Page 52 of Love in Training
“You’re not sure?” He makes a sound that resembles a growl, but he’s already kneeling on the floor next to Rufus, setting a backpack down next to him.
“Look, if you can just help me get him to the vet, I’m sure I can?—”
“He doesn’t need a vet,” Drew snarls.
My throat dries up. The dog is obviously sick, but as I open my mouth to tell him so, he starts rummaging through his bag, moving into action. He takes out a Bluetooth speaker first, which he turns on and places next to Rufus, tapping his phone until the air fills with loud, but soothing classical music. Next, he plugs something into the wall that resembles a diffuser and takes out these gray sock-looking things, slipping them onto each of the dog’s legs. Rufus hardly moves in response, and my stomach churns as I watch.
Drew produces what looks like a larger matching gray coat. He considers the dog and couch a moment, then removes his jacket and flattens on his back against the floor, squeezing his big body under my couch frame next to Rufus like a mechanic slipping under a car. I kneel on the rug beside my dog, trying to follow what he’s doing without getting in the way, but I’m left staring at the man’s massive legs and torso. His blue Henley rides up as he reaches farther under the couch, revealing a set ofverytoned abs and a trail of dark hair disappearing into his cargo pants. I force myself to look away.
The whole time he works, he’s stroking Rufus gently, muttering to him in a deep, reassuring voice. And then suddenly he slides back out from under my sofa and we nearly collide as he sits up, straightening his glasses.
“Sorry—I—is he okay?”
“Have you been giving him the Prozac?”
I frown. “Yes, but the vet said?—”
“It won’t be effective yet. I know. Just make sure you’re giving it to him. He’s probably going to need it this summer.”
“This summer?” I look to where the dog lies. “What’s the matter with him?”
“It’s the storm,” Drew says, like that’s something every preschooler would know. “Lots of dogs are afraid of thunder, but for Rufus it’s a thousand times worse because it’s triggering his PTSD.”
I swallow before trying to speak. This is a term I’ve only really ever considered in my attempts to understand Kyle and what he did. “Thedoghas post-traumatic stress disorder?”
Drew just looks at me like he’s hoping I’ll challenge him, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. I look down at my limp dog half-buried beneath the couch. He’s now wearing the gray coat thing, which Drew somehow slipped over his head and wrapped tightly around his body. It has a hood that extends up his neck, covering his ears and leaving only his face exposed. The whole thing would look silly if he weren’t so unresponsive.
“Should we at least get him out from under there?”
“Absolutely not,”Drew snaps. “We’re not going to take him out of a safe placehechose because it’s what we want.”
“Okay...” I say slowly, shoring up my patience because he knows more about this than me. “Then what should wedo?”
He gives me this look like he wants to tell me to go away and let him handle it, but has to concede he can’t tell me to leave my own home. “We sit with him. We keep him safe. And we wait it out.”
I shoot a doubtful glance out the windows. Rain still comes down in sheets, and if anything, the sky is blacker than it was when we got home. This kind of storm doesn’t happen often inDenver, but when it does, the intensity is always semi-biblical. If I didn’t have a clock to tell me it’s close to ten p.m., I’d have no way of guessing the time at all.
Drew has gone back to stroking his big hands down Rufus’s body and murmuring to him over the music. If I don’t fully focus my eyes and simply listen to the rumble of his voice, my brain could almost believe he’s Kyle.
Something hot sears through my chest at this thought, and I cough to conceal what was starting to feel like a sob. I look away, trying to block out the big, muscular man on my floor who clearly loathes me, trying to separate him from the man in my head who Iknowloved me—just not enough.
I rise from where I kneel, moving to Rufus’s other side, determined to do something to help the dog left in my charge.
I hesitate a moment, trying to figure out how to approach. Rufus’s back is to me, and Drew is on his other side, massaging his paws. I run my hand down his back a few times, trailing my fingers along the soft, feathery golden fur that isn’t covered by the coat. I’ve just registered that his whole body isn’t trembling quite the same way it was before Drew got here when another loud clap of thunder breaks through the music and he goes rigid under my touch.
I can just make out Drew’s words over the violins and flute as the thunder subsides. “Hey buddy, it’s okay, you’re safe, you’re going to be okay...”
Rufus’s body is still tense under my hands. I look around for a tool that might help, but I only find the squeaky llama he didn’t respond to before. I’m willing to bet he still doesn’t want food. So, I act on impulse and lie down next to him. I dip my head under the edge of my couch so I’m closer to his ears, and then I press my body up against his, spooning him the way I might if he were Kyle.
“Rufus, I’m right here,” I say in the most soothing voice I can muster. “I know it’s scary, but it’s going to be okay.”
There’s a lull in the music, and though I can still hear the rain coming down, thankfully, there’s no thunder. But in that quiet moment, I catch the faintest whine. It’s such a small sound—more like a whimper—and it breaks something loose in my chest. I would never claim to speak dog, but this clearly sounds like a cry for help. I press my face into the back of Rufus’s neck and stroke my fingers gently over the soft fur of his nose, repeating my words, or versions of them. Meanwhile, my brainfloodswith thoughts of Kyle feeling lost and helpless, the exact way his dog feels right now.
I shut my eyes, imagining myself pressed against his body. Saying words I never got to say.
I’m right here; it’s going to be okay.
Thunder crashes again around us, but I just stay there, tears streaming down my face as I whisper and pet the dog. My dog. The lights in the room are still on, diminishing the flashes from the windows. And even though I know Drew Forbes is also here because I can hear his low voice still talking, on some level, I register the feeling Rufus must have sought under my couch. Some semblance of safety—like nothing can get us if we just stay here together.
