Page 168 of The Love Haters

Maybe when Cole revised the story of his life, he revised his story about Hutch, too. I guess, if you think your big brother resents you, and you always feel like you have to justify your existence, and your brother keeps on being unbeatably perfect, you might feel like he’s taunting you.

But once you understand that he’s trying to be perfectforyou…

It kind of changes everything.

And you don’t have to compete.

Instead, you can both just relax, and—say—sneak up on your respective girlfriends at the same time and toss them both into the pool.

GEORGE BAILEY GOTeight stitches for that paw injury, but they healed up just fine.

And here’s something true about the aftermath of our trauma bonding: George Bailey never knocked me down again after that. He’d still gallop toward me—lips flapping and ears undulating—but as soon as he arrived, he’d screech to a halt and just lean against me, instead.

Much better.

After the sinking of theRue the Day, Hutch and George Bailey, of course, needed a new place to live. They came to live at Rue’s, too—in the cottage next door to mine. George Bailey amiably split his time between dual residences. He stayed with me while Hutch was out working—making himself right at home, and sleeping diagonally acrossmy bed with such confidence that I wound up sleeping curled into a little ball.

It was nice in theory to be next-door neighbors, but Hutch didn’t stay at his place much.

All the fun people, he kept saying, were next door.

HERE’S ONE MOREupdate from the rescue. Maybe the biggest shocker in this whole shocking story: Lucky the toad lived.

He didn’t go down with the ship, after all.

George Bailey was holding him in his mouththe entire time, and he hadn’t been on board the helicopter five seconds before he opened his mouth, dropped the toad between his crossed paws, and then sat protectively with his new little pal for the rest of the flight.

Proving once again that sometimes it’s worth it to take a risk on love.

DOES GETTING KISSEDwhile trailing from a rescue helicopter Tom Cruise–style over the Atlantic Ocean answer every question in your life?

Weirdly, no.

After the rescue, Hutch had to get back to work, and I had to get back to Texas.

There wasn’t really time for chitchat.

I had a flight to make. And a cell phone to replace on the way to the airport.

And Beanie to apologize to.

Beanie was, of course, my main guide for everything in life—and so as soon as I’d landed in Texas and been given the go-ahead to switch off airplane mode, I called her while walking to baggage claim.

First, we had to process her rage aboutnot being toldI was on a sinking boat while she was on the phone with me.

“You didn’t think that was an important detail?” she wanted to know. “That wasn’t worth mentioning?”

“I was getting to it,” I said.

“How?” she demanded. “Backward?”

“I knew that once I told you, you’d panic—”

“Reasonably!”

“—and then it would, you know, change the whole vibe of the conversation.”

“Yeah!” Beanie said. “For good reason!”

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