Page 23 of Fool Me Once

In a perfect world, that’d be true. But I don’t know what’s going to happen. I have no idea what the next week holds. Who am I kidding? I don’t even know what the next day is going to bring.

“Stay as long as you need to, Gem.” His words have no judgment, and they aren’t laced with anything negative either. He’s only telling me the truth. “You’ve always been like family,” he says, offering a small yet reassuring smile.

Even though his words were meant to be comforting and sweet, it sends a twang of hurt to my chest. Because maybe that’s all I ever was to Smith Sawyer—something like a little sister.

“Thanks,” I whisper, glancing around awkwardly and hating that the silence is damn near suffocating me.

When I turn my attention back to him once more, our eyes connect for too long, making my entire body feel fuzzy, and I quickly pull my eyes away.

“I’ll leave you to it, I guess,” he says, almost like he’s asking a question. “Come on, Storm.”

He whistles to the dog, yet I don’t hear any toenails against the floor. When I glance over at where he stands, Storm is watching me. When he sees me staring at him, his tail begins to wag, and he barrels toward the bed.

Leaping up beside me, he nudges his nose under my arm.

“Oh, hey, buddy.” I laugh, scratching his head. “Is this your bedroom? Do you want it back?”

“Yeah, right.” Smith all but snorts, drawing my gaze back to him. “That asshole is a bed hog in my room. I even bought him one of those fancy dog beds, and he still gets all up in my shit.”

The way his eyes light up when he talks about Storm proves the dog means a lot to Smith. He called him an asshole, but it’s obvious he loves him.

“How long have you had him?” I scratch underneath Storm’s neck, and his leg starts kicking. “Is that your spot, bud?” I whisper, smiling.

“About ten months.”

His answer surprises me because Storm doesn’t look all that young.

Before I can ask, Smith solves my curiosity by continuing on. “A few of the guys from the team did a fundraiser for the Humane Society, and when we all went down to help gather donations, I saw that big meatball. He was missing hair in some spots and was in real rough shape from his prior housing situation. He was neglected and beaten pretty badly, too, but I could tell right away he was a good dog just by the way he looked at me.” He pauses, and my eyes float back to him. “The funny thing is, he usually doesn’t like anyone besides me. I mean, he isn’t mean or anything like that, but he acts nervous around most people.”

On instinct, I look down at Storm, fighting back the tears. His honey-brown eyes stare up into mine, and it’s like we understand each other. We both were hurt at the hands of someone we loved. I’m sure Storm asked himself what he’d done to deserve the treatment he received. I asked myself that too. I bet he wondered if he was a bad dog. I often felt like a bad human.

As if sensing I need a minute, Smith clears his throat. “I’ve got some emails and calls to respond to. I’ll let you settle in and all that. How about I get us takeout for dinner? We can DoorDash it.”

“That sounds nice.” I choke the words out, forcing them to come out as normal as I possibly can.

“Storm, are you coming with me?” he calls out, but when the dog doesn’t move, I hear him breathe out a laugh. “All right then. Guess you got yourself a buddy, Gem.”

“I’ll take it,” I whisper, running my hand across his beautiful fur.

Seconds later, Smith is gone, and it’s just me and my new best friend.

When I fled California a few weeks ago, I never imagined that my road would lead me here, back to Smith Sawyer. But this time, I won’t let myself get hurt.

Rinsing out my coffee cup, I take a piece of bacon and toss it to Storm, who leaps into the air to catch it before swallowing it nearly whole.

“Ever heard of chewing, bud?” I shake my head. “You’re lucky I gave you that after you traded me in and treated me like chopped liver.”

Last night, I ordered everything I knew Gemma used to like, and then I just hoped and prayed that she still liked the same shit. Her appetite seems smaller than it was when she was a teenager, but she picked away at all the different food options I’d laid out. And then, after we ate in practical silence, she said she was going to go to sleep. And when she did, my fucking dog followed her to her bedroom and didn’t come out until she opened her door about ten minutes ago.

Traitor.

Spending time with her like I did last night makes me wonder if she’ll ever get back to her true self. The one that is strong, fierce, funny, and sweet. Right now, she’s just an empty shell of the girl she was before, but I know the real Gemma is somewhere in there.

He couldn’t have taken all of her away, could he?

Just thinking that makes me sick to my stomach.

When I hear movement coming from the hallway, Storm’s tail begins to wag, and soon, Gemma walks into the kitchen in plaid pajama pants and a fitted black top that makes my cock stir in my sweatpants because, fuck me, she’s gorgeous. She doesn’t have an ounce of makeup on, and her hair is piled on top of her head with a bunch of random pieces falling out. Yet she looks like an angel.

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