Page 83 of Love in Training
The first part of my plan goes sideways as soon as we step outside theObserveroffice. A strong wind whips both my ponytail and the hem of my skirt. I stop to study the sky, and Rufus’s ears immediately flatten to a nervous position. We haven’t had a major storm since the week of the scholarship ceremony, but I don’t like the color of the clouds coming down from the mountains. When the dog issues a low whine and starts panting next to me, I give him a reassuring pat and head straight home.
The rain starts a block away from my building. Just a few drops at first, but it’s steady by the time we dash through the front doors. There’s a low rumble of thunder as we step into the elevator, mostly drowned out as the doors close, but the dog still squeezes his powerful body between me and the wall. I cross my fingers all the way to the fifth floor that this is one of those fast-moving storms that skips over Denver on its way to the eastern plains.
We have no such luck.
One hour later, I have loud big band music playing (the best I could do to drown out the thunder), and I’ve turned on every light in my apartment. Lightning flashes every few moments, and as I squeeze Rufus into the coat and leggings Drew left here, I make a mental note to order blackout curtains. The dog visibly flinches with each roll of thunder, so I turn up the music. He’s refused to eat his dinner, refused every treat I’ve offered—even peanut butter. And I’m starting to feel like the few wins I thought I had with him this week were just surface and I have donenothingto actually help this dog.
The only thing that’s even remotely better since the last storm is that he’s standing up and pacing rather than squeezed under the frame of my couch—or at least it feels like an improvement. Until around ten o’clock, when I see him start to circle and position himself like he does when he’s about to poop.
“No—no,” I say, snatching my keys up with his leash. “Not again.”
We’re out the door and headed for the stairs before the next crash of thunder because the only place that might be worse to clean up diarrhea would have to be my building’s elevator. I’m pretty sure going out into the black of night in this storm is a bad idea, but I don’t know what else to do. We cling to the side of the building once we’re outside, and almost immediately, the dog finds a patch of grass and squats. As the next flash of lightning lights up the sky, I cover my mouth and avert my eyes, hoping it rains hard enough to wash away what he’s doing because there’s no way that’s solid enough to pick up.
Rufus repeats these motions a few more times until it seems less urgent and I’m able to focus on something besides him. The street we’re on is empty—unsurprising because it is pouring—but it’s so black out I doubt I’d see anyone if they were coming. Still, it’s starting to feel eerie, standing out here in a thunderstorm alone.
As soon as the dog is done pooping, he turns right around, clearly anxious to get inside. But as we round the corner and head toward my building’s entrance, the sky lights up again, illuminating a figure coming toward us in the dark.
A large and looming silhouette of a man.
I stop in my tracks, realizing we left my apartment so fast I didn’t have time to grab my belt bag with its cache of personal protection options. It’s just me and the dog.
I secure the leash in my hand and glance down at Rufus, who now stands alert and focused despite the storm, clearly watching the guy coming toward us. I’m not sure I could hear over the rain if he’s growling. But why would he be? The guy is probably just another unfortunate pedestrian trying to get home in the rain. It only looks like he’s coming straight for us.
Still, I take a defensive stance. Enough has gone sideways for me this week; I’m not taking any chances. The man is between us and my building’s entrance, but I eyeball it and decide to dash past him. I pull back on the leash, thinking the wordsgo get himin my head just in case I need to say them out loud. If they would even work. At my side, Rufus stays rigid, laser-focused on the approaching threat.
Until suddenly he lunges. It all happens before I can stop it. One moment we’re approaching the man, and the next—before I can give any command—Rufus launches himself at the shadowy form. I screech, heart pounding with the thunder, because either the dog is attacking an innocent person, or the person he’s attacking is not innocent. But then a bolt of lightning illuminates the sky once more, and in that fleeting moment, with a surge of dread, I recognize the man.
CHAPTER
THIRTY
“What are youdoingout here?”I yell over the storm.
“I could ask you the same thing.” Drew Forbes’s voice is also raised out of necessity, but I’m surprised when I detect no snarl.
“He—he had to go out. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Before Drew can answer, we’re interrupted by a near-simultaneous flash and crash of lightning. I look down in time to see Rufus’s ears pin down, tail wagging cut short as he slinks back to my side. Drew immediately drops down in front of him.
“Hey, everything’s okay. I’m going to get you somewhere safe.”
And I know he’s not speaking to me, but I hadn’t realized how hard I was shaking until he takes the leash from my hand and leads us to the door of my building.
We exit the elevator in silence. My pulse is so frenetic thinking about Drew entering my apartment again, I almost trip over an object in the hall in front of my door. The dog is already sniffing it, and I have to pull back on the leash before I can really register what I’m seeing.
A vase of roses. Dead ones.
All the air leaves my chest.
“What is this?” Drew asks.
My mouth is so dry I can’t respond. Were these here before, when Rufus and I ran out? Or were they just delivered? Did I lock my door? I grip my keys instinctively, weaving them between my fingers as Drew picks up the flowers, giving them a slow inspection.
“There’s no note.”
I force a swallow. “Someone’s idea of a joke.”
Drew’s brows draw together as he looks from me back to the shriveled bouquet, and then up and down the hall. And I hate to admit it, but as the walls of my building seem to close in, I am grateful not to be making this discovery alone.
