Page 83 of Between Us

“Ugh,” Blake spats, and the reaction seems like a big enough victory based on Mikey’s grin.

Shaking my head, I ask dumbfounded, “Where’d you even find that this time of the year?”

“I had to digreallyfar,” he admitted, a little pleased with himself.

Blake’s laughing at his mostly harmless failed prank when we hear a loud yelping sound and a man’s distressed shout.

Even from here, we can see his dog is limping as he tries to move away from his owner’s prying. The three boys and Blake all moved closer to me on instinct, as if I’m the protector in this situation.

But I don’t think they need protecting… I thinkheneeds help.

As if reading my thoughts, Blake looks up at me with a worried expression. “We can’t just leave him.”

There isn’t a lot I can do for him if his dog is seriously injured, and I have a feeling this will be another incident where Blake won’t want to call her dad for help. Against my better judgement, I nod. “Okay. Just stay here.”

Giving Blake a look over my shoulder, one that’s begging her to stay where she is, I walk toward the man who’s muttering too low to make out the words, but the distress in his voice is clear. He’s up on the sidewalk, under a streetlight. I kneel down next to him when I see that his lab mix is bleeding from its foot—no, its toe. It’s a fairly common injury in dogs, especially one that looks to be around ten years old.

“Hey, man,” I greet him, looking around for what could have snagged the nail.

He turns toward me with a confused look, grief pushing through to the front anyway. “Hello,” he quietly, but politely responds as I notice the deep crack in the sidewalk. It doesn’t look that bad from the way the weeds have started to grow through the broken cement. If you look closer, you can see that it’s a few inches deep and not very wide, making it the perfect thing to catch a nail.

“Can I try to help?” When he doesn’t answer right away, I tell him honestly, “I’m not a vet but I am going to school to be one. I can stop the bleeding, and once I do, I can see how bad it is. More times than not, it can heal on its own.”

“Mr. Gibson?” Blake’s concerned voice rips through the air behind me. I turn, wanting to chastise her about coming up to a strange man, even if she seems to know him. “Mr. Gibson,” she repeats, “I’m Blake. Your old student, Blake M—”

“Miller. Blake Miller. Yes, I remember you.” More relaxed, he adds, “You were always such a good student. Just like your brother… but not like that damn Davies boy.”

Her head actually falls back on a laugh as she kneels down with the boys tucked behind her. “Asher, yeah. He always gave you guys a run for your money.”

“Makes a man want to retire, I’ll tell you that,” he jokes, his face immediately morphing into regret at his own words.

I’m not sure what’s going on in his life, but Blake seems to know. She reaches out and squeezes his shoulder in a reassuring way, similar to how I was with Mikey early. “We can help.” Her brows scrunch and she looks to me with pleading eyes, in addition to the three sets looking over her shoulder at me. “Right?”

“Yeah, I think I can help. Are you okay staying here while I run to the store?”

The four of them nod and settle on the grass between the sidewalk and the beach. Luke crawls into Blake’s lap, like he often does when he needs comfort away from his parents. Shawn and Mikey sit sentry over the dog, petting him in a soothing manner. As I wait for a car to pass, I hear a choked sob breaking from the older man’s throat as I cross the street toward the general store.

Chapter Forty-One

Blake

Onceagain,I’mremindedwhy I continue to babysit the three boys even though they’re little hellions. They’re also really fucking sweet when they want to be and take the community aspect of the church very seriously. Though I think it would be hard not to, being a part of a family that’s relied so heavily on their neighbors.

For the last ten minutes, each one has offered Mr. Gibson words of comfort and soothing pats to his large dog, Archie. The dog has calmed down and is laying between the five of us while we wait for Adrian to get back, but his soft whimper tells us that he’s still uncomfortable and the bleeding hasn’t let up at all.

I let the boys fawn over Archie while I tell Mr. Gibson about the last few years of my life since I left the public school system. He’s asking me all of the typical questions an old teacher would be curious about—graduation, swimming, what I’m doing now. I usually do my best to avoid these conversations. For once, I’m willing to make an exception if it means distracting him for a few more minutes.

I don’t mention his wife who passed away four years ago, or what I’ve overheard from my mom and dad—he didn’t cope well with the loss, was fired from his job and that he’s been down on his luck ever since.

No, I let him pry and question my life in a way very few people are allowed. The relief is written across his face with every minute of casual conversation I let float between us.

And finally, about fifteen minutes after he left, Adrian jogs back across the street. He drops down next to me and gently rubs my back for a few seconds before turning to the task at hand.

“I’m going to need to clean it first. I don’t have anything for the pain, but hopefully once we stop the bleeding, some of his discomfort should be alleviated.” Mr. Gibson nods, looking concerned as Adrian pulls out saline for wounds, gauze, and cornstarch. We watch as he takes the lid off a to-go coffee cup full of water. He must have stopped at the small convenience store near here.

Adrian’s eyes cut to mine—and I can see his reluctance to do this, and it tears me up inside. I’m not trying to put him in the same situation my dad was in, but I genuinely don’t know how tonothelp someone who’s in need.

And when I—or really, someone I’m with—can do something for this man who just needs a fucking win,I have to.

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