Page 78 of Love in Training
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Randall says quietly, the corners of his mouth turned down.
“Thanks,” I say, so low I barely hear myself. “It’s complicated. We’d broken up before he passed away... Anyway, he left me Rufus.”
“Aha...” Randall rubs the dog’s head gently, obviously piecing things together. “He must’ve loved you very much.”
My eyes snap to his, but I can hardly see his face now through my tears. If Kyle still loved me, there’s no way he would’ve done what he did.
“Perhaps my opinion came through in my article more than I realized,” I say unsteadily. “I’m sorry. I should’ve let someone else do that reporting.”
I watch my boss’s eyebrows converse before he speaks.
“Actually, I was thinkingthat’squite a story.” He glances at me, clearly trying to gauge whether I’m bothered before pressing on. “I know this is personal, but I can’t help wondering what you could do with it if you explored more deeply. The scholarship was hardly worth writing about, but the entitlement, the family manipulation... the way the son bucked it all to be true to himself? Seems like quite a human interest opportunity.”
“Randall...” I stare at him, and he has the grace to look apologetic before I look away. He can’t know I have a draft ofthe story he’s proposing already started that I’ve been dithering over for weeks. “I actually wouldn’t mind helping Kyle give his parents one last ‘fuck you.’ But I already have plenty of powerful, vicious people mad at me. I’m not sure I need more of that.”
“You don’t,” he muses, stroking Rufus’s ears. After a minute, he looks up with an inscrutable expression. “Don’t take this the wrong way. But I just wonder what their son would want you to do.”
And what’s strange is, when he saystheir son, Kyle isn’t who comes to mind. When I close my eyes, considering, the person I picture is Drew.
Would he care if I wrote about his brother? If I did a deep dive into Kyle’s mental health—his passions, motivations? His defeats? Now, suddenly, I’m curious to ask Drew what it was like forhimgrowing up. I already know how it was for Kyle. But how did they end up so different? Why was Drew the golden child while Kyle was so firmly the black sheep? Did Drew simplywantto be a doctor, while Kyle didn’t? Or was there more to it than that?
Drew and I have been operating under a sort of peace treaty for the sake of the dog all week, but what would he do if I wrote a feature like this? Would it shift me firmly back to his enemies list? Would he resume trying to take Rufus away from me?
My chest aches. WhatwouldKyle want me to do?
I grip the leash tighter in my hand. “I’ll have to give that some thought.”
Randall pulls open the door as we approach the entrance of the building, and Tracy gives me a warm smile from the front desk. “Hey, Caprice! A card came in the mail for you. Is it your birthday?”
I furrow my brow in confusion. “What? No.”
She hands me a plain envelope the size of a greeting card. It’s postmarked Denver with no return address. Totally benignby all appearances, but as soon as I touch it, my stomach fists. I slide my finger under the seal and peer inside, trying to decide if concerns about white powders are prudent or paranoid. But all I find is a card with a flower on the front that readsThinking Of You...
Inside, there’s a handwritten note.
And your little dog too.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
Drew opensthe door of K9 Academy, taking the leash from my hands as I step inside. He doesn’t speak; he barely makes eye contact. Just focuses on the dog. Which is pretty much how this has gone the last five days. We’ve fallen into an uneasy rhythm where we meet for the sake of Rufus’s needs. We talk about the dog, about when to meet. We donotspeak any more about Kyle. Honestly, it’s been kind of a relief.
“Sit... good,yes. Now heel,” he says, taking Rufus through a series of basic obedience exercises as a warm-up.
Rufus follows in lockstep, eyes glued to the man’s chiseled features, ready to do his bidding. I perch on the little half wall, out of the way. The two of them are so relaxed and in sync, it’s almost like a dance. And it’s actually kind of fun to watch.
Until Drew and I accidentally catch each other’s eyes. We both turn away immediately, and I busy myself on my phone. But when I sneak a look at him later, I can’t help noticing the tension creeping through his shoulders. Or the way he keeps clenching his hands at his sides.
If the dog has picked up on any of this, he’s faking ignorance to have more fun.
“Okay, Rufus, go!” Drew commands.
The dog takes off on the agility course like he’s spring-loaded. Drew changes up the order of obstacles each day, presumably to keep it interesting, but the dog doesn’t even stop to think about it. He’s over the bar jump, up and down the seesaw, and through the tunnel like he’s done it a dozen times.
“Wait,” Drew prompts as Rufus leaps onto the low table.
I hold my breath. This has been the most challenging part for him, mostly because it requires him to stay still for a full five seconds. It’s obviously still cramping his style by the impatient look in his eyes, but he just spins in a circle before lying down flat, eyes still glued to his trainer. When he finally gets the release signal, Rufus takes off, soaring through the remaining obstacles, mouth open, tongue hanging out, wagging his tail and barking like he’s the happiest canine on earth.
