog in the middle of the busy, snowy intersection. She is limping, half toppling over, cowering in fright every time a car zooms past, spraying dirty sludge at her and leaving her to freeze to death.

“Are you fuckin’ crazy, Corabelle? It’s a blizzard outside and we’re already twenty minutes late to breakfast.”

Mandy perks up from the passenger’s side, craning her head to the backseat to look at me with her perfectly lined eyebrows. “Did you forget your purse or something?” she asks me.

I shake my head, unbuckling my seatbelt and leaning forward, pointing my finger between them. “There’s a dog. She’s hurt.”

“We can’t stop, sis,” Mandy insists, her eyes landing on the pup. “It’s too dangerous. Plus, Grandma is probably going into cardiac arrest worrying about why we’re late.”

“We can call animal control when we get to the restaurant,” Dean agrees.

Mandy nods and holds up her Blackberry. “I can even call right now if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Are you serious? The poor thing was probably hit by a car. She’s going to get hit again!” I argue, my chest pounding with fear. “Stop the car, Dean.”

“There’s no place to pull over…”

“Fine. I’ll get out here.” I reach for the door handle like a rebellious idiot, drunk on adrenaline and the need to save this animal.

“Christ, hold on.” Dean pulls off to the side of the busy road as the windshield wipers squeak, gathering more and more thick flurries with each hurried swipe.

The car is barely in park when I kick open the back door and tug my hat over my ears, wincing when the icy wind takes my breath away. A car swerves past me and I jump back, wondering if this was a stupid idea, after all. I stomp my way through the six inches of heavy snow and pause at the edge of the street, looking both ways. It’s rush hour, so there’s a steady stream of traffic. The snowflakes are falling down hard, illuminated by the sea of headlights and making me feel dizzy. I decide to make a break for it, thinking I’m probably faster than the cars coming up the hill. I dash out into the highway, my heart in my throat and my blood pumping fast and hot. I almost slip on a patch of ice, but I make it to the median strip in one piece, ignoring the blaring horns and bending over to collect my breath when I reach safety.

The dog is lying flat on her stomach, her wet, shivering body pressed up against the curb.

“Hey, there. I’m here to help. I won’t hurt you.” I pluck the mittens off my hands and tuck them into my coat pockets. Then I hold my fingers out, slow and tender, watching as the cream-colored dog moves in gingerly to sniff me. “That’s it. You’re going to be safe and warm very soon.”

As I inch forward to get a grip on the dog’s scruff, I’m startled by a new presence.

“You’re a goddamn moron. What the hell is wrong with you?”

I jerk my head to the right to find Dean storming towards me in the snow with a furious look on his face. He pulls his hood up over his head as I glare at him. “Besides you?”

“Hilarious, Corabelle,” he grumbles. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I guess it’s your lucky day, then.”

“Will you stop?”

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