Page 9 of Healing You
“Yvonne?” Steve said quietly.
She paused from watching Molly, looking up at him with a serene expression. “Hmm?”
“I'm a lot of things. There's a lot to hate me for. But that's not one of them. I'm not that guy.”
She swallowed, nostrils flaring and despite being waist deep in cool lake water, her face flushed pink. “What guy?” The question was pointed, and he'd be damned if she didn't really know what he was saying.
Putting two fingers in his mouth, he whistled, the noise shrill and loud and cutting through the silent sunset. Molly came instantly, jumping out of the water and shaking the excess moisture off before running by his side. “Have a nice swim, Yvonne.”
And with that, he turned for his house, leaving her alone in the middle of the lake and wetter than he'd seen her since she was sixteen.
5
homes. Even though she had a small rental office for her and Carrie to have meetings, it wasn't large T hat night, Yvonne got back to her one bedroom townhouse on the East Side. It wasn't the largest apartment they had to offer, but it did have a fenced in yard—a requirement if she was going to continue her work saving animals, since they couldn't always find foster enough to house the animals.
She tilted her head, walking up. There on her stoop was a small, wrapped box. As she opened the door, Gatsby was up and bounding toward her, doing that happy little butt wiggle he'd perfected since puppyhood.
“Hey, buddy,” she said, falling to her knees and hugging him. “You're feeling a lot better, huh?”
Pulling open the card, she saw the gift was addressed to Gatsby.
For Gatsby, the most gentle-giant dog I've ever met. Cancer can lick your ass. It's about time someone other than you does.
Love, Kyra.
Yvonne smiled at the note from her best friend and opened the present to find a turquoise bandana with Bite me, Cancer stitched on it. It was so perfectly Kyra. Laughing, she bent down to tie the scarf around her dog's neck. He sat patiently, then responded with a playful lick to her cheek before running off into the kitchen and nudging his food bowl with his nose.
“Nice to see your appetite is back.” She scooped his bowl into the tub of kibble before sending a quick thank you text to Kyra.
Stripping her soaking sports bra from her body, she shimmied out of her mesh running shorts and stepped into her shower, hitting play on her messages and putting it on speaker. She cringed as her mother's voice blasted through the bluetooth waterproof speakers.
“Yvonne Brigitte Sarzacki, why are you not answering your mother's call?” There was a pause as dead air hung in the message. And even though Yvonne knew rationally that her mother couldn't see or hear her, she froze. Her mother's sigh echoed into the voicemail. “Call me back. Your father and I want to take you to dinner and after... maybe you could finally show us your new... home.”
She could just picture her mother's teeth grinding together. Celeste Sarzacki may have been an amazing classically trained singer in her heyday, but an actress, she was not. If her mother had had her choice, Yvonne would never work another day in her life, and her days would be spent perfecting her back hand on the tennis courts while Jonah earned a living for them. No, no, wait... tennis was probably still a little too dangerous for Yvonne. God forbid she pull a muscle or break a nail.
The message clicked off and went to the next one.
“Yvonne, it's Jonah.” Despite the stream of steaming water massaging her muscles, she groaned, muscles suddenly tight at the sound of his voice. When she called off the wedding, he had spent two months straight trying to win her back. All those same tactics that had worked when he was courting her—flowers, phone calls, chocolates. All it did was to further remind her as to how smothering he could be. And for some women? They might love that. Somewhere out there was a future wife for Jonah who would relish being that sort of attention. But it wasn't Yvonne.
“I haven't heard from you in a while,” he continued, “and I just thought I'd check in. See how you were doing.” Click. Well, that was at least shorter than what he usually left her.
The next message was spam—some Internet search engine promising her animal rescue thousands of website traffic hits for advertising with them. She drowned out the long message, diving her face into the stream of wicked hot water.
Steam billowed around her and she inhaled, letting the heat fill her lungs. God, that felt good. Her muscles were still tight from her run, and she rolled her neck from side to side as she swept the soap over her body. Her mind wandered to Steve for what felt like the millionth time that day—and seeing him shirtless certainly hadn't helped get her mind off of him. The past thirteen years had been very kind to him. She brought the soap down her body, building a lather across the scar on her arm as his words from earlier rang in her ears. I'm not that guy. But his womanizing wasn't her issue. Never had been. She'd always known she had been different than the other girls in high school he'd dated. Their relationship had been different from the way she had to court him, convince him to go on a date with her to how he would devote his attention to her. She saw him for truly what he was; he wasn't some bad boy rebel without a cause. He was a grieving teen dealing with the loss of his father beneath a reckless facade. And extreme, adrenaline pumping activities helped him forget the pain. Just like they helped her escape her parents. They had two different destinations, but with the same path. Sophy and her cookie wasn't the wedge being driven between them. And if he couldn't realize that, then she wasn't about to explain it.
“Yvonne, it's Carrie.” Yvonne stopped what she was doing, sliding the glass door open so she could hear the next message better. “Someone called animal control to report a puppy mill. Laconia Humane Society arrived on the scene, but apparently, it's a nightmare over there and they're already at capacity. Can you be there tonight? If we can't find fosters for them...” Her assistant's voice faded away, and then she cleared her throat. “Anyway, I have a dinner thing tonight and I can't be there until nine.”
Yvonne scrubbed the suds quickly out of her hair and toweled off at a lightning-fast speed as Carrie finished the message with an address.
“Sorry, boy.” She leaned down, giving Gatsby a kiss between the ears. “Duty calls.” Cupping his fuzzy chin, she looked into his big mocha-colored eyes. “You understand, right?”
He licked her hand, and she snuggled him one more time. “You rest up and feel better.” Then, grabbing her keys, she was out the door.
WHEN YVONNE ARRIVED ON THE SCENE, A HANDFUL OF VOLUNTEERS WERE ALREADY THERE FROM THE Laconia Humane Society. The owners of this awful puppy mill had been taken away in handcuffs already for animal abuse. And thank God for that. If Yvonne had come in contact with them? She may have gone all Sarah Connor on their asses.
She looked around the yard. Cages were stacked one on top of the other. It wasn't the worst conditions she'd seen from a puppy mill... but it also was far from the best. Excrement. Matted fur. Possible infections. They needed a veterinarian on scene. She fumbled for her phone, texting Carrie.
Did you call Dr. Hidienbrand?
