Page 41 of Begin Again

She grins, plopping down beside me and immediately stealing a gummy worm. “No promises.”

Orion shakes his head, sitting back down. “Unbelievable.”

I side-eye him. “We are still going to talk about the gun thing.”

Smirking, he grabs the remote from the coffee table. “Sure. But first—the movie isn’t over.”

The scene on the screen plays on—Mikey and his friends running toward adventure.

Celeste hums along to The Goonies ‘R’ Good Enough, completely at home, like she belongs here.

And despite everything… I guess she does.

“So,” he says, voice deceptively casual, “where’s that big, fearsome Doberman guard dog of yours?”

Looking away from the screen I glare at him.

Valkyrie. My supposed protector. My four-legged menace who’s terrified of delivery drivers and aggressively barks at plastic bags caught in the wind. Who prances around like she owns the house, all muscle and confidence. She who—just moments ago—bolted like a coward, butt tucked so tight against her stomach she practically turned into a roly-poly and disappeared down the hall.

I exhale sharply and push myself off the couch. “She was just… startled.”

Orion snorts. “Yeah. She looked really terrifying running for her life.”

Celeste giggles, swiping another gummy worm from my stash. “Poor baby. I guess that could have been a very stressful intrusion.”

Rolling my eyes I head down the hall anyway, following the faint, pitiful sound of snuffling. Valkyrie is curled up in the corner of my bedroom, wedged between my dresser and the wall, chewing furiously on her favorite pacifier toy, the one with the obnoxiously loud squeaker. The moment she sees me, her ears droop, but she doesn’t stop gnawing, her jaws working overtime like she’s stress-eating her feelings.

Crouching down I rub her head between her ears. “C’mon, girl. It’s okay. You didn’t fail as a guard dog. You were, uh… assessing the situation from a strategic position.”

She keeps chewing.

Squeak. Squeak.

I sigh, grabbing the end of the toy as I give it a little tug. “Come back to the living room, baby. I need you to pretend you’re scary so Orion will shut up.”

Another dramatic squeak.

Valkyrie lets me take the toy but follows, pressing against my leg like she’s still debating whether or not the intruder is a threat. When we step back into the living room, Celeste immediately gasps, pressing both hands over her heart.

“Oh. Em. Gee! Look at her! She’s still so stressed,” she coos, reaching out like she’s going to smother Valkyrie with love. Valkyrie yanks the pacifier out of my hand and ducks behind my legs, chomping on her toy.

Orion shakes his head. “Some guard dog.”

Valkyrie, as if to prove my point, lets out a long, exaggerated sigh around the pacifier, then drops her pacifier as she tips her head back letting out a pitiful howl.

Not barking. Not growling.

Howling.

It’s a full-on, mournful, operatic performance. The kind that sounds like she’s auditioning for a wolf pack. She adds a little vibrato at the end to show us she’s really putting emotion into it.

Celeste gasps again, clasping her hands. “She’s serenading us! Oh, sweet girl.”

Orion groans, rubbing a hand down his face. He stands from where he had laid back down on the couch and leaves with a “Fuck this.”

“She’s expressing herself,” Celeste screeches, utterly delighted.

Valkyrie does it again, this time really leaning into the drama.

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