Page 40 of Reed

Mase: Send us a photo when he’s home.

He? Home?

I give my head a shake. Mase needs therapy, for sure.

With a deep breath and with a confidence I don’t feel, I throw open the door to the dog pound. A girl who resembles a teenager is behind the counter, blowing a bubble while she taps away on her phone. She barely lifts her eyes toward me when she opens her mouth again. “Hey, welcome to Dogs Are For Life. How can I help you today?”

Dogs are for life. Seriously? Who would want to deal with a dog for life. It’s more like a life sentence for the buyer for being good enough to purchase one.

I clear my throat and feign a smile I don’t feel. “I want to purchase a dog.”

“Please fill out this adoption paperwork,” she says in a monotone voice, then pushes some papers toward me without giving me her attention, and I rear back at her rudeness. I’m hardly surprised they have so many dogs needing homes; she’s not exactly selling herself or the residents. “Then we will be in touch,” she adds on, and I jolt at her words. Be in touch?

Hell no. My nostrils flare and my jaw clenches. I need a dog today; she’s fucking up my plans, and it just won’t do. So, I lean over the counter. “I want one today. Now, to be precise.” I stab my finger down on the counter. “Preferably, an old dog.” They’re saying dogs should be for life, so this way, its life is almost over, and I won’t have to deal with it for too long.

She slowly brings her eyes up to face me. “What kind of breed are you looking for?”

My shoulders straighten. We’re finally getting somewhere. “A bulldog.”

Then she shakes her head slowly. “We don’t have any bulldogs.” She shrugs, then turns her attention back to her phone, dismissing me.

That’s it?We don’t have any bulldogs?Don’t have any? I glance around the reception area and wince at the sound emanating from beyond the walls. This is essentially a dog shop; they have to have some, but I don’t have time to argue. I dig around in my jacket, take out my black card, and slide it across the counter. “I’m sure you can find one.” She lifts her head, and I drill my stare into hers.

When she shakes her head, annoyance shoots up my spine and my temple tics. “Something that resembles one, then.” I nod toward the card and give it a tap.

“Resembles a bulldog?” she repeats slowly, and I nod again, with a mocking smile. Jesus, the world is full of idiots.

“I’ll go grab one that resembles a bulldog.” She gives me a tight smile, snatches my black card, and my shoulders relax. “But it’s not a thoroughbred,” she tacks on over her shoulder, like I should know what the hell that means.

When she eventually returns with a dog in her arms, my stomach sinks at the realization this thing will depend on me, and good god, it’s unsightly. I step back because what the fuck? Is it meant to look like that?

Its tongue hangs from its mouth like he’s attempting to take his final breath, which is perfect if you ask me. Although, the idea of it drooling freaks me out and causes my chest to rise, and when she thrusts it into my arms like I should know how to hold it, I can’t help the gag that leaves me.

Before I know what’s happening, she’s scanned my black card multiple times, shoved bags and paperwork against my chest, and almost marched me out of the building despite me not receiving answers to a multitude of questions.

Thank fuck, I purchased a new state-of-the-art, family-friendly SUV. I sure as hell need the space for all this shit.

Somehow, I get the car door open, and thankfully, the dog has the foresight to jump into the car seat while I quickly move round the trunk and shove the bags inside.

Now all I need is Shaw’s child, and everything will be fine.

I can do this.

CHAPTERTWENTY

GIA

When I suggested takingBryce to the park to meet with Reed and his friends’ children, along with his dog, he practically jumped at the chance, and now I feel a little guilty. When he was bickering with Tyson, I thought he was all talk, but clearly, I was wrong; the man promised to never lie.

“Where are they?” Bryce whines from beside me while kicking his sneaker into the dirt.

“Give him a chance, Bryce. He has a toddler and a dog to bring. He’ll be here.” I hope.

He lifts his head to face me, and his green eyes clash with mine. “Does he even have a dog?” Jeez, even my son is skeptical.

“He does.” I nod, then run my hand over my bump to soothe the anxiety creeping in. Reed is late, and something tells me Reed is never late.

Bryce’s eyes suddenly light up. “Can we go on the rowing boats?”

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